Pop The Glock

I was completely hung up on Uffie before I moved to Berlin. Just stupid with it, the kind of infatuation that makes you mishear lyrics—I thought Pop The Glock was literally about fucking a clock. The song stuck in my head, breathy and hypnotic, and I couldn’t shake it.

Years later, it’s the end of 2009 and she’s still singing that same song. Or singing it again, which feels different somehow. Sara and I have this joke that maybe Uffie just doesn’t have anything else, or maybe this one’s got so much gravity that nothing else matters. Either way, Ed Banger finally made a video for it, and it actually landed. Sexy, neon, completely unhinged. The whole thing’s got DNA from Sébastien Teller’s Kilometer—that same sense of things being too bright and too much—mixed with Fratelli’s Flathead. It’s a video that earns the song being as loud as it is in your brain.

But watching it pull her out of the underground bothers me. The video’s excellent, and yeah, more people hearing her should be good. Except there’s always that moment when something you found—something that felt like it was just yours—suddenly belongs to everyone. You know it won’t fix anything, but you go along with it anyway. That’s what I feel about this, not regret exactly, but something unresolved. The video’s great. It’s the machinery of making her bigger that worries me.