My hippies are different…

It’s my new trope. I don’t think they have this one up at yet 😀

Subcategory—slutty hippies. There. Now that I have your attention…

I myself am not a slutty hippie, but I have walked the fine line between hippie and mainstream for as long as I can remember. Way before it was popular to be “green”, I co-founded my Jr. High environmental group and later attended a college so liberal that hacky sacking was not just a sport—but earned you credits (not really, but you get what I mean).

Even as recently as the last few years I have been known to attract a few odd looks over how I do things with my children. I lean toward the mainstream side of things a little more these days, but the hippie is still in there, yes she is.

Some of my original blog followers may even remember a post I wrote about attending a barbecue with some hypocrite hippies. But I deleted it awhile back, I think. Because, well, sometimes I overshare. 😉

Anyway, today I’m blogging about my guilty pleasure–otherwise known as the music I hate to confess I  like.

Well, that and slutty hippies. The two are related. Trust me.

As a writer (and borderline hippie) you might expect that I’d be all deep and artsy and only into indie stuff. Turns out…I’m not. Most (but not all) indie stuff makes me yawn.

I tend to listen to music that fits with the current stories I’m writing. Not necessarily as “soundtracks”, as I know writers these days are fond of creating, but just music that fits the story/stories in some way.

Sometimes it’s the music itself or maybe just the artist or even just isolated lyrics. Oftentimes it’s a combination of the three.

That said—I am currently head-over-heals for my new favorite slutty hippie: Ke$ha

Don’t judge. After all, who doesn’t like a train wreck? (Though, funnily enough I do not like Brittney Spears. *shrug*)

Ke$ha’s debut album Animal caught my attention about a year or so ago. Its electronic dance vibe is slightly reminiscent of the electronic/dance/house style from the 80’s, set behind the digitally enhanced voice of a trashy, hot mess. What a combo, right?

PLUS (this is a true bonus for me because I have a queer obsession with reproductive things): I heard she wears her own placenta in a vial around her neck. Slutty hippie, right? 😉

Miss Ke$ha’s singing ability isn’t exactly the strongest element of her music (she’s assisted by a little auto-tune technology, I think) but I don’t think that’s news to anyone and I’m not sure it really matters.

It’s more about the package. And let’s face it, her shocking lyrics (nutshell=all things sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll related) would be NOTHING without the bass and drum machines behind them. Again, it’s about the package. Literally in some cases 😉

Anyway, Animal—good album. But it doesn’t hold a candle to her follow-up album Cannibal.

Animal—best songs:

Cannibal—best songs:

I even like her despite the fact that her lyrics are all pretty much the same (she really likes the word “glitter” for example).  And I even give her a special pass to use the dreaded D-bag word, which I usually abhor, because she uses it masterfully.  And, frankly, it is something a slutty hippie would say. At least according to my definition. And since I created the term, (I think?) I get to decide the vocab associated with it.

So, what story does this all relate to, you might be asking yourself?  My novel, currently titled Razor and Blades. The placenta necklace thing was the notion that gelled it for me.  Before I had even heard of Ke$ha, I was writing her.

In my novel her name is Edie.


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