Here’s the video for the second single from Kelis‘s forthcoming fifth album Flesh Tone. It’s her first new studio album in almost 5 years; her first album under her freshly inked deal with the will.i.am Music Group and Interscope and also the first record since she became a mother (by rapper Nas). The DJ Ammo-produced “4th of July (Fireworks)” follows closely behind the amazing “Acapella”, which (not for nothing) topped Billboard‘s dance charts earlier this year. That song dropped the sex kitten act that gave Kelis her biggest hit (“Milkshake”), in favor of an earthier, more soulful vocal reminiscent of classic Donna Summer on a song that was a soaring and spiritual celebration of new motherhood. “4th of July”, accompanied by another visually stunning video, is another song about the transformative powers of love. It may lack a bit of its predecessor’s immediacy, but for “dance pop,” this song comes harder than a lot of what qualifies as rock these days and Kelis has never been more compelling or more disciplined as a singer. It advances the case that Kelis, at the start of her second decade in the showbiz, is making the best music of her career right now; and that, with Flesh Tone, we may be in the presence of a dance pop masterpiece. This is one album I cannot wait for.
Though most everywhere else in the world, Kylie Minogue has been a pop icon second only to Madonna for the last 25 years, we here in the U.S. have given her only intermittent attention. Back in the 80s, we appreciated her teenybopper take on the 60s dance hit “The Loco-Motion”, and in 2001, we couldn’t get the la-la-la’s of “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” out of our heads, but that’s pretty much it. Kylie’s getting set to release her 11th studio album (her first on the venerable Astralwerks label) – Aphrodite – on July 6. The album is preceded by the single “All the Lovers”, which comes with a video that should prove very, very eye-catching, taking the “city street nudity” theme, introduced by Alanis Morissette back in the 90s and most recently advanced by Matt & Kim and Erykah Badu, to another level altogether.
Okay, so no one’s getting naked naked in this video, least of all Kylie, who despite being probably more scantily clad than she normally appears in public, remains the most covered. Watch as pedestrians on a bustling city street spontaneously rip their clothes off – spilling their milk, spilling their briefcases, spilling their… marshmallows? – and find the nearest body to make out with. Meanwhile, Kylie rises – all-goddess-of-love-like – as the beautiful gleaming spire at the top of an ever-rising ziggurat of writhing (and occasionally swaying-to-the-chorus) flesh, a glittering tower of carnal indulgence. Oh yes, this video should definitely get Ms. Minogue the undivided attention of the American listening public. Until next year at least.
There once was a time when a music video was meant to promote a song. In the last year, Lady Gaga has been hard at work reversing that equation. By the time she releases videos for her singles, they’ve already saturated radio playlists. When “Alejandro”, the third promoted single from Gaga’s The Fame Monster album, first hit the airwaves a couple months ago, I was less excited by the song itself than I was curious about what the song’s video would be like. Increasingly, her singles have become teasers for forthcoming short films, which are increasingly promoted the way movies are, with trailers and making-of videos popping up via Gaga’s website, her Twitter and Facebook feeds to throw a little lighter fluid on the bonfire of her “little monsters’” ardent devotion. The songs are just soundtrack.
In this case, the soundtrack is essentially the greatest Ace of Base single they haven’t recorded since “The Sign”, although it’s drawn more comparisons to Madonna – apparently because it’s got Spanish names in it and Madonna sometimes sings songs with Spanish names in them too. The video, however – a collaboration with fashion photographer Steven Klein – is unmistakably Madonna: a veritable mash-up of “Vogue” and “Express Yourself”, with a heaping dollop of arty que-erotica (“Justify My Love”), a big, drippy, melty scoop of religious provocation a la “Like a Prayer” and, what the hell, a tiny bit of “Live to Tell”‘s confessional intimacy. It’s all enough to forget about that silly Ace of Base re-write entirely.
But if the song seems a bit beside the point, the video, after nearly nine minutes, seems disappointingly pointless. It’s not the video’s imagery I object to, although the images’ presumed objectionability appears to be one of the video’s central objectives. The marionetted bodyguard holding a golden gun where his penis ought to be? The leather military uniforms and near-naked goosestepping choreography. The funereal march, the disembodied heart strapped and spiked to a silk pillow? The rubber Joan of Arc hoods and scarlet nuns’ habits? Gaga in ill-fitting flesh colored undies, simulating penetration of a man on an institutional bed? When Gaga previewed some of the video’s imagery on the American Idol stage last month, she was fairly inviting Fox viewers to stage protests and boycotts. (All I could think of was poor Adam Lambert, simulating a little oral sex and giving a band member a kiss on a low-rated awards show after kiddies’ bedtime, while Gaga’s spectacle appeared on a top-rated paragon of family entertainment.)
But “Alejandro” doesn’t feel courageous, or even outrageous, or even terribly interesting. More than anything, it reads as parody – of Madonna, yes, but of Gaga herself. How else to read the way she allows herself to be manhandled by her flock of gay-boy dancers with their ridiculous Catholic monk bowl cuts? The first time I saw it, it just looked hokey. More and more, it comes to resemble a really expensive, really elaborately bit of sketch comedy – only it’s not that funny. In fact it’s a bit dull. And it’s friggin’ long. “Bad Romance” was a masterpiece because it packed a universe of ever-escalating sexual menace and spectacle (and heaven knows how many damn costume changes) into five action-packed minutes. “Telephone” succeeded because it demonstrated a wicked, mordant sense of humor, and it just looked fantastic. There’s no question that “Alejandro” is beautifully photographed. But none of it feels new. And it’s ultimately, strangely… boring. There’s nothing in either the song or the video to justify nine minutes of this stuff. Then again, this could be one of Lady Gaga‘s most subversive innovations: she’s managed to erect (yes, I said “erect) a monument to a character in a really dumb, Ace of Base-like song out of old-guard gay fetish imagery, sadomasochism, and Catholic iconography that people can yawn at, that people will click away from, not because their sensibilities have been offended, but because that article about where the original A-Team stars are now looks way more interesting.
