 by Steve McPherson
A Mercury Prize would have been nice, but M.I.A. (née Maya Arulpragasam) is hot enough, at least in this country, to make it superfluous. As a budding fan of all things not-yet-blown-up, I paid careful attention to these British tastemaker awards since the winner was usually a harbinger of what my tastes would be shifting towards over the next year: first it was Gomez and their rambly, blues-tinged pastoral rock, then it was Badly Drawn Boy’s wooly and expansive folk. As it is, maybe the world will turn towards Antony and the Johnsons now that they’ve claimed the prize, but I’m too busy bumping M.I.A.’s Arular on the West River Parkway to notice.
 Her
story’s the kind of thing that publicists eat three squares a day off
of: Born in England, raised in Sri Lanka by a father who may or may not be a
counterinsurgent, M.I.A. began making music after collaborating with Elastica
on a video and since that time has made all the right moves, hooking up with
producer-of-the-moment Diplo of Hollertronix fame to create the underground
mixtape sensation Piracy Funds Terrorism, vol. 1 and then releasing the
(nearly) universally acclaimed Arular. “I’m literally learning
about stuff step by step, you know what I mean?” she explains by phone
from London, where she’s recuperating from appearances at Leeds and Reading
and the Mercury Prize Awards show. “First I learned about music when I
was making it, then I learned about coming out and talking to people about it
and then it was touring. An album has so many different elements in it that
you could learn different lifeskills through.”
This line of reasoning is just the kind of thing that makes lifer musicians
want to hate people who seem to just wander into fame and fortune, but all that
needs to be said is, “Check the tape.” Popular music survives on
cool, and there’s nothing more fleeting or ineffable. M.I.A. has it. The
music’s a mix of baile funk, hip-hop, electronica, reggaeton and basically
anything “world music” you can think of, but about a hundred times
slinkier and dirtier than any world music you’ve ever heard. Her vocals
are maddeningly sexy, covering topics from seducing businessman for a ticket
out of Sri Lanka to guerilla tactics and misunderstood terrorists. When you
put M.I.A.’s “Bingo” on in your car, your Saturn turns into
a low-rider; when it comes through your earbuds from your iPod, you’re
John Travolta strutting in “Saturday Night Fever.”
Which isn’t to say it hasn’t been a little uphill for her. Acceptance
is hard to come by in the English press, but at least now with the Mercury nod
she’s getting some respect. “It was the first time I felt like London
took me seriously as an artist, you know, being nominated for that,” she
says. After getting booted from the bus due to rule changes she didn’t
know about, she says,  “My
fans came up to me at the bus and said, ‘Man, they’re taking the
piss. Why are you getting on the bus anyways?’ and I was like, ‘How
do you know who I am?’ I was getting stopped by 14 year-old black girls
and then Indian kids and Bangalore kids and indie kids. So I was like, ‘Shit,
that thing that’s happening in America does exist in England as well.’”
What’s happening in America is that every publication, from Fader to the
New Yorker to Salon.com to Pitchfork, have trumpeted her as a dancefloor savior,
a true world artist to bring everyone together. The major problem with that
is that she actually believes in having people talk about their differences.
“I see politics as one of those things where people make positions for
you on your behalf, but don’t necessarily create a platform that you can
stand on and express your feedback or reaction,” she says. “If people
are doing shit, and are so fierce with advertising and marketing and politics,
then why shouldn’t people talk back and express how they feel about it?
We as people shouldn’t really censor anyone from doing that; it’s
actually good for us to hear what other people think, what other people are
pissed off about.”
 In
an age when every single message is endlessly massaged and shaped to conform
to policy, it’s refreshing to hear an artist whose only agenda is increasing
the dialogue, not just pushing his or her side of an issue. “It’s
nice to have the chance to have some intelligent shit going on, so we don’t
all have to listen to about how to shake your ass—shake it, shake it,
shake it—shake your ass some more, baby baby I love you. You have to put
time and effort into finding [something more than that], because it’ll
never come to you. If I can sneak some of that shit into the mainstream, I’d
like to.”
It all just seems a little too easy, somehow. There are scads of politically-minded
artists out there, tons of people with hot beats and reams of paper to be made
off of them; what makes M.I.A. something special? How much of it is Diplo’s
production? At this point it’s hard to know, as she maintains that she
keeps herself out of the technical end of things. “Like usually, I’m
happy with a song based on what it feels like in front of a speaker in a club,
dancing,” she says. So she has a litmus test and maybe that’s what
it really takes to generate cool on par with a 20k BTU air conditioner. After
all, what is cool if not an innate sense that guides you where others get lost?
Whether this is a formula for longevity or brevity, we’ll just have to
wait and see. For now, Mercury Prize or no, she’s scorching hot; just
don’t expect to be rewarded for your early recognition of her skills.
“They’re actually pissed off that I’m getting more well known,”
she says of her early adopters, “and that’s kind of fun.”
||
M.I.A. performs Thu., Sept. 29 at the Fine Line Music Cafe with Spank Rock.
8 p.m. $18. 18+. 318 First Ave. N., Mpls. 612-338-8100. For more information
on M.I.A.
Check out her official website at MIAuk.com.
Download an mp3 of M.I.A.’s song “Bingo.”
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