Aight. So I simply wanna make it clear up entrance that my Nana didn’t play Earth, Wind and Fire’s “September” in the home when I was rising up for Taylor Swift to return alongside and smash it.
Swift and her blasphemous cowl of Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” — a part of the Spotify Singles series — obtained me and the web fucked up past measure. Her model of the blassic hit, launched on Friday, manages in three minutes to strip the track of its iconic funk parts, its soul, its rhythm, its ba-de-ahh within the hook. She has morphed considered one of our tradition’s biggest songs into considered one of them acoustic covers white ladies who frequent espresso outlets love a lot.
“September,” the unique “September,” is the sound of black pleasure. It’s a track that black people can dance, jig, jam, smoke, drink and play spades to, a timeless bop. This is why it’s a black cookout staple — revered alongside “Before I Let Go” and baked mac and cheese.
AND TAYLOR SWIFT HAS THE AUDACITY TO TRY AND TURN IT INTO SOME UNSEASONED, FOLKSY BULLSHIT?! THEN IN THE ICONIC FIRST VERSE, SHE SAYS 28TH INSTEAD OF 21ST!!! HOW DARE YOU?!
I ain’t having it. Swift lacks the eagerness, the liveliness, the rhythm and, frankly, the soul to correctly honor the track. Her model is solely banjos and twinkles and milky vocals and shit. (The irony of which is that banjos themselves was amongst America’s blackest musical instruments earlier than they have been appropriated by white musicians.)
“Sounds like housing discrimination,” tweeted SB Nation author Zito Madu. Instead of that muffled Nashville percussion, Taylor may as nicely have used the sound of papers being shuffled on the desk of a banker denying a black particular person’s mortgage.
We all know this recreation: A white particular person strips one thing of its blackness and packages it for a white viewers. It’s as previous as America. But did she need to take this? And did it need to be Taylor Swift?
Finding this track, of all songs, in Taylor Swift’s mouth, of all mouths, is like coming throughout George Clinton in the midst of a West Elm retailer. It’s an insult to each cookout my Nana and all of the Nanas of the group threw. It’s a stain on the musical cloth of our nation.
Maurice White didn’t die for this. And for those who don’t know who Maurice White is, then, nicely, perhaps you’re a part of the issue, too.