It’s ok to check your brain at the door sometimes and just lose yourself to Shakira and her raging lady-boner. I’m not suggesting that Shakira is dumb. She is an incredibly accomplished person. But with all of her myriad talents, all she really wants to do is make people dance. We music critics tend to give unpretentious, happy music the side-eye, presuming that there has to be something lacking. Lack of soul, lack of talent, lack of passion, lack of anything to say. All of which, fair enough, do tend to be lacking in an entertainment landscape that leans increasingly on the work of robots. But I shouldn’t have to defend the joy that only a well made pop song can bring. Just pure animal euphoria, a three minute escape pod from reality. That’s what Shakira does, and she’s one of the best at doing it. She knows that music is one of the most powerful forces of unification; it’s the only surefire way to make people drop their differences and fraternize, even if only for an evening. She’s a superstar all across the fucking planet because her tunes need no translation, and everybody wants to dance, and it’s that simple. (But she still records English versions of all her hits, because she’s nice like that [and American audiences are racist]).
One thing about Paul Simon hasn’t changed; he still loves New York City. It may just be his lifelong muse. As much as he likes to safari, he always comes back to those familiar images of city streets. Now he’s a white haired old man with nothing left to prove and nothing to do but observe the eternal flow around him. There may be a shout-out to Jay-Z just to mark us in the present, but the cityscape hasn’t changed much either. Billboards and buildings may come and go, but the city’s role as the quintessential American pilgrimage place hasn’t wavered. It’s still all things to all people, and for Paul Simon, it’s home.
Lady Gaga set out to reinvent 80’s style arena rock, and it was just what we didn’t know we needed. Born This Way was full of ridiculously cheesy fist-pump anthems and power ballads. And it was good. So, so good. This is like a long lost Whitney Houston song, but better. So, so much better. Because it has the all of the brio and enthusiasm of a genuine camp aficionado. Obviously, Gaga just loves the hell out of the FM rock tropes of her childhood, but she wants to use them for art. That’s why she called one of her albums ArtPop, because she’s stupidly clever like that. Lady Gaga is a master of high-low, stupid-clever, trash-to-treasure.
The Kills are probably the last band that need the soft focus acoustic treatment. As feral as they are on stage and on record, they’re not meant to play sitting down. Still, you can enjoy their acoustic sitting and find that the songs hold up even stripped of most of their thunder. Also, a great partnership with a great rapport is always a joy to watch. The Kills have gone from unknown to indie sensation to the toast of Fashion Week, and will probably fall back into obscurity with their partnership intact. Jamie Hince and Alison Mosshart are just a great team, and hopefully will carry on being, past every magazine cover, fancy dress party and divorce.
In an unpopular opinion, I’ve always dismissed the Arctic Monkeys as overrated, one of those bands that receive piles of accolades just for playing generic garage rock with competence. Which, in 2006, may have been accurate. But after people I trust have encouraged me to reconsider, I have to admit that the band has definitely become more interesting since then. It’s still basic rock music, but I wouldn’t call it generic anymore. There’s some wit there, some clever turns of phrase. And, not coincidentally, Alex Turner has matured into a more charismatic figure; a competent band is nothing without a commanding frontman, and this guy used to be a huge dork. Now we see a little image happening, a little style and swagger. Some good solid songwriting. All the marks of a good solid band. I don’t like to admit I’m wrong, but also, sometimes you have to wait it out and see.
“If you want me to be your god, I will be your god.”
This digital-age mysticism is why I love Yacht. And because their songs are catchy as fuck, obviously. And Claire L. Evans might actually be some sort of small-time deity. Evans and her partner Jona Bechtolt recently blew all their indie cred and cosmic goodwill with a shockingly insensitive and poorly timed publicity hoax involving a ‘sex tape’. It was meant to be some kind of a performance art commentary about the nature of celebrity culture; they thought they could pull it off because they’re not actually all that famous. Well, it’s a fine fine line between stupid and clever, and pretending to be the victim of a sex crime is squarely on the wrong side of it. Bad call, guys, you’re really catching some flak for this one. But, being not actually very famous, I’m sure they’ll quickly move on from this dumb scandal chastened and possibly inspired to make a better commentary next time. Which I’m honestly looking forward to. Evans is too smart and creative not to find a way to translate her brush with notoriety into the thing she does best. Which is putting out electropop music filled with batty spirituality, utopian ideas about space travel, tech jokes, and exhortations to be a better human.
The irony is knee deep here, sadly. Amy Winehouse didn’t live to see this song’s release; it’s a leftover from the sessions for her first album. Perhaps, when she recorded it, she may have really believed in the song’s faith that love will inevitably carry the day. She sounds like she believes every word. She certainly had no way of knowing that her own faith in love and her dedication to the man she thought was the love of her life would directly contribute to the circumstances of her demise. It seems fairly clear, with distance and in hindsight, that she would not have become the loose cannon that she did if she hadn’t fallen for a no-goodnik whose only interests in life appear to have been drugs, alcohol and mayhem. That’s not to blame her for making poor decisions; the heart will undermine every best laid plan, even the will to live. Besides, it’s that heart-forward, open-soul, naked to the world attitude that lit up Amy’s music and made her so appealing, even when she was at her lowest. Let’s not forget, either, the courage it takes to live like that, even for a short amount of time. Most people will learn how to throw up their defenses and never show their hearts to even their nearest and dearest. Amy Winehouse never learned to do that, to her detriment and the world’s gain.