My family are a weird bunch, with correspondingly broad and eclectic tastes in music. Surprisingly, they’re also kind of music snobs. My Dad calls rap ‘C-rap’ (because any time the chance to crack a Dad joke slips through his fingers, he dies a little inside. I can’t let that happen, he hasn’t finished teaching me to drive,) and my 16 year old brother thinks contemporary popular music is a plague upon humankind. So when said brother walked in on me doing a crazy dance to the Scissor Sisters ‘Let’s have a Kiki,’ I was vilified to an almost biblical extent.
“Oh my god, this is so shit. Why are you listening to this? This is SO shit.”
To my great shame, I brushed it off as ‘just a Scissor Sisters song,’ something I was listening to by mistake or an error of judgement. I felt like getting caught listening to the Scissor Sisters in 2013 was comparable to being caught reading a gothic novel in 1813, and then, against my better judgement, I had a Jane Austen moment. In Northanger Abbey, she champions a woman’s right to read fiction, condemning people who, when sprung reading, answered with “Oh this? It’s just a novel.” The earth shook.I heard my own voice in my head, “It’s just the Scissor Sisters.”
I had a full on Northanger Abbey moment, and that’s a really big deal, because you have NO IDEA how much I hated that book when I read it for uni last year (I’m still not a fan, but I respect its existence.) I hated ‘Let’s Have a Kiki,’ the first time I heard it, but before long, it had become my guilty pleasure crazy dance song. I went from hating it to loving it, to hating myself for loving it. Now, though, in honour of Jane Austen, (who was okay, I guess,) I refuse to be ashamed of my love for another minute.
I don’t know why, but I love ‘Let’s Have a Kiki.’ It could be the hilariously dry (and dripping wet) spoken word intro, the ridiculous dance beat (which is not normally something I’m into,) or the fantastic attitude in every word. It might even be the magical ‘Instructional Video,’ with its sharp dance moves (which are NOTHING like the ones I bust out,) and the handy subtitles across the bottom of the screen. I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s the Song of the Day.
All I know is that when I grow up, I want to be a cross between Jane Austen and Ana Matronic.
My brother can stick it.