hump hump hump
Ever since I first heard “My Humps” by the Black Eyed Peas, I could not find the right words to describe what I felt about. Slate overcame that obstacle:
As a piece of music, “My Humps” is a stunning assemblage of awful ideas. The song’s playful pogo and coke-thin, ring-tone synth line interpolate Sexual Harassment’s 1982 left-field electro hit, “I Need A Freak”. But where the original trafficked in something icky, sinister, and darkly sexual, the Peas’ call-and-response courtship fails to titillate—in fact, it’s enough to convince one to never, ever ogle again. The “humps” in question belong to Fergie, who brandishes her “lovely lady lumps” for the purpose of procuring various gifts from men who, one would assume, find the prospect of “lumps” very exciting—one lump begetting another lump, if you will.“What you gon’ do with all that ass/ All that ass inside them jeans? … What you gon’ do wit all that breast?/ All that breast inside that shirt?” rapper Will.I.Am teases in response, rendering literal what had heretofore been pretty much literal. It’s a song that tries to evoke a coquettish nudge and wink, but head-butts and bloodies the target instead. It isolates sectors of the female anatomy that obsessive young men have been inventing language for since their skulls fused, and yet it emerges only with “humps” and “lumps”—at least “Milkshake” sounded delicious.