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About 13 months ago, Anna-Catherine Hartley turned 18. She was nobody—a Miami-born, design-school wannabe living in Paris, dreaming of being a ballerina. One year later she’s Uffie—Ed Banger Record’s hottest chick, touring Europe, playing across Australia, the US and Mexico. She even opened for Pharrell in Tokyo. And it’s all happened so fast—fast even for this potty-mouthed, hard-drinking, electro/rap teenage princess who’s ready to fuck. How do we know she’s ready? ’Cause that’s what she spits on the chorus of her first attention-galvanizing single with all the subtlety of hot pink panties. Then came “Pop the Glock” with its vocoderized swirling vocals and skeletal beat. Before you could say “buzz,” she had a global network of fans rivaling any underground superstar. Uffie, of course, was born.

When Uffie answers her cellphone from her Paris flat, she sounds kinda loaded. “I’m actually drinking wine and smoking cigarettes,” she says, her voice laughing across eight time zones. “Actually I’m on like my 3rd bottle of wine. At least now you’ll get honest answers.”

As it turns out, our pop superstar is knee-deep in a very un-superstar moment. Her father’s in town from Istanbul—sort of a surprise visit—and there’s familial static in the air. And to cope, she’s decided to take on the aid of France’s best Cabernet grapes. “I’m actually a little nervous, because I haven’t seen him in like months and he’s super pissed at me for some weird reason. He’s with my girlfriends in the other room and they’re all completely shit-faced, and he’s had all this caviar and vodka, so they’re all quite drunk. It’s a bit weird.”

So what’s with the parental tension, you may ask? Well, there’s the little thing that happened a couple weeks back when she tried to tour Brazil, but ended up getting kicked out instead—deported actually—because she didn’t listen to good ol’ dad’s advice and get her British passport. Americans need visas to travel to Brazil, but Brits don’t. And although she’s American, her parents are both English—which means she could apply for British passports and circumvent all this bureaucratic bullshit. And her dad just found out his little girl was escorted home on the plane by two armed Brazilian soldiers. Just how did the old man find out about her transgressions, though—did her mom give her away? He read it in the papers? Through an underground cabal of international spies?

“He read my blog,” she moans. “The one time he checks up on my career, it says: ‘I got kicked out of Brazil because I’m American!’ And he’s like, ‘You’re supposed to have an English passport by now!’ So we’re not quite talking about it, but I can feel that tension.”

So I guess that’s the dilemma for the modern progeny: to blog or not to blog. A mere decade ago, the only refuge for a pimple-splotted teenager’s inane thoughts was a diary—a small book easily tucked away under a porn stash. Nowadays, thanks to mankind’s bottomless need to broadcast every insipid thought, a tech-versed adult can find out all that’s going on in his kid’s universe just by typing up MySpace.

“Yeah! The one time your parents show interest, it’s when you’re deported?!” exclaims Uffie with a tinge of slur in her voice. “I was like, God damn, what is my luck?! Apparently they do Google us!”

Oh well. It’s not all bad in Uffie’s world. When she’s not touring the globe, Hartley’s been sequestered in the studio with her boyfriend, Feadz, who also happens to be an Ed Banger artist and accomplished DJ on his own right. Mr. Oizo, another Ed Banger and the producer of “Pop the Glock,” has been sharing mixing board duties. And although Uffie freely admits her skyrocketing career is one which she fell into out of circumstance (after laying down some lyrics which became “Pop…”), it’s not one she’s taking lightly. “It was never my dream. But I realize this doesn’t happen to everyone—I’m incredibly lucky. Fuck this—I can drink and party for a living?! But at the same time, it’s twice the pressure ’cause everyone’s waiting for what’s next.”

So now it’s time to get serious, to hole up in that studio with her boyfriend and bang out some beats. Which can be difficult at times—such as during the Brazil debacle, after which she wanted to kill Feadz for staying in São Paolo instead of heading back to Europe with her.

“I didn’t want to go home and hear him bitching. He’s a sweet guy, but he can bitch like motherfucking anyone,” she laughs of her Parisian boy. “So I was like, ‘Hmmmm, why don’t you stay here [in Brazil], I’ll go home and get completely wasted in London, and go on a major binge. And I’ll just forget this ever happened, and when we get together we can both be happy! And it quite worked out, actually.” There’s a short pause over the telephone line.

“Except for my parents reading it on my blog.”

Sidebar:

SHOPPING AROUND BLVD. DE COURCELLES

If I am not at home or working, then I will be found frying my credit card around Blvd. de Courcelles. There are some fun vintage stores here. I also like checking little stores near Etienne Marcel such as Kiliwatch.

WHSMITH

248, Rue de Rivoli

whsmith.fr

I am a book fanatic and this is my favorite spot to pick up some English books and mags. Plus it’s right
next to a great cafe (the only place in Paris I know of to find bagels!) Perfect to meet some friends for a couple Kir pêche.

REX CLUB

5 Blvd Poissoniere. 75002 Paris
Compared to Paris Paris (a much more VIP club), Rex is more techno/electro. Drinks are expensive, ooo yes. Hence the getting ready and wasted before going out. If the crowd is bangin’ then you will be there past dawn. You can fit a couple hundred people. Sometimes it’s packed but you don’t want to experience that; drunks spilling, stepping on you, and all that lovely stuff ruin your shoes, clothes and vibes. The rex club recently re did their sound system and it definitely made a massive difference.