[VIDEO] In pop culture, there’s a thin, sometimes invisible, line between romantic seduction and rape [NSFW]

Miley twerking on ThickeBack in 2013, when Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines was all the rage, I made the argument that it wasn’t so much rapey, as it was the sleazy descendant of old-fashioned “seduction” songs. And it’s very sleazy song indeed. Thicke keeps saying “you know you want it,” which is the classic phrase associated with rapists denying their crime (“But your Honor, I didn’t rape her; she wanted it”). His co-writer Pharrell Williams also describes in unpleasantly graphic terms the fact that his physical attributes may exceed her anal capacity.

Nevertheless, the assumption underlying the song is that the girl of the song wants sex as badly as the boy does. It’s only a “rape” song if we inquire into the girl’s mindset and determine that, in fact, she does not want it at all, despite the fact that she is, per the song lyrics, grabbing and hugging the boy.  The song strongly implies that she’s more Miley Cyrus — i.e., a willing participant — than she is Sandra Dee — i.e., a naive innocent.

As I said, in a sleazy, decadent culture, which is what we inhabit, Blurred Lines is often what passes for romance. After all, this is the same youth pop culture that produced Ke$ha’s hit Tik Tok (warning: video NSFW):

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy (Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, I’m out the door, I’m gonna hit this city (Let’s go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
‘Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back

I’m talking pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-topping, playing our favorite CDs
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy

[Chorus]
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’m-a fight
Till we see the sunlight
Tick-tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no
Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’m-a fight
Till we see the sunlight
Tick-tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no

Ain’t got a care in world, but got plenty of beer
Ain’t got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here
And now the dudes are lining up ’cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick ’em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger

I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tried to touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk
Now, now, we goin’ till they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us

[Chorus]
DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
You got me now
You got that sound
Yeah, you got me
DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
Put your hands up
Put your hands up
Now, the party don’t start till I walk in

Likewise, our pop culture has rewarded Rihanna for her catchy (very catchy) S&M, which is an open anthem to sadomasochism (warning: video NSFW):

Na na na, come on
Na na na, come on
Na na na, na na come on
Na na na, come on, come on
Come on, na na-na na come on
Na na na, come on
Na na na, na na, come on
Na na na, come on, come on
Come on, na na na na

Feels so good being bad
There’s no way I’m turning back
Now the pain is for pleasure
‘Cause nothing can measure

Love is great, love is fine
Out the box, out of line
The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more

‘Cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me
‘Cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me

Na na na come on, come on, come on,
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it

Love is great, love is fine
Out the box, out of line
The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more,

‘Cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me

Na na na come on, come on, come on,
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it

S, S, S and M, M, M
S, S, S and M, M, M

Oh I love the feeling you bring to me
Oh, you turn me on
It’s exactly what I’ve been yearning for
Give it to me strong
And meet me in my boudoir
Make my body say ah, ah, ah,
I like it, like it

‘Cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me

‘Cause I may be bad but I’m perfectly good at it
Sex in the air, I don’t care, I love the smell of it
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But chains and whips excite me

Na na na come on, come on, come on,
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it, come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it come on, come on, come on
I like it, like it

S, S, S and M, M, M
S, S, S and M, M, M
S, S, S and M, M, M
S, S, S and M, M, M

Back in 2013, when I wrote my little treatise about the degraded state of pop culture, complete with its explicit references to anal sex, random hook-ups, and sadomasochism, I argued that Blurred Lines is the pathetic dregs of a line of songs in which the man in the song woos a woman who is reluctant, not because she doesn’t want sex, but because she’s worried about what others might think. The premise of these songs was that, despite the Victorian social strictures that still held sway (at least a little bit), girls want physical romance as much as boys do.  In that context, the boy just needs to persuade her to give in to her desire.  There’s no intimation of force.

There are two obvious examples of this old-fashioned seduction song that come readily to my mind. The first is Jerome Kern’s She Didn’t Say Yes, She Didn’t Say No, filmed here in 1934, as a charming, humorous romantic song:

The other seduction song — and one that I focused on in 2013 — is Baby, It’s Cold Outside, which has become something of a Christmas standard. Back then, I said it was a seduction song, not a rape song, just as I said Thicke’s song was a sleazy seduction song, not a rape song. The folks at Funny or Die, though, while making no comment about Blurred Lines, are pretty darn sure that Baby, It’s Cold Outside is rape all the way:

My question for you: Was this American songbook classic a “rapey” song when it was written in 1944 or has it only come to be seen that way now?

Oh, and one more thing:  Something wonderful did come from Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines: