web analytics

Pop Rock Nation

Blog

  • Common Says “Screw This Conscious Stuff, I’m Going to the Club…”

    What goes up must come down, they say. Chicago emcee Common peaked in 2005 with the hit album Be. It was a critical and commercial high water mark for the rapper, who’d toiled in the underground for over a decade. I’d imagine watching less talented rappers sell more records than you gets kind of frustrating. He followed Be up last year with Finding Forever, which seemed like a faded carbon copy of Be. Common just didn’t sound hungry anymore. His rhyming, once widely acknowledged as among the best in hip-hop, had become lazy and tired, as the production became shinier and poppier than ever before. The choruses of “sellout” became louder and louder with each play of the album, which hasn’t aged particularly well. Despite all that (and very possibly because of the goodwill that his previous album generated), Finding Forever became Com’s first Number One album and also won him a Grammy.

    I guess after mining the same musical and topical territory, Common decided that it was time for a change? Because Universal Mind Control is definitely not the Common that you’re used to. Apparently while hanging out in Europe, Common got the idea to make an album of music that would get some bang in the clubs instead of the coffee shops. You could hear the collective groan across the hip-hop nation when this was announced. The groans got louder when it was announced that the album would be largely produced by The Neptunes, a production outfit that’s known for shiny, poppy club anthems. I, like many other Common fans, picked this album up with a great deal of trepidation.

    So, here’s the deal. Universal Mind Control isn’t the travesty I thought it was gonna be. The production sound is definitely different-The Neptunes (with talented half Chad Hugo thankfully on board) have given Common the least organic sound of his career. Synthesizers are out in full force, giving much of the album a pumped-up, adrenalized sound, while the rest of the album is moody and spacey. These moodier songs come across as almost like a second cousin to Kanye West’s 808s & Heartbreak, only minus the heartache and Auto-tune.

    That said, the album is still a bit of an ill fit. The man can still rip a track the way he used to-check out the feverish Gladiator if you don’t believe me, but there are times when Common’s rhyme style just doesn’t fit properly with the club-friendly production. There are also several songs on which he sounds like he’s phoning it in, and strangely, they’re almost all sex/love songs. Now, coming from the man who’s written some of the warmest, most inviting love songs in the hip-hop genre (The Light, Love of My Life, Star 69 (P.S. with Love)), hearing trash like Punch Drunk Love and the God-awful Sex 4 Suga is quite disconcerting. This is especially since I was expecting the songs to have great rhyming over crappy production, when I actually wind up with crappy rhyming over pretty decent production. I must say, Pharrell and Chad are more or less on their “A” game throughout the album. Skateboard P even rips Common with a tight verse on Announcement, although he almost loses me when he compares his penis to a Blow Pop. I’ll never look at grape suckers with gummy centers the same way again.

    There are times when a less complex Common actually works-like on the album’s caffeinated title track, an obvious homage to Afrika Bambaataa’s Planet Rock. Towards the album, on songs like Changes and Inhale, he even starts to sound like the old Common again, but he wastes a gorgeous vocal from Tricky sidekick Martina Topley-Bird and some excellent drum ‘n bass-inspired production from Mr. DJ (of OutKast fame) on the album’s closing track, Everywhere. That’s one song that would have been better without Common at all.

    I’m all for change. Hey, I’m the guy who thinks Kanye’s trip into Radiohead territory has resulted in one of the best albums of 2008. However, some people are meant to stay in one lane and one lane only. Common is at his best when rhyming over hard-hitting hip-hop or thoughtful, soulful production. The electro-hop sound that permeates the majority of Universal Mind Control just isn’t a good look for him. While there are a handful of decent songs on this album, I don’t know that I can recommend an album like this knowing it’s from the same artist that gave us masterpieces like Be and Electric Circus. Something tells me that Common needs to get off of Hollywood’s Johnson and return home to Chicago for a little dose of reality, which seems to be his best muse.

  • The Coldplay/Satriani Conundrum

    So I’m sure that you’ve all heard that guitar virtuoso Joe Satriani is suing Coldplay, contesting that their #1 hit “Viva La Vida” sounds like his “If I Could Fly”. Plagiarism suits have been commonplace in the music industry since at least the early Seventies. Remember the “My Sweet Lord”/”He’s So Fine” dustup? (actually, I wasn’t born yet, so I don’t). In the Nineties, the plagiarism suit hit a couple of my favorites. Michael Jackson was sued for lifting a minute and a half of a classical recording on his hit “Will You Be There” and not giving credit. Sister Janet and Des’ree had a little issue with Janet’s “Got ’til it’s Gone” having a similar melody to Des’ree’s “Feel So High”. And our very own NKOTB were accused of stealing “I’ll Be Your Everything” from Percy Sledge-Sledge lost, by the way. If I was Percy, I’d have spent more time suing Michael Bolton for fucking up my signature song).

    Anyway, the two songs have obvious similarities, but it begs the question: with only so many available notes and chord progressions and melodies in the world, wouldn’t it stand to reason that there would be songs that sound similar to one another? It’s entirely feasible that Coldplay had no idea the Satriani song existed, and if they did, they’re idiots because they should’ve known that Satriani would find out and sue. However, I’m surprised there aren’t more songs out there that just by coincidence wind up sounding like other songs.

    Here are the two songs: what do you think?

  • You Think She’s Crazy? She’s Got Your Crazy! I Love This Crazy! Britney’s Circus

    What a difference a year makes in the life of Britney Spears. It’s almost impossible to conceive that at this time last year, the pop princess career was a sad, sick joke of a thing – her ability to sell records apparently inextricably linked to her ability to make tabloid headlines.  Her 2007 album Blackout was essentially the house that TMZ footage built and her pathetic appearance on that year’s VMA broadcast has become legendary for its sheer godawfulness.  But in 2008, just in time for her 27th birthday, Britney’s already back with her sixth album Circus – another cheeky title that suggests she’s well aware of what people say about her, and totally prepared to own it and bend it to her will.  (And, yes, she seems to say - because a lot of folks wouldn’t believe her - she actually has one of her own.)

    As with all of her previous records, it would be easiest to dismiss Britney’s latest album as the latest segment of a written-as-it-happens VH-1 Behind the Music special.  The songs sound autobiographical, but they were all written by the expensive hired help, who, we might imagine, are just as eager as Britney to make their own mark on what exactly it is to be Britney Spears.  And Circus arrives with a readymade storyline and a set of talking points that Britney and her handlers (including her family) have been oh-so-willing to deliver in various televised outlets with the kind of zealous discipline even the most seasoned politician could be proud of.  The message being that Britney knows that her life has been a publicly staged trainwreck for the last few years, but now she’s back, she’s in control, she’s calling the shots, and that the tabloids need her more than she needs them (a direct reversal from last year, when a sleeve note thank you to the National Enquirer would have seemed in order).  Nevermind about that conservatorship.  And oh yeah, she loves being a mom.

    All of this, of course, comes sweetened with a heaping tablespoon of “Superstar!” hubris – the new album’s song “Kill the Lights” opens up with a radio announcer promoting Britney from the rank of pop princess to Queen of Pop.  But the unexpected and, frankly, pretty miraculous thing about Circus is just how irrelevant all those talking points and all that braggadocio become in the face of the music itself.  And that starts with the album’s lead single.

    Where Blackout‘s opening single “Gimme More” functioned mainly as a tonic for the Britney-starved (and, resultantly, died a quick death on the charts after a surging debut), Circus actually opens with a genuine hit in the form of “Womanizer”, the sort of unshakable pop single that made Britney famous to begin with – a song with all the hooky, turbo-charged tenacity of a Chihuahua puppy just discovering the power of its own unleashed genitalia, all pink and rocket-shaped and shameless.  If “Gimme More” was a mirage of what fascinated us (musically speaking) about Britney, “Womanizer” is the real deal, repetitive to the extreme, but with a feral sense of sexual vengeance, all set to Blade Runner sound effects, wailing Star Trek sirens, flashy fluorescents and hot pink neon, a pornographic video arcade in song.

    Britney’s voice is, as always, punishingly digitized, but the song’s motor runs on a seemingly omnipresent chorus which relentlessly juliennes any semblance of literal or grammatical sense, reducing the song’s lyrics, such as they are, to a sequacious set of vaguely evocative phonemes which, while virtually meaningless in and of themselves, ultimately start to function as the proteins that make up the DNA of a wildly potent audio-virus dead set on world domination.  And that, more than the lyrics, is what sells the song’s storyline.

    Far more convincingly than any MTV documentary, popular sit-com guest spot, or lucid morning talk show interview could, “Womanizer” makes the case for Britney’s successful re-emergence as something more than just the tabloid wreck of the year.  That it does so largely without actual, sensical words says as much about Britney – who, in person, is actually no less self-reflective and articulate than, say, former vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin (and has better comic timing to boot) – as it does about the production talent she surrounds herself with – namely Britney vets like Danja, Bloodshy & Avant, and The Outsyders, along with Dr. Luke and Benny Blanco and the usual battalion of Swedes.

    There’s always been something mutually parasitic about Britney’s relationships with songwriters and producers, but more than ever before, those relationships are starting to look and sound like real symbiosis.  And Circus finds that symbiosis working at something that sounds confrontationally sexy and club-ready with less of the effortful lewdness that marked (and marred) much of Blackout.  (“Mmm Papi” is a notable exception – Gwen Stefani could probably make it work.)

    You won’t find song lyrics printed in the booklet of Circus and that’s fitting, because at its best (and it really doesn’t get much better than “Womanizer”), the most durable pleasures of Circus are almost pre-verbally abstract, purest sound and rhythm:  the electronic bass throb of the Guys Siggsworth-produced ballad “Out From Under” with its Ginzu-sharp synth-cymbal contours; the layers of vocal textures, spoken, sung, chanted, and “produced” on “Kill the Lights”, the way her voice becomes a mutilated sample of itself in “Shattered Glass”, to say nothing of the way it effortlessly sidewinds its way along a yo-yo melody against a digital-celestial shimmer on that song’s verses.   “Leather and Lace” rides easy on little more than a simple syncopation and a deceptively organic thumb-popping bass-line that sounds, thrillingly, like something stolen from a Kool & the Gang session, circa 1980.  (Eat your heart out, Maroon 5!)

    “Unusual You” is a gorgeously understated science fiction groove – shades of the shivery Norwegian technopop of Royksopp – and with a surprisingly intimate, emotionally complex lyric (“Didn’t anyone tell you / you’re supposed to / break my heart / I expect you to / so why haven’t you?”).  But that song’s a transcendent exception on an album where mere words are rendered, at best, superfluous:  there’s nothing the lyrics of “Blur” say that the foggy nocturnal atmospherics – the muted, quivery guitar arpeggios, and the glowing, fairy-like flittering of the synthesizers – don’t convey vividly on their own.   It’s telling that the song that relies most heavily on its lyrics – the album closing “My Baby” – is the album’s only real dud.  Of course, most Britney devotees will forgive the track since it’s the only one Britney gets a writer’s credit on, and it’s clearly written as a celebration of her children, but – call me petty – I can’t get past a couplet like “I smell your breath / it makes me cry”.  (And my Inner English Professor bristles when she sings that she’s “like a performer” on the title track.)

    But, seriously, that’s my biggest complaint about Circus, and frankly, the album seems to get better every time I listen to it.  The obvious argument against it is that it’s not really Britney’s music at all, but her producers’.   Which is fair enough, I suppose.  Except that she’s the one financing these producers and serving as their muse, providing a common thread of inspiration from the album’s opening ballsy squalls to its tender, murmuring conclusion.  And the fact remains that regardless of the source, Circus – as its title would suggest – is a multitudinous, electronically pulchritudinous spectacle for the ears.  It’s Britney’s best album so far, and, frankly, one of the best start-to-finish pop albums I’ve heard in a long time.  (If only I could say the same for Pink’s new one… sigh)

    If you’re up for forking over a couple of extra bucks for the deluxe edition of Circus, you’ll be rewarded with a pin-up poster, a bonus DVD containing a digital photo album, a less-than-revelatory, 15-minute making-of video as well as the “director’s cut” of the “Womanizer” video.  You’ll also get three bonus tracks on the main CD – well, two really, since “Radar” is recycled from the Blackout album, but they’re both as good as anything on the main disc.  “Rock Me In” is a frantic-tempo spacey-new-wave-disco groove that’s got “single” written all over it, and “Phonography”, with its clever wordplay (on a Britney song!) and its sleek, confectionary retro-synth-pop textures, is, by far, the best tribute to phone sex this side of Nicholson Baker.  Both songs make the additional splurge for this surprisingly splurge-worthy album well worth it.