In my mind the golden era of genie songs existed in the mid-60’s ruled by three female vocalists adorned in pink puff pants and halter tops singing their hearts out on a Poly-fil cloud with a smoke machine crammed underneath. It wasn’t until the early 70’s when the culture got tired of women trapped in lamps that they disbanded and in a typical drug-fueled frenzy, Carol, the lead vocalist and sassiest of the three, was found dead in her Los Angeles swimming pool the same day ‘I Dream of Genie’ was canceled.
Unfortunately, like Shazaam, this wealth of 60’s genie lore is an illusion. There’s the Gene Pitney song, “Aladdin’s Lamp” a tale of a boy yearning to be married but then you have to scrounge through half-hearted references and throw-away lines all the way to Rockwell’s 1986 “Genie of Love”, a forgettable slog through the genie metaphors we’ve come to know, love and then abhor. Doing his best Prince impersonation he sings such memorable lines as:
All you gotta do is rub me Rub me right, babe Rub me, right, babe, Rub me, rub me right babe, rub me, yeah
(Note: Some “rub me” and “babe’s” were removed for clarity and flow)
It wasn’t until 1999 that the music industry answered the age-old question, “can we sexualize teens anymore?” with a resounding “yes” and “Genie in a Bottle” was wished into existence with a gyrating mid-riffed Christina Aguilera, who also expressed an interest in her lamp being rubbed, albeit with a laundry list of stipulations.
The song is steeped in sexual innuendo but doesn’t hold a candle to the 1940’s king of softening sex, Wynonie Harris, whose catalog contains such hits as “Lollipop Mama”, “I like my baby’s pudding” as well as the subtle but still relevant “Keep on Churning Till the Butter Comes Out”. If you think this kind of song is particular to men, “Slow Rollin’ Mama” by Lavern Baker offers instructions on how she likes her dough pounded and her cake baked, not to mention what she wants you to do with that rolling pin.
Given our rich cultural history of over-the-top sex talk in music, you might be surprised to know that “Genie in the Bottle” caused controversy when it was released. The previous year, a sixteen-year-old Brittney had asked us to ‘hit her one more time’ as she danced in soft focus wearing a catholic schoolgirl outfit that would’ve immediately got her suspended and then soon after an 18-year-old Christina was talking about how she likes her lamp polished. Needless to say there were lots of frowning parents wondering if the next hit song would be “I want to have sex now” by ‘The Topless Teens’.
I’m not here to relitigate the controversy, but it’s worth knowing that was swirling in the ether. The song does center around the thorny issue of when a teenager can decide they’re ready to have sex, a topic so fraught most people won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. But not Christina. She wants to touch it. A lot. Which brings us to the first verse:
I feel like I've been locked up tight for a century of lonely nights waiting for someone to release me.
One way to interpret this is “I’m lonely and I want to get laid” and maybe this is what she meant, but the unintended metaphorical implication is that The Self is a Prisoner Inside Itself. Let me explain. Christina is trapped in a genie lamp flopping on a bed of pillows furiously texting in her curvy gold prison. But Christina is also the lamp. This might sound strange but it’s similar to the religious conception of a soul, that the true essence of a person, the softer-inner-personal self, is locked in the body, which is often thought of as the outer-hardened-protective self. The soul can be freed by death, by insight into the true nature of reality, or in Christina’s case, by a boy who can apply the correct amount of friction.
However comfy it might be lamp-living can only contain a horny teen for so long. It’s a small world after all, especially if you’re trapped in your parent’s house, and typically teens are interested in making their world a little bit bigger. Establishing new relationships can be the key to opening up new worlds, and as we get closer to freedom, we expand in a space that is not expanding with us, thus the captivity is described as ‘tight’.
In Christina’s case being in prison doesn’t mean she’s going to hightail it with the first person that comes along. She’s choosy, which is what makes this metaphor complex. Christina’s a choosy prisoner. She’s deciding who she wants to be freed by which, if we care about precedent, is a very ungenie-like behavior. This discernment is more reminiscent of a female bird, the argus pheasant for instance, who inspects potential mates then picks one that has the correct placement of glowing orbs on their tailfeathers, or you know, whatever you’re into.
You're lickin' your lips And blowing kisses my way
Speaking of animalistic urges, it’s possible this guy has chapped lips and is trying and failing to lubricate them, but I’d suspect this line is a reference to beasts hunting their prey. Before they eat, an animal salivates in anticipation of its hunger being satiated, as does this boy, who after seeing Christina might as well be hitting himself over the head with his shoe. “Hungry like a wolf” and “Hungry Eyes” extrapolates the mapping between our insatiable appetite for food and sex, the reason someone has a ‘sweet’ face and a ‘juicy’ ass, but let’s save further elaboration for a song with more meat on its bones.
But that don't mean I'm gonna give it away
This line could be in reference to virginity which has a number of different conceptualizations, one of them being a gift (I gave my virginity to him). It can also be thought of as an object you lose like your keys (I lost my virginity last night) in which case retracing your steps and remembering the last place you had it will not be helpful. ‘Giving’ also points to the rich metaphors of sexual economics and is further emphasized later with:
If you wanna be with me Baby, there's a price to pay
How much could it cost? $5? People often revert to economic metaphors when there’s fear of exploitation, but the price she’s referring to isn’t an envelope of cash, such as Jerry’s $182 gift to Elaine, but a desire for an amount (and type) of effort.
You gotta make a big impression Gotta like what you do
She wants to be impressed. She has this thing of value (sex) and she’s deciding who she wants to give it to, and so blowing kisses isn’t going to cut it. You need an equally valuable act that vindicates the value of her…what’s another v-word? Figuring out value across domains is a hard problem! How many loads of laundry is putting in a new alternator worth? How many meals is cleaning the gutters? There’s quite a bit of ambiguity and it’s no different with discerning how much effort and attention makes someone “worth it”.
My body's sayin' let's go But my heart is sayin' no
Here we have another major metaphorical conceptualization - the divided self. We cut the body into pieces and place a different part of ourselves in differing parts of the body. Our rational-logical-thinking-self goes in the brain. Our loving-intimate-emotional-self goes in the heart, and our carnal-sweaty-slutty-self goes in the body. We use the divided self because we have the experience of not feeling completely in control of our decision-making, which is why people say things like, “I can’t stop myself,” an odd statement when you think about it, but made much clear when we conceptualize ourselves as divided into parts that work against us.
If we roll this metaphor into all that’s come before we have: an expanding self trapped in a confined space that can’t get out unless someone releases it. As it grows, things become tighter and the self is forced into a decision as to who will free it, but it’s divided among competing forces that battle over who can be the decider. Much like a Facebook relationship ‘it’s complicated’.
I'm a genie in a bottle You gotta rub me the right way
Anyone who’s pet a cat knows what it means to rub someone the wrong way, and if I said, “He was tight-lipped but I massaged an answer out of him,” you’d understand what I meant. Massaging and rubbing and loosening up are ways we talk about a more relaxed vibe. There’s an anxiety to social interaction, and when it’s felt intensely, our muscles bind up and our limbs tighten. Just as we brace for a hit when someone’s about to punch us in the face, we also brace for rejection, disappointment and betrayal. We hold that tension in our body and if we’re made to feel more comfortable we can release it. We become looser, either by alcohol or acceptance, and in this state, rightly or wrongly, we feel more free, more flexible, more ourselves.
No one ‘rubs us the right way’ though. The expression is ‘he rubbed me the wrong way’ which may be because it’s a lot easier to ruffle some feathers. The exotic bird’s piercing eye of discernment is attuned to errors in the formula of what it finds attractive. That glowing orb on the tip of his tail feather is slightly too exaggerated. Next! What this points to is that it may not be, “he rubbed me the right way” so much as “he didn’t rub me the wrong way”.
If you pack up the car and are about to take a trip, the primary question is “where are we going?” It would be strange to ask, “but how do we know when we get there?” and yet this is one of the central conceits for thinking about orgasms as destinations. We are sometimes unaware of where are partner is on their journey and so it’s helpful if they let us know how close they are to arriving. “I’m coming” is simply saying, “We’re here!” How else would you know when to unpack the van and get the snacks out?
In the end it’s worth asking, “Is all that you’ve described actually in the song?” Yes and no. The root metaphorical structures are there. I’ve elaborated on them in ways Christina might not have thought of, and I’ve compounded metaphors in ways that don’t necessarily follow. The Divided Self and The Self as a Prisoner are two separate structures that don’t have to interact, but it’s much more fun when they do. Regardless, what I hope I’ve shown is that however inane a song is at first glance, you can glean complexity through it in ways that are surprising. All you have to do is learn a little cognitive linguistics, make yourself comfortable, turn the lights down low, squeeze your attention down to a fine point, and then, with the appropriate amount of pressure, rub one out.
