Love Letter to Drake from Our Music Director
(Drumroll) ... And now, an important message from our Music Director …
Dearest Drake,
In the month since you released the video for “Hotline Bling,” the Internet has reduced you to GIFs and memes pervading all forms of social media. Individuals from every American demographic have parodied you – ranging from nobodies on YouTube to presidential hopefuls on national television (which is probably the only semi-likeable thing Mr. Trump has done during his campaign). However, most importantly, I have become totally enamored with you.
According to Merriam-Webster (who are theoretically the authority on the English language), the definition of being addicted to something is “to devote or surrender (oneself) to something habitually or obsessively,” and any of my acquaintances can testify that I have consumed your “Hotline Bling” music video both habitually and obsessively. I am addicted to all things “Hotline Bling”… I am addicted to you.
This is not even the first time I have written about my obsession with you and your video and tried to justify my addiction; when the video was first released, I offered this statement about it in my weekly radio station music review email – which I am putting in a quotation block for fear of being accused of plagiarizing myself:
I have lost sleep watching it, I have cried thinking about seeing Drake perform live, and I have started referring to him as my boyfriend all because of said video. In fact, I never want to escape the grasp of "Hotline Bling" – perhaps the best edited music video of all time and certainly a hypnotic masterpiece. "Hotline Bling" is a very Drake music video (even the colorful lighting is angsty), but in a way, it is also a very Kanye music video (because it is really pretty narcissistic to make oneself almost the only subject of a five-minute-long video). But here's the catch: whereas Kanye's self-importance is distasteful, Drake's self-centeredness is a self-effacing joke that we can all relate to and love. Case in point: look at his dancing! Though his moves are mostly terrible, I would get down with him in the club. Or anywhere.
Of course, my examination of the video above is not nearly as complex, as detailed, or as comprehensive as the video deserves. I could expand on the precision of the rhythmic editing techniques in the video, decode the emotional implications of the light color choices, analyze your unique yet flattering (read: hot a.f.) fashion choices, or – yes – closely examine the hidden meaning behind the choreography. Hell, my friend at the student radio station, Kinsey, is even discussing the possible influence of James Turrell on the “Hotline Bling” video in one of her classes here at USC. But, while I do love to indulge in conversation concerning all of these topics, discussion of these matters will not change my adoration of you. Drake, you really have “started from the bottom” and made it “here,” here being the seemingly eternal subject of cultural and intellectual debate and of my fantasies.
So, what am I trying to accomplish with this letter if I do not wish to manufacture some argument about the aesthetics or content of your video? Just your acknowledgement of my existence. After all, I have devoted countless hours not only to watching your video but also to listening to your music and defending your honor/praising your genius to anyone who will listen, I have played “Hotline Bling” on my radio show (which is usually a punk show), I bought “Hotline Bling” merchandise (just a tee shirt and an iPhone case) while writing this letter. Honestly, the least you could do is take a couple of minutes to send me an email or some other form of communication. Alternatively, if you are feeling generous, our student radio station is currently running a fundraiser for our annual music festival, and you can throw us some $$$ at this link here… or, hey, you could even be our headliner! (This suggestion is (unfortunately) the only joke of this entire letter.)
Drake, will you please make my hotline bling? The lines are open.
XOXO,
Ashley Hawkins