2019, in many ways, will always be looked upon as the last vestige of any remaining innocence this world might have had. Though everyone (that is, Americans) seemed to believe that innocence was robbed from them in November of 2016, the truth of the matter would only come out as 2020 unfurled. And toward the end of January, it became patently clear to anyone with a modicum of realism that coronavirus was destined to make a splash in the U.S. In contrast to February 8, 2019, when Ariana Grande’s thank u, next album was released (just under six months after Sweetener took fans by storm post-Manchester Arena bombing), February 8, 2020 was definitely not filled with any of the same excitement or catharsis that the former record demarcated. February of 2019, in fact, seemed to signal a metaphorical exhale (sans mask, too!) for both Grande and the domain called Earth she reigned over (the video for “God Is A Woman” effectively teaching us that this planet was her kingdom and us nothing more than her hopelessly devoted subjects).
Freshly emotionally pummeled by the death of Mac Miller and a breakup (and broken engagement) with Pete Davidson–whose own reputation went from “sweet puppy dog” to “garden variety fuckboy” in the aftermath–Grande’s subject matter and tone was the ideal kickoff to the year. Having previously established the anthemic cachet of the record with “thank u, next” and “7 rings” as the lead singles, “break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored,” would serve as the third and final single, released the same day as thank u, next itself. Yet an unofficial fan favorite would prove to be “nasa,” making it seem not so coincidental that this turned out to be the year when the likes of H&M would start peddling shirts and hats that bore the aeronautics agency’s famous logo. Yes, that was the power of Grande’s ability to start a trend with merely a song title and its according “space”-oriented motif. Space, in this instance, referring to physical distance so as to gain emotional clarity.
As thank u, next continued to serve as a “cultural reset” for the duration of 2019, “nasa” would soon come to have an entirely different meaning in the new dystopian context of 2020. While the U.S. still dragged its feet throughout the month of February on “lockdown” measures, the coronavirus was given ample time to get ahead on infection rates. It was not until March that a large bloc of U.S. states (including California and New York, coastal epicenters of the virus) were finally forced to take more extreme measures, including school closures and stay-at-home orders for nonessential workers.
Thus, a smash cut from playing “nasa” in 2019 to playing it in 2020 immediately took on a far less “playful” tone with lyrics including, “I’d rather be alone tonight/You can say ‘I love you’ through the phone tonight/Really don’t wanna be in your arms tonight/I’ll just use my covers to stay warm tonight/Think I’m better off here all alone tonight.” That she (and all of us) would be, as many non-introverts were forced to recalibrate their expectations of existence. One in which keeping the company of as many people as possible was not just a selfish violation of guidelines, but a risk to one’s very own livelihood.
Of course, there would be plenty of extroverts incapable of adhering to “the rules” (being so terrified of listening to the deafening silence that echoes their own empty lives, they’d rather risk infection), but that didn’t mean the entire “tint” of “nasa” wasn’t slightly tainted in the wake of the pandemic. Ari’s insistence upon space being essential in order to promote a deepening love based on the old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder (and the loins grow hornier) quickly became a cautionary tale about giving in to one’s sexual temptation now being a risk for contracting COVID (i.e. “Keep me in your orbit and you know you’ll drag me under”).
In the 2020 context, Grande’s assurance, “Baby, you know time apart is beneficial/It’s like I’m the universe and you be N-A-S-A,” is more of an elucidation about the benefits of not “exploring” due to the effortless spread of contagion when one does so, as opposed to her original intent about wanting to remain an arcane mystery. Considering just how “surfacely” NASA has actually “plunged into the depths” of space, the newly interpreted analogy works in a more sardonic way. Like, “Yeah, get as close to me as NASA has been able to with space.” In other words, “Don’t get close to me at all, you’re contaminated.”
As Grande chants, “I’ma need space, I’ma, I’ma need space (N-A-S-A)” during the chorus, there is a previously undetected sense of anxiety to it. Almost as though she’s urging her semi-new man not to be such a superspreader with his sexual appetites. For that could very well now become a deal breaker for her if he does not adhere to her need for some social distance–the revamped term for “space.”
Where once this word pertained more to the emotional in relationships–as it did in 2019–in the post-2020 climate, it has transcended into the unequivocally physical definition of the expression. And, considering that Grande was a vocal proponent of the “stay home, stay safe” mantra (hence releasing that terrible collab with Justin Bieber called “Stuck With U”), it’s almost surprising she didn’t see the connection in making “nasa” a repurposed anthem for that. Then again, she was too busy getting railed in various positions by her boo du jour (turned fiancé), Dalton Gomez, who certainly did not see fit to adhere to Grande’s 2019 missive about needing space.
