So if you didn't eat enough for Thanksgiving, here's another Beyoncé video to stuff in your belly somewhere (is this the seventh video this year? No. 9? No. 9 million? I've lost track). The song's called "Dance For You," which is on the deluxe edition of her album, 4, and the video sort of looks like Sin City: Beyoncé, except in a classic noir-style twist the video is not sexy and has no sexy dancing at all. Haha. Kidding! It's all sexy and has lots of sexy dancing. No surprises!
I'm not sure what your current appetite for Beyoncé is — I feel nauseous-and-pregnant full at the moment — but I'd say with this clip, and the overall volume of her recent output, she's drifting dangerously close to self-parody.
Yet on the other hand, in the video's Youtube comments someone wishes they were a chair. Which I can appreciate the sentiment. But, awww, what happens when your one big wish in life is granted and now Beyoncé is grinding her hips all over you. Yay! Unfortunately, now, you're a chair. Oh no! Worse still: after the sexy dancing comes the pregnant mommy farts. And Beyoncé has to leave so as not to be associated with bad smells. AGGHHH. WHAT DID I WISH FOR??!?!?! I bet this guy didn't think that far ahead. And now you’re a used-up chair that smells like dance-sweat and farts who no one cares about anymore. Sad face.
But even if this video is a little blah, and we suffer from Beyoncé overload during the holidays and get turned off (a la Lady Gaga), she still has the great big baby trump card to play which will eradicate haters and temporarily replenish all her karmic life-energy force like a magical elixir in a video game I don't play. So this is fine for a holding pattern. It’s sort of like missionary position for sexy music videos. Fine, sexy, yes, grind grind, is good. Thank you. Cheers. NOW CAN I SEE THE BABY WHO WILL RULE US ALL?
Patrice Evans is a Grantland staff writer. Check out his (excellent) book Negropedia: The Assimilated Negro's Crash Course on the Modern Black Experience. And for more on TAN, see his Q&A with The New Yorker.