Since the return of the redoubtable head of the French people to Paris, I have been no less amused by his ill-digested boastings and swaggerings, than I was before delighted by the complete discomfiture of his ambitious plans.
When the staccato, Neptunes-ian single “Boyfriend” was released in March, musical prognosticators were quick to peg the album it portended, Believe, as Justin Bieber’s Justified, a grown-and-sexy, R&B-centric departure that evolved millennial teenybopper Justin Timberlake into one of the unifying pop-music figures of the aughts.
And four years after Pep from Catalonia first clapped eyes on Phil from Stockport across a crowded rondo, here finally was the consummation.
We must then clear our minds of all notion that the hoplolatry of the Greeks implies anthropomorphism.
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DiQt
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