I know the dancing is fabulous but sometimes I’m so consumed with trying to figure out the setting that I forget to pay attention. Or what year it is. I mean, it can’t be 2010 ’cause there’s a pay phone.
I am so over this wearing a hood so low it impairs vision thing. Seriously.
And could there be more definitive, overdone posturing of the 00s than this right here? It’s 2010, guys. We have flying cars and live on the moon now. Let this go.
This chair has LIGHTS. That is all.
Forget the back-up dancers offering their groins to the camera for a second and note the “Turisticke Informace” sign. This takes place in the Czech Republic. Now you know.
Could these two people be any less attracted to each other?
So apparently this takes place in 2006, which still does not explain the pay phone. Oh, and Hyuna (HyunAh? Hyun_A?) is pretty hot, too.
Except right here. It’s the shoes. The shoes and everything above them.
Wait, is that an alpaca?
I mean yes, Hyuna is clearly fierce, right?
I mean she dry humps Satanic looking logos. That’s pretty wild.
This low-budget video isn’t exactly the stuff of debut dreams but I do love the song, even if an English translation doesn’t make clear from what she’s changing. But there’s no use looking for consistency in the lyrics, as they’re contradictory and mostly nonsensical: I thought the “change” she was talking about was her side project from 4minute, but the opening lyrics profess she hasn’t, actually, changed and everything’s all the same except her slogan and logo. Later she encourages people not to listen to others, then repeatedly demands that everyone follow her. There’s also that confusing bit before the chorus where she says she can change no matter how young she is. Like, duh, isn’t that the best time to change, you know, anything? Hyuna is seventeen years old, if she wasn’t constantly changing – clothes, hairstyles, opinions, significant others – we’d be worried. So the song is both a kind of quasi-cautionary, semi-scolding tale about exploiting your own youth and naivety while you still can. It’s a staple of the cusp-of-adulthood anthems of the fearful who acknowledge the world’s little use for the older and wiser, made all the more clear by the sheer preparation that goes on in the song – let’s go, let’s start it, let’s burn it, come on, you ready?, show me what you got – rendering it as lyrically useless as “Pump Up the Jam,” a song that does a whole lot of pumping up for nothing.
But at least “Change” makes good on Korean electro-pop dominance (see also: f(x) & M.I.C.’s “Lollipop”); where a lot of fans fear the genre has already sputtered out, I’m enjoying the abundance of a sound that still makes me feel Asian pop is major competition in the mainstream world market.
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