Checking in on a 2013 Amnesty Week favourite…
[Video][Website]
[6.83]
Jonathan Bogart: Things have changed a lot since 2011, when Titica’s first kuduro bangers started making waves in Luanda dancehalls; not only has kuduro undergone several waves of popularity and transformation, but her visibility as a trans woman feels more urgent and necessary than ever. “Você Manda Fogo” is her clearest pop move yet, a sexy kizomba (Afro-Luso r&b) stomper that brings to mind such Stateside grooves as “I’m a Slave 4 U” or “Promiscuous” (or maybe that’s just the video triggering slick-bodied associations). The title translates as “you bring fire,” but the repeated chorus, “você me manda,” is, literally, “you send me”. Going strictly off YouTube views, it’s not been nearly as big a hit as any of her kuduro singles, which suggests that maybe the broader pop audience isn’t as willing to accept a trans woman as a focal point for romantic reverie as the dance audience is to accept her as a focal point for shaking ass. Which isn’t particularly surprising, no matter how utopian I’d like to believe pop can be — visibility does not mean acceptance.
[9]
Micha Cavaseno: Funny to hear a song meant to be romantic with such a sour bassline and a shoulder-check of a slump in it.
[7]
Brad Shoup: The video version is pure erotic thrall (and that’s even discounting the behunk’d visuals). On the record, she’s more of a party director, stitching the bars to the major-key backing vocals. The synths buzz like a minor headache and there’s some chickenscratch sequencing, but mostly it’s Titica and the drums, both dancing lightly.
[7]
Alfred Soto: The spare beat and honking synth pushes the Angolan singer into ever more becoming insinuations until she’s riding the beat.
[7]
Will Adams: The hulking beat serves a strong foundation, and Titica gives a raucous performance, but that chorus falls flat. Too much reliance on multi-tracked vocals and not enough on a compelling hook.
[5]
Jessica Doyle: One of the things I love about Titica’s singles is how tactile they are. “Don’t Touch Me” had a cool glide to it, the feel of early evening air, and “Motema Nangay” is a bubble bath rendered in sound. This, while a little more limited than those two, feels like the beginning of a bout of rough sex, mutually enthusiastically entered into.
[6]