New track, “Safari Entrepreneur”, from my good, mercurial friends in Lisbon, M.A.U., likes to fashion itself as a song out on the prowl. A lesser ear will  be fooled by the singer’s snarl, carried by a beat that clods like a foot heavy with swagger; but it’s not–it’s actually a heeled heel, wrapped in bloody gauze. The “Safari Entrepreneur” plods in the savannah alright, yet not as the king of the pride; but rather a humbled loner, whose only emotional mission is to fool himself long enough into believing that the trail of weak, red tears he’s percolating in droplets isn’t breadcrumbs for voracious prey.

The track’s obsessed with things that pounce with the force of gravity–a hammer, a panther–smacking one down to earth in one fell swoop. There’s the illusion that he can handle it, that he’s solid enough to withstand the force. But that’s all belied by the chorus exploding out of the verses with synths that burst like rays, like light violently dispersing into a million particles of untouchable feeling.

In exploiting that delicious dichotomy is where the track finds its strength. Because, yeah, you can say that all this means he wants to get caught, to get torn down and drawn and quartered by loving claws; but I don’t believe that for a fucking second. I think those bloody wounds are his vulnerability writ momentarily external, having a field day as it tries to peek its head out. Because vulnerability is a fool’s game when you still have so much grassland to mow, so many lands to momentarily conquer, wistfully whisking yourself away at the proper moment.

I don’t think the “Safari Entrepreneur” wants to get caught, because having his vulnerability torn apart at this moment means he’d never get back up. But he still can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be so fucking weak, if only for a moment.

Follow M.A.U. on Facebook and Soundcloud. Their music is always a dark pop revelation.

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