Alright, so-that last M.I.A. record was ace, especially for the half-year between the promo copies being released and the rest of the united nation of dance party caning catching on. Arular was a fantastic summer record, ideal for windows-down cruising during the humid afternoons and balmy evenings of the south. The sound was exactly what the summer needed-a jeep-rattling, electrofied Baile Funk that, for all her protests to the contrary,didn’t smarten up anything. Rather, the oft-grating, always-violent Brazillian stew of Drum n Bass, electro and murderous blood lust was reformed via the Gospel According To Hollertronix: a reading from the letter of Diplo to the ‘mericans.

And it worked. Oh, it worked. If you’re savvy enough to read Res, I don’t need to tell you how it worked. I say “blaze a blaze”, you say “galangalang”. I say any various city’s name, you tell me to “quieten down”. I say “bongo”, you inevitably respond with something that rhymes with “Columbo”.

Granted, the subsequent “hey-I’m-touring-whoops-I’m-not-wait-here-I-is” inaugural M.I.A. tour found Maya parting ways with Diplo, playing to crowds of kids so up on their dance shit that the onslaught of “Galang” hadn’t yet hit the Ford commercials. When I saw her in Athens, GA at the 40Watt, she basically walked from one end of the stage to the other, rapping on top of “Pon De Replay”. I was drunk. And sweaty. Hot girls (also drunk comma sweaty) were dancing with me. It was bliss.

Somewhere along the way, the impossible/inevitable happened-this Sri Lankan firebomber (I mean musically) caught the ears and car systems of Joe WhiteKid. Diplo’s mission, a bit watered-down but present nontheless, was accomplished-your little sister was skipping around, picking flowers in a sun dress, humming “what can you get for ten dollar?/anyting ya wan’”. Life was pretty much beautiful.

But then…it didn’t stop. Years passed, remixes happened, and still no one would let those Arular tracks go, even after they’d been made moot (and sounded oddly outdated-the problem of a sound, a record, making its’ summer stamp). It became something of a running joke for us at Res-it was common to go to a very certain Dance party here in Atlanta and here the same M.I.A. song twice, even three times, within the same hour set, leading the following rule to be instituted in regards to DJing at the old Res offices:

She went away. Had some visa problems (didn’t care; cared when it happened to Ellen Allien, though). Regrouped. And now, like…something that returns…she’s back.

M.I.A.’s new album, Kala, trades the rapid-fire Baile Funk for something a little more…tribal. Actually, a lot more tribal. Actually, nothing BUT tribal permeates the pervasive mood of Kala -and it’d be a lot easier to digest and formulate an opinion on if not for her utter desire to continually give a big fuck-off to everything that made Arular.

What do I mean? Read the riot act she wrote in blood for Pitchfork (a site that I’d normally pee on, but really this poor kid got more than expected from the other end of M.I.A.)

“I find it kind of insulting that I can’t have any ideas on my own because I’m a female, or that people from undeveloped countries can’t have ideas of their own unless it’s backed up by someone who’s blond-haired and blue-eyed.”

You can read the rest of the now-infamous (only took 24 hours) rant from M.I.A. to the world here. My emotions, having read the interview after two spins of Kala , basically resulted in an utter desire to shake her, in a very fierce manner, and inquire to whatever forces are at work within her to tell me, that writer, everyone pretty much, exactly who it was that MADE her last album?

Last time I checked, production linear notes go to Diplo. Diplo championed what that sound was. And, though she only did one song here on Kala with Timbaland, his sound’s a bit too evident for comfort (unless, of course, credited producer Switch is just lazy. I’d buy that.).

This has nothing to do with M.I.A.’s gender, or the fact that I have blue eyes and blonde hair (oh, wait, I don’t)-it has to do with the fact that, after a long silence and bit too much Wolf/Allen-esque MyspaceBlog blather (though she gets major props for saying Diplo was too busy “saving strippers in Brazil”, that kinda goes with the image I have of him in my head and I enjoy when my mental creations are confirmed), M.I.A.’s comin’ back with…anger anger.

It’d be different if Kala made any sort of noticeably cohesive musical statement outside of “tribal drums are cool, kids”. I mean, buried within the grating attempts at aping Mu’s “crackheadconscience” stance of nail-biting synth lines and stomping low-end beats (Mu’s “Paris Hilton” was the record Maya was too scared to make) are some socially conscious call-to-arms…I, uh, think?

I mean, the first album’s “$10″ had lyrics that read like an attempt at shocking into action:
“need visa? got with a geezer
need some money? paid ‘im with ‘er knees up”

but did anyone really pay attention? Given the attitude that she’s copping, M.I.A. apparently thinks she was something more than a summer fling that the Indie Dance Party kids kept around a little too long.

M.I.A.: Boyz

“Boyz”, the first “official” single (what does that mean anymore, anyway?) from Kala, may, uh…be about jungle horniness…or about Bush….or about…um…fuck it. To steal a line from Chris Rock, “it’s got a good beat”. And it does-it’s catchy and eruptive, but still sounds like Timbaland.

M.I.A. ft Afrikan Boy: Hussel

The closest to a social conscience Maya’s come-and it’s all brought via Afrikan Boy, whose chopped, processed vocals end up hammering home his message-”think it’s tough now? Move to Africa”.

M.I.A.: $20

Not…really..a sequel to the song from the first record-rather, just an opportunity to hear Maya try out some new musical trip-tricks, and also nick a chorus from The Pixies (though she’s probably gunning for my ass for insinuating she didn’t write that).

So what am I getting at? Good question, and it’s just this:

Think back to how you felt when you discovered that The Darkness was a band who demanded to be taken seriously. That’s where M.I.A.’s current anger at everyone and everything who wrote a damn thing about Arular is putting me. And she’s making it a feminist issue, as well-another no-no to me.

The “Bird Flu” video. Poultry is Political.

Anyway-help me resolve this inner turmoil and make up my mind. It’s hard not to define M.I.A. by her producers, by her former sound, by her current stuff, without affixing labels, names, terms she obviously wants to shirk. But, at the same time…

M.I.A.? You may have come back with Fire Fire Pow Pow Ba Na Na, but…you haven’t changed the world.