RAMBLE ON: "Fire Bomb" by Rihanna

On February 8, 2009, international pop idol Rihanna was assaulted and hospitalized by her then-boyfriend Chris Brown after an argument that escalated into physical violence. The incident remains one of music’s most shocking moments, one of the biggest pop stars in the world committing a horrible crime against one of the other biggest pop stars in the world.  The incident not only changed the arc of her life, but also her career. “I felt like I went to sleep as Rihanna and woke up as Britney Spears,” she said afterward.  This would have been a horrible moment for anybody, but in Rihanna’s case it was compounded by the media circus. She couldn't pretend it didn't happen; it would have to be addressed publicly. At the time of her assault Rihanna’s biggest hit was “Umbrella,” a song whose hard beats belied its message, a sweet and heartfelt pledge of eternal companionship. She would rarely record a single that uncomplicated and innocent ever again. 

Nine months after the attack Rihanna released “Rated R,” her oddest, darkest record. She and her collaborators would not confirm the speculation that the album was about her assault, but the subtext is unavoidable; Rihanna was clearly not in a happy place, and the album is soaked in the fallout of trauma. She described the recording as “therapeutic,” but if so it was more helpful to her psyche than her career; unlike her previous record, the packed-with-hits “Good Girl Gone Bad,” “Rated R” stumbled out of the gate. The angst-ridden lead single “Russian Roulette” seemed to address the abuse, but too obliquely for her audience; the emotions were too muddy, the tone too dark, the metaphor too half-baked and confusing, and it quickly dropped off the charts. It was followed by the only real hits from that record, “Hard” and “Rude Boy,” which were almost defensive in their avoidance of the topic. Those two songs would set the aggressive, confident tone of Rihanna’s music from then onward; the best song on the album, meanwhile, was never made a single.

“Russian Roulette” ends abruptly with the sound of a gunshot -- a shockingly dark artistic decision, one of many that doomed it on the charts. Perhaps to counteract the implied suicide, the album then revs back to life, almost literally; the next song, “Fire Bomb,” starts with the sound of a chugging guitar riff, mimicking a running engine. “Fire Bomb,” like “Russian Roulette,” is also about suicide, but this song feels warmer, more fulfilling somehow. It might be because in the song she also murders Chris Brown.  

“Fire Bomb” is built around one simple image -- two cars smashing together, nose to nose, no survivors. It starts with a purring motor and it ends with the sounds of fire and sirens, and in between, the collision. “Can’t wait to see your face/When your front windows break/And I come crashing through,” she sings. No details are given to who she’s killing or why, leaving the listener to fill in the obvious gaps about what could have gone so wrong that it can only be repaid with violence. In other parts of the song, she blames “the world” for tearing them apart, but it’s not the world she wants to demolish and burn. In the devastating bridge, Rihanna cries “Baby we were killin’ ‘em,” grieving for everything that could have been. 

So it’s a revenge fantasy, but this isn’t “Goodbye Earl” or “Before He Cheats”; there’s no triumph in it. What there is is catharsis, relief. “I just want to set you on fire so I won’t have to burn alone”; she doesn't want to be alone. It’s a breakup song, and in its own way a love song. “The only thing left for me and you is to go out blazing.” There can't be a reconciliation, not after what happened; this is the closest thing to a happy ending the two of them can have together.

And then the cars smash together, head-on. Tarantino’s “Death Proof” has a scene like that; that movie also namechecks “Dirty Mary Crazy Larry,” which also ends with the two outlaw lovers dying in a fiery crash. “We were criminals,” sings Rihanna. All the great outlaw movies end with death, often in a car. It’s a cinematic image. It’s a cinematic ending. 

But it’s not real. “I just want to set you on fire”; the words “I want” make it clear that this is just a fantasy. Rihanna kills Chris Brown, and the credits roll; she gets closure. “Closure” isn’t real either, according to experts. A violent death is in its own way more satisfying a response to trauma than what you get in reality; in the real world, you just fucking deal with it for the rest of your fucking life. As storytelling, it’s unsatisfying; it needs an ending. Rihanna wrote herself the resolution she wouldn’t get in real life. 

But Rihanna did move on regardless. About “Fire Bomb,” she’s said she was saddened that it never became a single, but judging by the YouTube results she hasn’t performed it live since 2010. About Chris Brown, Rihanna apparently addressed everything she intends to with (the vastly inferior) “We Found Love” and has rarely touched anything that personal again; after ending her ill-considered reunion with Brown in 2012, she seems to have shut the door on that time in her life for good. In truth I found most everything she released between “Rated R” and her rightly-praised “ANTI” disappointing, even as she racked up hit after hit. She doesn’t have to publicize her personal therapy for anyone’s benefit, of course, but there was definitely something missing in her early 2010s work that had been there previously. Rihanna also conceded that “Fire Bomb” didn’t have the most positive message, which may have been another reason why it wasn’t a single, but she said the song was honest. It was indeed, honest in a way that most artists never reach.