Upsetting Day: Icy Spicy Leoncie

Measuring success in a creative endeavor is a tricky thing. I’ve published, contributed to, or edited nine books, one of which was a New York Times Bestseller. I co-founded this website, which statistics tell me is in the top .5% of all Patreons. I’m one half of a podcast which statistics tell me is in the top .5% of all podcasts. I’m sure somewhere there are people who envy me and would give anything to have the success I’ve had. But if you ask me, I’m still struggling to make it. Every new work is a fight to get seen, another battle in a long war against obscurity that I worry I’m losing every single day. I have excuses - I just haven’t found my full potential audience, I haven’t cracked the work that will break me through, I can’t network, I’m bad at promotion and that’s a huge part of the job -- but ultimately there’s always this worry: I’m just not good enough. Any creative worker deals with that terror every single day.

Icy Spicy Leoncie has no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.

She’s a singer who sounds like the Swedish Chef being fed to a thresher, and she’s a dancer with moves like a broken thumb-push puppet. An Indian expat who’s been trying to kickstart a career for four decades across three countries, Icy Spicy Leoncie does it all: She writes, performs, choreographs, plays all of her own instruments, directs her own videos, and is her own relentless promoter. And if you told her she was bad at any one of those things she’d think you don’t speak English and formed that sentence by accident while trying to ask if she wanted a record deal in your native language.

There has never been a second of doubt in her life -- her life which should be nothing but entirely justified doubt -- and I am deeply envious of her. Again, if she read that last sentence, only the last six words would register and she would say “thank you, I assumed!”

She is, of course, wonderful.

Here’s one of her more tasteful and subtle joints:

You thought I was being sarcastic in that last sentence. You will come to regret that.

“Gay World” is a fun upbeat romp that sounds like hold music tried to start a solo career, which means it sounds exactly like every other Icy Spicy Leoncie song. This one’s mostly about her noticing that it’s a gay world, and being okay with that. She passes no judgment on gay men or women, she only repeatedly notices that they exist. Here’s a lyrical sample:

And here she is looking all around while she sings that, as if to illustrate the point: “I am taking in my surroundings, and what I am seeing are the gays.”

You know what? I love this. Too many songs have a thesis statement. Your Lady Gagas, maybe they’d rejoice at it being a gay world. Your Kid Rocks, they’d probably lament. Icy Spicy Leoncie is basically doing gay science here: Just observing gay through an impartial lens, and recording the results.

Plus she kind of looks like you asked Bret Michaels to draw Britney Spears from memory, and I love that.

Oh, and the bridge for “Gay World” goes like this:

These are wonderful facts, untainted by bias. She knows gay people exist, and that for some reason safe sex is important to them. That’s enough for a song!

This will be a recurring theme with Leoncie: Once she knows two things about something, it gets a song. Never less! But especially never more!

For “Wrestler,” she knows these two things: Triple H is a wrestler, and he is a bad man.

It’s just a fuckin’ good ol’ time guitar rally of a song, about nothing except that his name is Triple H and he hurts people. It’s so pure and simple there should be some kind of a law to protect it.

I’m not 100% positive she says “he likes to murderchain” but I choose to believe it, because it’s awesome, and I choose to believe in awesome things.

I am positive she said “his body’s always get into brawl!” and I choose to believe she meant it. Like she thinks Triple H is caught in an Upgrade scenario, terrified and apologetic for the awful things his body does to people, because he has no input in or control over the beef mech he’s trapped inside.

I believe that a work of art can be deeply flawed, but that if it kicks enough ass, you’re not legally allowed to count any of those flaws. “Wrestler” kicks so much ass that Leoncie rocks her titties straight out of her top and it doesn’t stop her from rocking.

She only caught one titty in editing! That means she spent hours splicing this together, saw half her other nipple out and thought “that is not enough titty to mind” and left it.

And it kicks so much ass that, legally speaking, I am not allowed to notice the only photo she could find, with no research, was Triple H in a newspaper article. I can’t even tell you she didn’t scan it, but took a picture of it with her phone. No court in the land would allow it when I point out this is what spirals onto screen as she says “TRIPLE H IS HIS NAME!” - him laying on the ground and grimacing alongside the classifieds.

She didn’t even cut out the picture! I can’t legally tell you that!

In her song “Vegetarian (No Cholesterol Ho!)” here are the two things she knows: Cholesterol is bad, and vegetables do not contain a lot of it.

You need to take me very literally: That is all she knows about vegetarians. Here are the lyrics-

She did not know that vegetarians don’t eat meat, or that they do eat ice cream and bread -- like I said: She found out two things about vegetarians, and she rushed to get the song out before a third fact could taint the process.

And you’re not allowed to be mad about that flaw, because here she is puffing on a celery cigar and saying “feelin’ really HOT!”

God that’s adorable. You could lipread her drunk through the wrong end of binoculars. A Freshman theater major would tell her to tone that shit down, but somehow she pulls it off.

“Wild American Sheriff” is a break in the pattern -- oh, she still only knows two things (sheriffs existed; they lived in the Wild West) -- but for the first time the musical arrangement doesn’t sound like something a Japanese toy Elvis would play when you drive over it. It’s more like a circus making fun of country music, but she tried to branch out. Give her credit.

It’s also weirdly flattering and sincere, which makes me think Leoncie probably started dating an American policeman around this time, and I’m so happy for this unlikely theoretical couple. I hope they fuck so loud he has to give them a ticket after.

Let’s get into Leoncie’s Dark Period -- every great artist has one. A spiral where they begin to lose confidence in, if not themselves, then the world. This is where their work changes the most, often in challenging ways that alienate their existing fanbase.

I’m kidding, of course. “Killer in the Park” is another high-energy romp about murderers in the park! She knows these two things: Sometimes killers can be found in parks, and Scotland Yard might be a police agency.

Here she is dressed like Scotland Yard!

You laugh, but that is the actual uniform of the London Metropolitan Police, and it is pure utility. The shiny plastic keeps the unending English damp at bay, the foam hat floats if you get lost in the fog and fall in the Thames, and the tiny tie is there to distract from the miniskirt.

Let’s throw it to the lyrics:

All London police hunt with nets, of course. That’s not a third thing she knows, it’s just a wild guess. The process remains untainted.

Look at that terrifying killer lurking in the park: judging by the belly and aviators, that’s the American cop she fell in love with! I am honestly rooting for this love to last with all my-

Fuck yes! I was right about everything!

Let’s try to guess what two things she knows about sex. I bet it’s penetration and smell!

Let’s check in on the lyrics to see how my favorite couple gets nasty-

This is heartbreaking. I hate to see her go through this, especially since she probably has to wear a ball gag at the grocery store to keep her from eating detergent pods. It’s like having to chase a dog off because you know the wilderness is better for it - you can try to explain, but this is a betrayal she will never be equipped to understand.

Lyrically it is a bitter bummer of a song, but you’re not allowed to be mad at that flaw -- because musically it’s like you pressed the demo button on every Casio in the music store and she throws it to this chorus-

Leoncie! You’re so hurt and heartbroken! But you accidentally made the pro slut-bangin’ banger of the summer! It’s so festive. It’s got kind of a Bagel Bites theme song vibe to it, like there’s just no bad time to bang sluts. You can have sluts anytime!

So Leoncie is a simpleton without an ounce of doubt in her soul who feels she’s owed success she will never see, and now she’s been betrayed. You know what happens next:

You know what? You’re not allowed to be mad at this one either, because she understands so little of politics it’s like a toddler liking Hitler because the little man is funny when he’s mad.

No I mean that literally: She loves Donald Trump because he makes her laugh-

Like look, here are the lyrics:

She just thinks he’s a party president, so she wrote a song about these two things: Big Orange Funny Man, and the demons he battles. That’s a Flaming Lips song! We have no legal recourse: The flaws of “Donald Trump Song” cannot be counted.

Maybe it’s… maybe it’s not so great that she names her albums things like:

But then gold titties and viking helmet! You can’t count it!

Fuck, I don’t even know anymore. Let’s do one more, leave this thing on a high note:

Oh no.

Surely this isn’t about exactly what I think it’s about-

All right. That’s… that’s something. That could be anything. This could be okay! This could be harmless! There’s probably some way this could kick so much ass you’d have to forgive-

Shit! She doesn’t understand! Somebody hold the cops back! Tell them she learned two things: Songs about boys are good; lots of music is for teens. She didn’t know what she was doing! Look, here’s how little she understands -- she went to a fucking mall and started singing this in public, having some kind of localized wink stroke while lip-syncing to pedophilia.

She didn’t notice the absolute revulsion on the faces of passerby as she thrusted and ground one out while crooning about a specifically teenage boy and specifically his penis. When they told her she should be ashamed, she said “thanks, I accept your record deal but you need to work on your English!” and when they started tasing her she took notes on new dance moves.

God damn it, Leoncie. Maybe...

Look, there’s never a way where it’s okay, but maybe if we see the teenage adonis that has driven her over the edge into self-destructive madness-

Okay, you’re allowed to be mad at this one.