Toward the beginning of this year, someone in my dorm decided to completely cover a toilet seat with her or his own feces. All hell broke loose. Email blasts filled our inboxes. Hall government held emergency meetings. Maintenance workers vehemently vacuumed the faces of students as they passed by, later defending their actions as “helpful catharsis.” NU Residential Services was in shambles.
And do you know what this brazen, malicious, excrement-wielding student whispered to herself or himself as she or he fell asleep every night?
“I don’t care. I love it. I don’t care.”
Scene change: It’s the first day of school in a small Californian suburb. The air swells with excitement. Students hurry through their morning rituals, eager to reunite with old friends. People embrace endearingly as they arrive at school, re-form familiar cliques, and sit on picnic tables and bleachers to recount their summer adventures. The romance story of one young man becomes the focus of conversation. His friends beg him for details:
“Tell me more, tell me more, was it love at first sight?”
“Tell me more, tell me more, did she put up a fight?”
Enter: Two girls coming from the school track because they just had a three-some with Coach Calhoun. Students fall silent. Background music stops. The Thunderbirds self-consciously re-grease their hair using handheld mirrors. These are Icona Pop’s high school years. They were never romantic with Danny Zuko, despite his claims. But they put up a fight.
They chant in unison,
“I got this feeling on a summer day when you were gone. I crashed my car into a bridge. I watched. I let it burn. I threw your shit into a bag and pushed it down the stairs. I crashed my car into a bridge.
I don’t care. I love it. I don’t care.”
This would later become the seventh most popular song on iTunes.
Icona Pop hijacks Greased Lightning and cruises into a picturesque sunset because the sun sets whenever the fuck Icona Pop wants it to. End of school day.
Beginning of a new era.
Icona Pop isn’t just a duo of musical demigoddesses. Icona Pop is a paradigm. And the paradigm is heinousness. The group hails from Sweden, the seventh happiest nation in the world according to www.financialjesus.com. Some might think this would be mortifying to such a wonderfully felonious group. But to Icona Pop it’s not because they literally don’t give a shit about what other people think. One of them has a bowl cut.
Some say their formula isn’t right–that their music is meaningless babble, that their image isn’t appealing, and that they’ll never truly spread heinousness and apathy among their listeners as they envision.
And to that, Icona Pop says, “We inspired a young adult to spread her or his own feces on a semi-public toilet.”
Just try to argue with that.