svelte

At the moment I'm working at the police, I make html pages of word documents that they send to me. I can't say what it is about, it's classified!     But I really enjoy the work, I'm contracted for six hours a day five days a week, and I'm earning a nice bit of money with it! I think what I enjoy most about this job, is that I can work at home, with my own computer. Great!

i've been looking for something like that, not as many hours though. how'd you find out about that? it's got to be cool working at home doing that, you set your own hours?

i think it was a mixture of all the sports, but i think hockey probably did the most damage. of course, soccer, running, gymnastics, etc probably didn't help any, but 'falling' on your knees with no knee-pads or anything all the time isn't too good either i haven't played in a long time my knee is getting better, there's still work that has to be done though.

thanks maddog

i'm not 100% sure of what exactly hurt my knee, it could've been the sports i played in school though. being a butterfly-goalie without knee-pads is not so good for your knees apparently but i do know that the cartilage underneath my knee-cap was tearing away.

good to hear you're doing well maddog, i've been doing ok. i just finished up 3 1/2 months of physical therapy about a week and a half ago. and two weeks ago this monday Oti passed on it's tought but i'm doing ok.

MIA - galangation

the last of my galang caps:

M.I.A.'s been on the move. The sounds she's encountered have become

her own.

It's hard to say which is more interesting: M.I.A.'s background or

her music. Beginning as a youth on the run from authorities,

continuing as a teen refugee in London and now as an artist with

what is likely to be one of the most written-about albums of 2005,

the 27-year-old daughter of a Sri Lankan rebel has lived a tragic

yet extraordinary life.

Already, M.I.A.'s electro-Bollywood-hip-hop has generated gargantuan

interest among pop tastemakers, all of it based on a single

song. "Galang," named one of last year's 10 best singles in Rolling

Stone's critics' poll, is an intensely rhythmic culture clash that

draws heavily on American gangsta rap and Hindi film, Jamaican

dancehall, Europop and multiculti gibberish. The song exploded in

the U.K. a little more than a year ago. It began washing up on

American dance floors last summer and is now bubbling up to radio.

M.I.A.'s debut album, "Arular," out next month on XL Recordings, is

a more in-depth exploration of the singer's refugee eclecticism.

From start to finish, it is an unstoppable riot of sound, weaving

London street slang with Sri Lankan nursery rhymes, world politics

and personal experience.

Vacillating between attitude and innocence, her songs are tough-

talking raps, but they're softened by a Hindi vocal style that ends

lines of lyrics with curlicue upswings.

M.I.A.'s recent sold-out performance at the Knitting Factory

Hollywood was equally iconoclastic. Waving her hands in the air and

self-consciously pacing the stage before a DJ, swirling lights and

background videos, she was half hip-hop bravado and half "how did I

get here?"

"It kind of shocked me that there were so many people that knew the

songs," M.I.A. says the next day. "My album's not out."

Singing along is no easy feat, laden as the songs are with Cockney

slang. Perhaps some in the audience were working off the lyric sheet

one enterprising fan was selling at the club.

Seeking out a sliver of sunlight in the dark Hollywood Roosevelt

Hotel dining room, M.I.A. seems oblivious to the buzz surrounding

her and her music. Feminine and model beautiful but entirely down to

earth, it's clear she hasn't bought into her impending fame and is

taking it all in stride. Stardom, after all, is just the next stop

in a life that has, quite literally, been all over the map.

Few Western pop singers have lived as chaotically as M.I.A. and who

would have wanted to? Her formative years were a steady progression

from bad to worse, going from poverty to persecution to war and

alienation before she was able to turn it around.

A father's influence

Born in London, Maya Arulpragasam, as she was then known, moved to

Sri Lanka with her family when she was 6 months old. It was 1978,

and tensions between the country's two ethnic groups were growing.

M.I.A. and her family were among the minority Tamil population in a

country dominated by Sinhalese; her father was part of a militant

group seeking independence.

Rebel activities kept her father separated from the family and her

family on the run for the next decade. When civil war broke out,

they relocated to India, living for a year and a half "in a room

surrounded by five miles of empty land," she says.

"When it rained, it flooded. You'd have to basically swim through

with snakes going past. My father's idea of safety was sticking us

in the middle of nowhere where the army couldn't get us but without

water, food, medication and money."

With her family close to starvation and her sister sick from

typhoid, an uncle helped move M.I.A.'s family back to Sri Lanka. In

their native country, they at least had a support system, even if

the war was in full swing. The area where they lived was regularly

bombed, including the convent where M.I.A. went to school.

Several failed attempts to flee the country ended with M.I.A. and

her family moving to India, then London. Her father stayed behind.

It's this core experience that drives much of the lyrical content

in "Arular," which is her father's name.

"For years when I moved to England, I was so embarrassed about being

Sri Lankan and never talked about it," says M.I.A., an acronym

for "missing in action." "The reason I started talking about my life

is because I'd gone out thinking I was British for so long, I felt I

owed it to inform myself on what was happening to the people I left

behind. On a personal level, I feel guilty that I got away and so

many kids didn't."

M.I.A. returned to Sri Lanka in 2001. She was hoping to make "a

random film about Tamil youth" and, in the process, sort out her

feelings over the ongoing conflict in her parents' country. She

returned to London more confused than ever. Much of the Tamil

population today is starving and restricted to refugee camps, she

says. The rebel group her father helped form is now considered a

terrorist organization.

"In the '70s, these people set out with ideas to be revolutionaries

and fight for independence and struggle for freedom. All these real

romantic notions," she explains. "Those terms don't exist anymore.

Who would you call a terrorist? Who would you call a revolutionary

today? I don't know."

It's a timely question, and you can hear her trying to sort out the

answer throughout the record in songs exploding with bombs, where

glitchy electronics mimic machine-gun fire. By the end of the album,

she turns the question to listeners: "You can be a follower, but

who's your leader?"

It's clear she's uncomfortable with those who blindly follow. Her

entire life has been a struggle against the prevailing culture, and

her personality and musical taste have formed accordingly.

M.I.A. was 10 when her family settled in a housing project in

London. Until then, her only contact with music was Bollywood films,

television theme songs and bootleg tapes of Michael Jackson and

Boney M. In England, she had a radio and a lot of cultural catching

up to do. Madonna and Bananarama were her guides. Then her radio was

stolen. Her ear turned to the hip-hop booming next door. "I looked

through the window, and it was a 19-year-old kid and his mates would

roll up in a car. It just seemed so cool, like a secret club," she

says.

In 1988, rap still held a sort of outsider appeal that immediately

connected with the young South Asian transplant. M.I.A. didn't

understand English, but she connected with the rhythm and look of

Public Enemy, N.W.A and other artists she would later appreciate for

their politics.

M.I.A. never intended to be a rapper, or even a musician. She wanted

to be an artist. As a student at St. Martin's Art School in London,

she began exploring film. But when an art gallery asked her to

contribute work to a show, she branched out to painting, channeling

her Sri Lankan experience into candy-colored stencils of tigers,

palm trees, hand grenades and warplanes.

"I always grew up on the border of everything and not quite being

let in," she says. "I was concerned about what I wanted to say but

didn't really care how it came out."

It was her paintings that brought M.I.A. into contact with Justine

Frischmann, former leader of the rock band Elastica, who

commissioned her to create the cover art for its 2000

album, "Menace," and a video for the single "Mad Dog God Dam."

Frischmann also asked M.I.A. to accompany the group on its U.S.

tour, videotaping their shows.

Electro pioneer Peaches was touring with the band and encouraged

M.I.A. to begin experimenting with the primitive sequencing machine

that had become her stock in trade

'Are you lesbian?' 'No, I'm making music.'

Here's a little tip for the kids. If you're going to be interviewing

Miss M.I.A., be sure to tell your editor you're going to need at

least a half dozen pages to squeeze in all the good stuff. If your

editor finds this unreasonable, get a blog and just reprint

everything there. That way, everybody wins.

So. Today we talked to the delightful Maya Arulpragasam. The 800

word version of our encounter appears in tomorrow's National Post.

If you'd rather just read a couple thousand of her words without

ours getting in the way, this post is for you. Laughs have been

edited out. But they were frequent. And wonderful.

This will be far too long. And, for the uninterested, boring.

Apologies.

On handling the hype:

Hopefully, you know, it's not going to last forever. I must be the

only person who's like, thank god this is going to end soon... When I

went to Germany I felt that. I went to Puerto Rico to do a show and

then I went to Philly and then New York. And I did that in about two

days. And then I had to fly to Hamburg and then Berlin. And it all

happened in about five days. Then I was like, `I physically can't

handle it.' I thought, I'm just going to disintegrate.

On the audience in Germany:

It's not even like English. [but] Germans get it. And they're really

into it and stuff. I was thinking, `Do they even know what my lyrics

are?' But they kinda do. They just feel like it doesn't even matter.

I get that impression from them. As long as it's real. When I do

music I want to make sure that there's [something] there for anyone

and everyone. So that's fine that they only pick up on that. The

journalists pick up on the lyrics and stuff, but my cousins in

Germany call me up and they go, `You video's on in Burger King.' And

I know that whoever's playing it is not really into the lyrics.

On the controversy with MTV:

I'm thinking still. I have to do it by today or tomorrow. It's just,

I don't know, I'm going to wait until they get bored of asking me.

Then I'll tell them something. They're going to play the video. And

they said that they'll let everything slide as long as they have a

statement. Otherwise, they'll have to cut sentences out of the song.

But I feel like I shouldn't have to compromise at all. And they

should know that.

On her shoutout to the PLO:

I was thinking, the Wu-Tang Clan said it all the time

Reggae Riddims and the Sound of London Grit

(What Music Do I Listen To?)

By M.I.A.

IN 1986, 10-year-old Maya Arulpragasam and her family fled the civil

war in Sri Lanka and settled in England. She learned English about

the time she discovered another language: hip-hop, the perfect

vernacular for describing life as a refugee in a squalid housing

estate in South London. Now 28, she performs as M.I.A., for "Missing

in Acton," a nod both to her London borough, Acton, and to the

guerrilla spirit of her lyrics. After releasing two singles, the

dancehall-inflected "Galang" and "Sunshowers," last year, XL Records

will release M.I.A.'s much-anticipated first album, "Arular," in

February. This week, she will play benefit shows at the Knitting

Factory's Los Angeles (Feb. 3) and New York (Feb. 5) locations to

raise money for tsunami relief in Sri Lanka. Joel Topcik recently

spoke to Ms. Arulpragasam about what she's listening to right now

and why.

'Bad Gal Riddim'

"Dancehall producers come up with a new 'riddim,' or beat track,

every week or so, and send it to different artists. Everybody does

their own version of the new beat, and it becomes a

compilation. 'Bad Gal Riddim' (Madhouse Records) is the newest to

come out. It has a little bounce to it. 'Right There,' by Spice and

Toi, is the most fun song I've heard all week. When dancehall got

big a couple years back, a lot of girls got pushed out. Now they're

getting back into it. I'm not even sure it's out yet - I heard it on

pirate radio, which is where I get most of my music. The pirate

D.J.'s are always six months ahead of everyone else."

Ivy Queen

"I'm a big fan of Ivy Queen. She's probably the biggest reggaeton

star. Reggaeton is the sound coming out of Puerto Rico that's really

huge in America now. Dancehall is much more stripped down, but

reggaeton has a Caribbean sound - steel drums and different tempos.

Ivy Queen and the dancehall rapper Sasha did a Spanish reggaeton

remix of 'Dat Sexy Body' (VP Records) that represents a kind of

unity between dancehall and reggaeton."

Baile Funk

"This is where my mind has been recently. 'Baile funk' ('funk ball')

is basically Brazilian kids in the favelas (ghettos) going crazy,

screaming the dirtiest lyrics over Clash songs and electronic music

that sounds like Kraftwerk. They take Miami bass beats, really basic

drum loops, heavy bass - I can only describe it as 'booty music' -

and produce something so fierce and angry that reflects the absolute

chaos around them. Diplo (half of the Philadelphia D.J.-duo

Hollertronix) put out 'Favela on Blast: Rio Baile Funk '04'

(available at www.hollertronix.com), a compilation of the best ones

he found when he went to Brazil."

Jim Jones, the Diplomats

"Jim Jones has so much charisma and more attitude than most rappers

put together. 'Crunk Muzik' (from 'Diplomatic Immunity 2' on Koch

Records), with Cam'ron and Juelz Santana, is the best song to come

out of the Diplomats crew. Such a powerful beat - and you can't tell

what the chorus is, it's like 32 bars long. Rappers are like Rod

Stewart now; they're like a bunch of Liberaces with their gold rims.

The Diplomats are just a little bit off key from what others are

doing. They seem to be experimenting the most, and they have a real

fight mentality. It's the guerilla side of hip-hop."

Lethal Bizzle

"I love Lethal Bizzle's 'Forward Riddim Remix' of 'Pow!'

(Relentless). It's a grime record that reflects the London streets

in the most aggressive way possible. People call grime the new punk -

electronic, minimal beats and mad bass lines. The remix makes

the 'pow!' lyric from the original into the hook of the song, and it

has so much energy. There are like 20 M.C.'s from around London on

this track. It's just wicked. I live in a place with Somali

refugees, Polish people, a lot of Arabic people, and this song is

blaring out of every single car. It's what's empowering them now.

It's like when you first hear Public Enemy's 'Fight the Power.' It

makes you feel so good when you walk down the street listening to

it."

Ce'Cile

"Ce'Cile hasn't had a really big hit yet. But she's strong and

consistent, and she's not afraid to experiment. I thought it was

brave for her to work with the producer Jacques Lu Cont on 'Na Na Na

Na,' from the 'Two Culture Clash' CD (Wall of Sound). It most

reflects what I like in a sound. It's minimal - just vocal and beat -

with a synth-y drum loop. There are almost no changes at all - when

the chorus comes in, Lu Cont just brings in an extra snare and

pitches it up and then back down again. It's brilliant. It came out

after my first single, 'Galang,' and it was good to know there was

something else out there for the kind of music I want to do. If

something like this could get on mainstream radio, it would be so

great."

In a class of her own

The freshest voice to hit underground music belongs to a woman who spent her childhood in Sri Lanka and teen years in London, and has experienced war, poverty and racism

After weeks of waiting, and five straight days of phone calls, much back and forth, "just checking in" (me), and "things are really tight" (them), I finally get M.I.A. on the phone.

Who?

You won't be asking that question for long. Not if there is any justice. Not if there is an ounce of dignity in the music biz.

Straight out of London, with her formative years spent in war-torn Sri Lanka, teen years as a refugee in London's public housing, and early 20s in art school, comes the freshest voice to hit underground dance music and, potentially, overground pop in recent memory.

She might not be tearing up the sales charts yet (released in March, her debut album Arular, rose to No. 58 on HMV's top 75 this week), but M.I.A. - real name Maya Arulpragasam - has people in a tizzy.

Garnering write-ups in pretty much every music (and many non-music) publication(s) out there - including Rolling Stone, Spin, Vibe, the New York Times, the New Yorker and the Village Voice - and with ear-to-the-ground music fans everywhere speaking her name in excited whispers, M.I.A. is on a roll.

"Something's going on,"she muses, as she picks up the phone. "You got ahold of me, but there are still four people waiting - we've lost some along the way."

She laughs. "Things are OK. So far so good."

Did she see this coming?

"No, never."

She didn't see it coming when she was 6 months old and her family moved to Sri Lanka, where she, her mom and siblings lived in fear for their lives as her father fought as a member of guerrilla group the Tamil Tigers.

She didn't see it back in England, amid poverty and racism in Mitcham, Surrey. She didn't see it when she put on her first art show at London's Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design.

She didn't even see it when she had a real record label behind her (London's XL Recordings) and real producers in front of her, ready to work.

"I always felt apologetic about making music," she explains. "When I went into the studio, my first words were always, 'Hi, I'm Maya. I'm really sorry.' And we'd work from there. "It's really strange. It just kind of happened."

Her bashfulness is believable when she speaks of it, with unaffected candour and a chuckle. It's a stretch when hearing her spout sassy, schoolyard-style rhymes on record.

Arular is catchy as heck. It's M.I.A.'s grand entrance as the most original, creative and charismatic vocal talent since Missy Elliott.

Yet people don't know what to do with her. Her music is a video-game electro-clash of distorted dancehall and hip-hop rhythms, while her lyrics reference pop culture and revolution in the same breath.

Hefty U.S. label Interscope (home to Eminem, Gwen Stefani, Black Eyed Peas), which has picked up Arular for distribution in the States, will have to figure out how to package such a huge, prickly talent for U.S. consumption.

"I met Jimmy (Iovine, Interscope co-founder)," M.I.A. recounts. "I went to his house. They're curious - it's really cute - they're looking at me going, 'What are you?' I'm going, 'What are you going to do with me?' "They stare at me a lot. But they help me out.

"They surprise me every time. ... They're giving me a lot of control. I just go, 'Uh, I'm Sri Lankan, I'm not a rapper, I'm not Gwen Stefani.' We'll see what happens."

Elsewhere in the confusion department, MTV is reportedly holding back her Sunshowers video until she takes out the PLO reference ("You wanna go? / You wanna winna war? / Like PLO I don't surrendo") and until she explains what exactly it means to "salt and pepper my mango."

"In Sri Lanka, Mexico and the Caribbean," she explains, "they put salt and pepper on green mangos. When it's warm, they put chili peppers and salt. It's amazing. I used to eat them on the way to school in Sri Lanka." Those looking for a sexual subtext won't find it.

"The other meaning would be that I present an alternative to what already exists in your everyday stereotypical convention."

As M.I.A. sings about power to the people - as she baits Bush and calls to youth to "break that cycle" of consumerism and status quo adherence - she emphasizes that her presence, her access to the platform, is itself the message.

"The act of me making music now," she says, "and not doing it like other people, is more important for people to learn from than what I'm saying in my songs.

"For every kid who died in Sri Lanka or the tsunami, how many of them, if they had access to a 505 (Roland drum machine), might have been amazing? We don't know.

"You can grow up in a mud hut in Sri Lanka, be a refugee with no money living in (public housing), and get to a point where people listen to you. It's a big journey to make. And along the way, if I can say, 'Look, just stop bombing people; call it a day,' then, great."

But let's get back to the music. Between her looks, her lyrical subject matter and her life story, M.I.A. sometimes gets short shrift when it comes to her abilities. Her vocal delivery is a wonder to hear. With mesmerizing fluidity, she evokes both coy girlishness and stoic defiance, not to mention superfly rhythmic timing and melodic instincts.

She surprises at every turn with her word associations, positing herself as a righteous, tireless trickster. Set against stagger-shot rhythms and sonic collage backdrops, it is nothing short of heroic.

M.I.A. manages to incorporate the disparate - at times diametrically opposed - facets of her life into a masterful work of populist pop art. She takes her absent father's life-and-death struggle and London club-culture cool and makes something personal, political and provocative.

It all started - the music, that is - with Peaches. Touring as a videographer for British group Elastica, M.I.A. became fascinated by the brash, sex-talking, Toronto-bred electro star, who performed nightly in the opening slot.

"I realized you can make a loud noise all by yourself," she says. Peaches taught her the ins and outs of her Roland MC-505 and M.I.A. was on her way.

She started making music in her bedroom and, the story goes, got her break by walking into the office of neighbourhood label XL with the line, "I heard you've been looking for me."

She hooked up with producers Steve Mackay (of Pulp) and Rob Orton, with whom she fine-tuned her introductory hits Galang and Sunshowers.

Seeking further production help led her to Philadelphia DJ Diplo, in whom she found a kindred spirit. Diplo produced just one track on Arular - the Theme from Rocky-sampling Bucky Done Gun.

More importantly, he produced the underground-rattling bootleg mix Piracy Funds Terrorism, on which M.I.A.'s vocals are laid over and among a globetrotting throwdown of southern crunk hip-hop, dancehall reggae, '80s pop and Brazilian baile funk.

"We wanted to put together something that reflected the sounds I've come through, and that I listened to in the making of the album. And to show that I wasn't completely crazy, that my stuff was relatable to different styles."

The two are now an item and Diplo is accompanying M.I.A. as her tour DJ. But she denies rumours that they are engaged. In terms of where she's at, and where to go from here, M.I.A. leaves things open.

"(Arular) is a yardstick," she says. "You could have nothing, get a four-track recorder for 100 pounds, two tapes for 50P each and borrow a drum machine that costs 600 pounds, and see how far you can get with it.

"In terms of the creative, there's so much more I need to explore. This first album is really about discovery, finding out about music, starting from scratch. Now I've got to a point where every other thing I'm going to do will count."

M.I.A. drops dance bomb

Sri Lanka-born singer shakes things up

M.I.A. is the Anglo-friendly pseudonym of Sri Lanka-born Londoner Maya Arulpragasam. Her music is a stunning mix of hip-hop, ragga, dance and electronica. The mix, with the young woman's unrelentingly political lyrics, bears more than a passing influence from no-wave bands like Gang of Four; the beats are erratic, spitting and shifting in ways that should keep potential dancers jumping, jerking and losing their balance.

Lyrically, M.I.A. could be mistaken for a rabble-rouser, a potential threat to national security. While she chants such liberal mantra as "Pull up the people/Pull up the poor," almost every song includes references to shooting guns, setting off bombs, making things go pop, pop, boom. She sings, "I'm a fighter, nice nice fighter," but it isn't exactly obvious whose side she's "fighting" for.

She suggests that "Every gun in battle is a son and daughter too," and there are several references to ways in which physical conflict is absurd, so we might assume that she is a soldier for peace

some 'galang' caps i made:

it's hard to get caps from her JKL performance because the video quality is not so good, but here's two

oooh, someone did something naughty....and i found it! :lol:

http://www.feeds4all.com/Redirectframe.aspx?Item=3231074

click for MIA's two performances on JKL

i'm not too sure if these are samples or full tracks but hell, scroll down a little above half way down and you'll see some MIA treats

http://www.piccadillyrecords.co.uk/ver2/in...ters=M&genre=35

some photos

from 'galang':

this is one of the first pictures i saw of her:

Maya has also had a book of her artwork published, here's a sample:

book details:

"From a long-forgotten region of endemic conflict comes a project to challenge your ethical core. The art of warfare is sprawled across these pages transforming bloodshed into beauty and raising the phoenix of forbidden expression.

The real war is in us!"

some of Maya's artwork from the Nirali article

from Nirali Magazine, October 2004

"I salt and pepper my mango," sing-songs 28-year-old Maya Arulpragasam at the beginning of her infectious, dancehall-inspired song, "Sunshowers." A remix of "Sunshowers" is the second track on the London-based artist's debut single featuring the even more pulsating "Galang," released in the United States on September 28. The song's drum-pattern beat is catchy, quirky, crazy

some pre-picked quotes from village voice:

# They were asking me to comment on really heavy world issues, like what I thought about America, globalization, President Bush. I had to wonder, "Why me?"

# If I represent anything, it's what it's like to be a civilian caught up in a war.

# My mum brought me up going, "Ah Gandhi, he's such a nonviolent man. You turn the other cheek, huh." And then now it seems like what President Bush is teaching us is if somebody steps to you, you just kill him. Don't even ask any questions. Just take him out. He's the biggest bloody 50 Cent he is.

# I really felt like I needed to know what I wanted to tell my kids

Stylus magazine -review

M.I.A. could well be an ideal case study for examining the impact of the internet on the ways we listen to and, more importantly, are exposed to music. It

M.I.A.: Rebel Muse

Maya Arulpragasam grew up dodging political bullets. As M.I.A., she shoots back, armed with peppery raps and Diplo-matic beats. Racists and fascists beware.

The day before the tsunami hit Sri Lanka, Maya Arulpragasam, a.k.a. M.I.A, received a message from her estranged father. "He emailed me like,

review from Tiny Mix Tapes

Oh M.I.A., where do I begin? By now almost all of you have heard the name (hell, she was in my sister's Teen Vogue) and heard her story recounted ad nauseam. You've heard about how she moved from Sri Lanka to India due to the Tamil rebellion (that her father was a prominent figure of) and how she moved back to Sri Lanka before finally ending up in London to attend Middlesex University and Central Saint Marie's School of Art. You've heard about how one of the best singles of the new millennium, "Galang," was only the second song she ever wrote, and about how hard her sound is to classify. You've heard about all of that because just in the past few months Ms. Maya Arulpragasam has been the recipient of more media attention than most artists receive their entire careers. She's been built up on a foundation largely laid by the burgeoning blog scene, and now it's time to see if more mainstream media will solidify that foundation or tear it to the ground.

Following in the blazing path torn through the music world by Piracy Funds Terrorism, Vol.1 comes Mya's debut long player, Arular. To say that this record was "anticipated" is an understatement; in fact, reports state that there was a notable surge in the number of overactive saliva glands that doctors had to treat (my appointment is tomorrow, 3-ish). But it wasn't even just the music that people were holding their breaths for; it was the curiosity of what was going to happen once the record came out. But we'll get to that in a bit. For now, let's focus on the sounds.

And what glorious sounds they are. Arular is filled with banging beats that reverberate in your skull, as well as M.I.A.'s double-dubbed vocals that send your head spinning into a stereo frenzy. When in "Bucky Done Gun," M.I.A. shouts "New York/ quiet down/ I need to make a sound" before the furious horns kick in, she succeeds in making the city that never sleeps shut the fuck up, just so she can do her thing. I can't think of a single person in recent memory who comes off with so much attitude and swagger and is actually believable; like if you don't pay attention she just might smack you across the face. From the English lesson of opener "Ba-na-na" and the day-glo "Sunshowers" to the bombast of "Galang" and the hostage scenario played out in "Amazon," M.I.A. creates one of the most singular artistic statements of the past five years, deftly combing elements of pop, reggae, hip-hop, dancehall, and whatever the fuck else she feels like throwing into a track. The only problem with this album is the difficulty you're going to have explaining what the hell it sounds like to your friends after they hear you raving about it.

It's this combination of styles that may be Arular's downfall. It's still to be seen whether people outside of Criticville and Blogland are ready for such a forward-thinking mishmash of genres and sounds. It'd be nice to think that we might one day see an M.I.A. track sandwiched on the charts between Missy and Outkast, but it's still too early to tell what the final fate of this little slice of brilliance will be. If she never crosses that bridge to pop success though, we'll always have a home for her on this side.

review from Dusted magazine:

By now, the word about M.I.A. has reached a fever pitch. Every major magazine has signed on for a feature, the blogosphere is aflame, industry insiders are agape and hot DJs from Miami to Seattle have been caning her beats for months. All that is left, it seems, is to sit back and watch if M.I.A. is accepted or rejected by the mainstream American public.

If this is your first encounter with M.I.A., let's have a summary. She's a Tamil (a Sri Lankan minority), and her father is an outlaw freedom fighter (named "Arular"). She's a gifted visual artist but was versed in music via N.W.A. (as a child), then Peaches (on tour in 2002), and now producers like Richard X and Pulp's Steve Mackey. Her real name is Maya Arulpragasam, her lyrics can be incendiary, and she's pretty fine looking, too.

What's more remarkable than her fascinating biography is her bold music. Like her life story, there's hardly anything like it. Roughed out on a Roland MC 505, it's basic and bombastic and bomb-tastic. When polished by producers, it burns clubs down. It's a blaring, drum-machine driven mish-mash of, well, all sorts of shit: dancehall, Asian beat, old school hip hop, baile funk and grime. It's music from the Gulf of Mexico, the Bay of Bengal and the North Sea. Or, better, it's Ragga meets Ghettotech meets Bollywood Breaks. It's the kind of cultural cornucopia that could be, and should be, the defining sound of 2005. But will it? (Honestly, it is becoming hard to wait.)

Arular is framed by three strong singles. The No. 1 best being "Sunshowers,