After yesterday’s blistering of Keith Richards’ cocaine/ashes habit here in Urban Semiotic, our conversation turned to the need for, and the requirement of, semiotics in society and I made this promise then:
We are going to talk more about the corruption of the young around us with craven semiotics that are imitated and intended to infiltrate and infest mainstream popular culture to influence behavior, values and the common decency of human morality.
We will begin our discussion of A Meme of Craven Semiotics in society by examining a single cultural touchstone — The Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps” music video released in 2005 — that recently inspired both Will Ferrell’s imitation of the song while on a treadmill in the movie “Blades of Glory” and Alanis Morissette’s new achingly awful mocking of the song. If the original version of “My Humps” had some sense of irony or sophistication, the inferred semiotic would be influential and, perhaps, even interesting instead of merely craven.
“My Humps” has become an unfortunate ordinary common enough in the mainstream mindset to become a meme ripe for imitation and mocking where a system of behavior and expectation is passed from one person to another via — as I argue today — The Craven Semiotic embedded in both the semantic lyric and the salacious imagery intended to degrade and negatively influence the young children who watch music videos. Trends start with young people. Learned and associated values are embedded in those trends.
Get you love drunk off my hump. My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)
The first semiotic of the video is of “the lumps.”
The next semiotic provided is “the humps.”
With the semiotic establishment of lumps and humps — the tone and intention of the video is set — this is a woman who uses her body to get not what she deserves, but what she cravenly craves: Possessions and men.
What you gon’ do with all that junk? All that junk inside that trunk? I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, Get you love drunk off my hump. What you gon’ do with all that ass? All that ass inside them jeans?
A woman is not her mind or her talent or her singing: She is merely lumpy humps of genetically mandated fat and flesh. Now we are provided hotpants and legs and shoes inspection as the woman grotesquely admires her assets.
The lyric indicates the appropriate reaction to seeing the lumps and humps with sexual intercourse and male release:
I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff, Milky, milky cocoa, Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.
Now the costumes change to reveal golden lumps hidden under the indicative innocence of baby blue hooker outfits. Touch the lumps. Pump up the lumps with the palms in beat with the music.
Now the hump gets some swinging play.
They say I’m really sexy, The boys they wanna sex me. They always standing next to me, Always dancing next to me, Tryin’ a feel my hump, hump. Lookin’ at my lump, lump.
Semantic intoxication is high and gaining semiotic relevance and validity now as the flesh peddling is ongoing and neverending. The bows tied to the backs of the hooker high heels suggest innocence, gifting and the semiotic accouterments of a little girl’s breezy summer childhood.
Now we are provided with the mandatory pre-Britney crotch shot. Anyone with a video player and a pause button — including children and adolescents
— can ogle the same craven image.
If those semiotics were not meant to be ogled and interpreted, they would not be provided in the first place.
What you gon’ do with all that junk? All that junk inside that trunk? I’ma get, get, get, get you drunk, Get you love drunk off this hump. What you gon’ do wit all that breast? All that breast inside that shirt?
The true dyad of this Craven Semiotic Meme is finally revealed: The pimp and the whore. The bling-rich man with the necessarily-loose woman with the bouncing buttocks.
We are left with the sad social reality that this woman we have followed for four minutes willfully placed her body, her morality, and her values up for sale to the highest — and crassest — bidder and she was bribed and bought with brand names and unbridled misogyny. We are all worse for the artistic effort as this new “womanly ideal” is sold wholesale to our children as entertainment and purchased, in turn, by society as proper for the meme-delivered enrichment of hatred and cognitive gender stereotyping masked by a lilting melody and a tightening, semiotic, sexuality that only binds and never frees.