The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it’s not “for her,” but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they’re enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato’s cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrate. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn’t immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn’t do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn’t last, which made them cherish each other’s touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.
Me hearing the instrumental for lesser known early UK grime rapper, Sway’s 2012 single Level Up for the first time
The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it’s not “for her,” but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they’re enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato’s cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrate. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn’t immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn’t do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn’t last, which made them cherish each other’s touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.
With the popularity of Planet of the Bass I’ve noticed a lot of people getting eurobeat and eurodance confused. This is understandable but also REALLY funny to me as a eurobeat girlie. Reigning Eurobeat queen Odyssey (you may know her as the girl behind “Discord I’m howlin at the moon”) has a good Twitter thread on the subject, but to add my own summary that’s hopefully not too jargon-y:
It’s PROBABLY EUROBEAT if:
Main lyrical themes are cars/driving/going Very Fast, Touhou, My Little Pony, or Japan (though the latter is more of a grey area since Japan comes up as a theme in some eurodance as well)
Between every verse is a synthesizer riff that sounds too fast to ever possibly be played live by human hands
There’s a section where all but the last word or so of every line is omitted (this is where “dancing, we wanna feel the light is flashing, I send the power to myself” becomes “dancing… flashing… to myself”)
There’s an electric guitar solo (may or may not be synthesized)
The rhythm is a straight four-on-the-floor beat, aka it sounds like WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP
There’s car vroom vroom sound effects
It’s PROBABLY EURODANCE (at least as opposed to eurobeat) if:
There’s a rapper
Themes include world peace or partying (there are SOME party eurobeat songs but not as many, and it’s not like eurobeat is pro-war, they’re just driving too fast to think about it)
It’s more downtempo
The rhythm is a shuffle beat, aka it sounds like WA-WOMP WA-WOMP
It’s in a language other than English or Japanese
It’s DEFINITELY eurobeat if:
The YouTube thumbnail looks like this or otherwise involves an anime character and a car
