In keeping with the reformed party girl path that Lily Allen has taken of late, Uffie builds upon the same theme from “Drugs,” the track that commences Tokyo Love Hotel, her first official release since 2010’s Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans. Urging the object of her affection to see that drugs can’t love him like she does, nor give him the true satisfaction (as opposed to the hollow kind) that comes from bona fide reciprocation, Uffie beseeches, “The clubs won’t treat like I do, don’t walk away from us tonight.” In short, a drug can’t love, it can only give you the warm, fuzzy (faux) feeling of being in love. And Uffie should know–she spent most of the mid-00s in just that type of reverie.
Writing lyrics to beats that supported the glossy sheen of the era, Uffie has noted of this youthful period of her musicianship, “I think that [glitziness and materialism of Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans was] something that maybe comes with age. It is definitely very reflective of that…” But more than just the natural puerility that comes with being in one’s early twenties, it was the era in which Uffie rose to prominence that lent her songs such a distinct air of bravado without cause. What’s more, it was that unique and all too short-lived MySpace time (another Lily Allen parallel to Uffie) that allowed female artists a rare platform to ascend without the help of male record executives. At the same time, it was a result of dating producer/DJ Feadz that Uffie was prompted to create music in a more official capacity, getting signed to Ed Banger Records after rapping on the Feadz track, “Uffie & Me.” In this sense of a particular precedent being set, most of Uffie’s career was dictated by the sonic input of others. With Tokyo Love Hotel, however, it’s the first time she’s working from a more independent and autonomous position, highlighting, “If you know me from back in the day, this is not party music. So the scariest part is: are people going to accept you growing as an artist and changing as a human?”
On that note, the fittingly titled “No Regrets” emulates the vocal intonation of Natalie Portman as Celeste in Vox Lux. With regard to this comparison, Uffie has never been apologetic about selling vacuity (at least with some semblance of a wink-wink), as evidenced in past lyrics like, “That’s some damn good crackers you bring here, son/Serious, these are the best crackers I’ve tasted in along time/Can you put some cheese on it for me?/Throw something at me when it’s ready.” While Uffie’s decadent diva MySpace days might have peaked, along with her youthful arrogance, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t still have an unfortunate taste for the finer things. This much is ruefully confirmed on “Sadmoney,” as she mourns, “I wish I never found out about Gucci/I wish I knew the best things in life are free,” later adding, “Workin’ every day just to sell my soul/Why’s it gotta be like that?/I know I’m not the only one/But spendin’ money’s so much fun.” With the collaborative help of producer/songwriters Imad Royal, Isaac Valens, and Ammar Malik, the feeling of “forcing” oneself to be pretty (as only money can buy) and overly edited (per the Instagram generation) is all over the languid rhythm. In its lazy dreampop tempo and resigned assertions of being money’s prisoner, it’s a complement to the notion that “there is a heaviness to the society we live in, especially in the U.S., with Trump. Whether it’s money, status, or anything, we’re all affected by this ‘sad money’ vibe. We have yet to see the positive flipside of it, because we’re still living it.”
“Sharpie” harkens back to the problems presented on “Drugs,” serving to elucidate that she can no longer tolerate a significant other who values the party life over coming home to her. Thus, she takes “a Sharpie to [his] face on the picture in the picture frame/Blackin’ [him] out like [he does] every Saturday.” Appealing to a more analog sense of the romantic, Uffie’s chorus offers the regret, “I shoulda never let you in my picture frame.”
The resentful in love thematics of “Sharpie” are perfectly followed by “Papercuts,” a track that finds Uffie desperately wishing that her lover would show a greater sense of wanting to get emotionally involved instead of being neither here nor there about his sentiments. As though he could take her or leave her, which only serves to give little papercut wounds instead of the kind she really wants: a stab wound. For that would entail that her lover was in as deeply as she was. That the level of reciprocation is equitable enough for her to be hurt more mortally. As she put it to, appropriately, PAPER Magazine, “‘Papercuts’ comes from a very deep and real place, in the darkest chamber of my heart. It’s about finding the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, but they’re not as sure about you. You don’t know if they’re in or out, up or down. And it gets so painful, you’d rather they stab you in the heart so you’ll never have to love again, than face a death by a million paper cuts.” And yes, it’s true, an intense blow is better than a slow, dull burn.
Putting a cap on the motifs of “Sharpie” and “Papercuts” is “My Heart,” on which Uffie has to acknowledge to herself that, “My heart keeps beating…the shit out of me.” A problem that often tends to arise among the “sad girl” whose sadness just makes her want to be a “bad girl.” Yet Uffie has clearly come a long way from those bad girl days of the mid-00s (while still maintaining her honorary French sensibilities in the new music she’s been putting out–even if the raps are no longer there).
Seeming to come to terms with what it means to be in love, Uffie essentially presents her thesis statement (or rather, question) on the final song, “Nathaniel,” as she demands, “I don’t wanna hurt you/I just wanna love you/Why is it so hard to do one without the other?” At times reminiscent of certain Lykke Li lyrics on so sad so sexy in terms of alluding to abandonment and cigarettes (as though people outside of Europe really still smoke them), Uffie’s forlorn vocals rue another ghost in her bed, a presence now as spectral as smoke.
“Fire burns, but I don’t smell smoke,” she laughs to herself, inferring a subconscious awareness that the relationship is invariably going to go up in flames in the face of so many warning signs she chooses to ignore. So it is that we end our stay at the Tokyo Love Hotel on this note, likely to return again and again in needing to console our own broken hearts and dreams.
