Yet if pop is driven largely by business concerns, Perry is like a major financial institution: too big to fail. As such, Prism is about as far from a dark, personal record as could be imagined and instead feels precision-tooled to continue the blockbuster success of Teenage Dream. The all-star line-up of producers is largely carried over from that album, with Dr Luke and Max Martin dominating, while each song typically features a committee of writers. Indeed, if Perry was sincere in seeking to avoid a re-tread of Teenage Dream, she failed spectacularly. While the catchy soft-rock leanings of Roar present a simulacrum of progression, much of the rest of Prism consciously apes the successes of its predecessor.
I loved Teenage Dream, to the degree that I actually went to see Part of Me in the cinema (it was a 20 minute dvd extra stretched to feature length). Hopes were high for Prism and in my head I’d already planned a pre-emptively defensive piece on why Perry is a great pop star. Then I actually heard the album and it ruined everything – it’s just not that great and feels driven by marketing concerns more than anything else. Someone has pointed out in the comments that I mistakenly called International Smile, ‘International Lover’…but that’s because the former is so bland that after listening to it about 12 times I think I was subconsciously craving the Princely magic of the latter. Back in the day I loved Britney Spears and now I think she’s one of the worst pop stars in history; I had a similar trajectory with Rihanna; now I’m fearful Perry is heading the same way. I think there’s a lot in there regarding modern pop and commerce, touched on in the review…but that’s for another time.
Lorde wants you to know that she’s different. Much has been made of the fact that “Royals,” her platinum-selling breakout hit, was inspired by a cool disdain for the bling rhetoric of “jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash” which Lorde felt dominated the pop landscape as she grew up in New Zealand. Certainly its opening claim, “I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh,” can’t help but seem like an arch rejoinder to chart queen Rihanna. There’s nothing new, of course, about youthful rebellion against an ostensibly monolithic culture, but “Royals” almost feels like a watershed moment: the very deliberate cross-pollination that has characterized chart pop since rap and (more recently) electronic dance music encroached upon its sales is ingrained in the 16-year-old Lorde. It feels entirely organic that she expresses her anti-materialist sentiment over a sparse backing owing much to hip-hop and also drawing on the lo-fi aesthetic typical of British post-dubstep artists like Burial, The xx and James Blake.
Lorde’s story so far has more than the whiff of a more iconic British artist around it. Like Kate Bush, she was discovered as a teenager and has been mentored until her emergence on the scene, seeming fully formed and sounding quite unlike anything else around. The confident introspection of “Royals” is typical of Lorde’s debut, Pure Heroine, an album which is striking in its precocious self-awareness. It shouldn’t seem so unusual that a teenager can be so articulate, of course – perhaps expectations have been corrupted by the asinine gloss of contemporary teenage artists such as Justin Bieber and One Direction. Whatever the reason, it’s disarming to hear Lorde’s smouldering voice singing lyrics that convey an authentic and engaging honesty. Her difference is no teenage pose, then, and being as savvy as she is talented Lorde draws attention to this contrast at several points throughout the album – most notably in “Team” where she drily notes “I’m kinda over getting told to throw my hands up in the air…so there.”
Aside from distinguishing herself from mainstream pop Lorde also draws on more traditional ideas of the outsider, with the album from its title onwards portraying an eagerness for a life lived beyond traditional mores. By the time we get to the big reveal of penultimate track “White Teeth Teens” we know what’s coming: “I’ll let you in on something big – I’m not a white teeth teen.” This ‘I’m not like other girls’ shtick rarely falls into cliché, however, with Lorde’s words frequently seeming more literary than lyrical (her mother is a poet and she has spoken of being influenced by Kurt Vonnegut and Raymond Carver). The wry “Buzzcut Season”, for example, would make Dorothy Parker proud while the opaque love story of “400 Lux” hinges on delightful lines like “I love these roads where the houses don’t change (and I like you)”. For all the tales of messy romance and allusions to dysfunction, however, the conquering fantasies of “Still Sane” (“I’m little but I’m coming for the crown”) suggest a steely ambition and assurance which fundamentally separate her from the simpering subordination of the oft-cited in comparison Lana Del Rey.
The music quite rightly gives these dazzling lyrics ample space to be noticed. Sparse electronic backing couches Lorde’s vocals on most of these songs and “Royals’” trick of multi-tracking the chorus is repeated to the point of overuse. Nonetheless there is novelty here: the club-friendly “Ribs” repeats its mid-tempo verses as more frenetic choruses riding on a 4/4 beat, an unusual but inspired touch, while an observation that “the sun’s starting to light up when we’re walking home’ is met in the final syllable by a gloriously evocative harmony line in “Glory and Gore”. “Team”, with its Robyn-esque radio-friendly melancholia, is perhaps the most conventional pop song here yet it begins with a processed acapella vocal which becomes more distorted until it loops and falls beneath crunchy drums. The songs unravel like tightly wound coils, bursting with energy and never outstaying their welcome. On paper the starkness should be repetitive but Pure Heroine riffs on a very deliberate, expansive severity. When the closing “A World Alone” adds guitar and sound effects to its dynamic drum patterns and looped vocals, it doesn’t feel like a revelation.
This final song includes a lyric which is destined to be much quoted: “maybe the internet raised us or maybe people are jerks.” That sharp and witty response to the ‘Generation Me Me Me’ handwringing perfectly captures Lorde’s appeal for a generation undoubtedly tired of being spoken for. In Lorde they, and indeed we, have a compelling, articulate and contemporary voice. Pure Heroine is most certainly only the beginning.
The pieces on Rihanna’s new album (including my own but particularly this one from The Quietus) have raised some interesting points about pop music. Largely, however, the various reviews have been interesting because of what they avoid. While many (but not all) critics/pop writers note the Chris Brown involvement and express unease at this, the general consensus seems to be that you can ignore this as long as you enjoy the music. That seems baffling to me – it’s unavoidable in the record, from the title onwards. No, what this argument is really saying is ‘hey, it’s only pop music – if you enjoy this, who really cares about its meaning?’ It treats pop music as an ultimately disposable, ephemeral pastime which is certainly not worth wasting your critical faculties on. This approach permeates most writing about pop music with even avowed pop lovers refusing to seriously engage with it as an art form. Instead we have an almost endless stream of sarcasm, cynicism, irony and self-imposed critical distance where even love for something is undermined as soon as it is expressed.
I remember that when ‘We Love Pop’ magazine launched, I read a feature in The Independent where the editor elaborated on its rationale:
The Wanted were at No 1 in the singles charts recently – what sort of magazine do you buy if you like The Wanted? Or if you were one of the thousands of girls watching Beyoncé at Glastonbury? There are no music magazines out there that target girls. Girls’ magazines featuring music stars tend to be the gossip ones and not about the music.
I think it’s fair to say that this raised the prospect of a kind-of Mojo-esque magazine devoted to pop music – one which took it very seriously and focused heavily on the music. A cursory look at any WLP cover, however, will show that it’s very much another magazine heavily in the vein of the ‘gossip ones’ the editor was differentiating it from. It doesn’t really tackle pop seriously at all. If we stick with the Rihanna/Chris Brown issue, something where WLP could be said to have an important role to play in speaking to an audience of teenage girls, they’ve largely avoided it. Instead it’s the subject of sarcastic jokes, perfunctory nods or odd outbursts of faux-sincerity which only engage on a completely superficial level. Again, it’s presented as something which distracts from the music rather than being a core part of it.
Can pop only be tackled if it’s done so in this very lightweight, light-hearted manner? Clearly not – a website like The Quietus has had frequently brilliant articles on pop, Q Magazine has had entire issues devoted to serious discussion of Madonna and that archetype of ‘music snobbery’ Pitchfork had an often-astounding column devoted to ‘poptimism’ . No, serious discussion of pop is clearly happening (if on a small scale). It could be argued, then, that many of the people writing about pop at the moment are approaching it with the almost-subconscious contempt which they imagine most others have for it. It comes back to that tired old ‘rockism vs poptimism’ thing: rock is the ‘serious’ music, which is taken to mean earnest and po-faced, and it’s the subject of earnest and po-faced analysis. Pop is fun! Pop writing should be fun! Pop writing should not be earnest and po-faced! And we end up with an approach which is seemingly terrified of taking anything too seriously and certainly hesitant to tackle pop as a serious art lest they be lumped in with the boring guitar snobs.
Thinking about this led to a discussion with a friend regarding Rihanna and Lana del Rey which very quickly became a proxy for notions of authenticity, talent and seriousness which are diffused throughout current pop writing. This made me realise that, in all the time I’ve written about this kind of thing, I’ve never really articulated my approach to pop. In attempting to do this I found that much of what I was thinking applied equally to my approach to writing about pop.
So, in the spirit of discussion, I present my own little manifesto for pop. I apply it mainly to artists but the implications for writing are implicit:
1 – Care about what you do. This is fundamental. Whether it’s Katy Perry, Grizzly Bear, King Creosote or Flying Lotus, the big divide in music is not between rock and pop but between those who take what they’re doing seriously and want to do it well and those who do not. ‘Artists’ like Cheryl Cole, Pitbull and the countless dire indie bands in the world rely on people’s low expectations, aspiring to nothing more than passable facsimiles of what other, better artists have done before. We should not be afraid of calling these people out. Most of all, we should have disdain for those who see pop only as a route to money and/or fame.
2 – Pop is an art form. A magician is an entertainer. A juggler is an entertainer. That dog which won ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ is an entertainer. Entertainment is but one aspect of pop, which is an art form. Sometimes pop makes us sad, sometimes it makes us uncomfortable, sometimes it makes us angry, sometimes it’s difficult, sometimes it blows our mind. These can all be great, positive things and they are lost if we view the primary purpose of pop to be light entertainment. That idea brings us Olly Murs.
3. Art is human creativity. This sounds almost absurd. Yet the logical conclusion of many ostensibly ‘pro-pop’ arguments is that a catchy pop song made by a computer would be great pop, as the origin is irrelevant. However art is a human construct, defined by the Oxford Dictionary as “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination”. This is precisely why it’s absolutely fine to make demands on pop artists. We want them to communicate their inner world with us. This may be done by them writing songs. It may also be done by them interpreting songs written by other people, bringing their unique voice and persona to them. It is not done by someone blankly miming to a boilerplate dance-pop knock-off. Understanding this and having some expectations of pop artists is not buying into notions of ‘authenticity’ or ‘rockism’ – it’s understanding the very purpose of art itself.
4. Pop is fundamentally about music. Again, one which perhaps seems obvious but sometimes everything around the music can take over. People like Cheryl Cole and Olly Murs are television personalities who have perfunctory music which serves these personas. We can all think of pop stars (even ones we love) who have released sub-standard music with brilliant videos, dance routines, live performances, glitz, glamour! These things are not unimportant but they should never replace the music. It always must come back to that. That’s why we’re here.
5. But it doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Like any art form, pop has a context and relies on relationships. The first and most important relationship is, of course, between it and ourselves. But it is also influenced by and speaks to wider society. Issues of politics, of power, of economics, of gender, of race, of sexuality, of interpersonal relationships – all of these and more feed into great pop (even if it’s not explicit in the record itself). That’s not so say that they forever anchor it or that it doesn’t make sense beyond this context but that’s part of the wonderful complexity. Never, ever dismiss any of these issues because ‘it’s only pop’.
6. Pop artists are not your friends. In that great pop communicates an inner world, it’s understandable that we may be repelled by personalities which we find abhorrent (hello, Chris Brown). However this is very different from the X Factorisation of pop where being ‘likeable’ is one of the most important things about an artist. Towering, untouchable, alien artists such as Madonna, Prince and Bowie would never have done well by this standard. A great pop star is there to make great pop, not be someone you can imagine popping down the pub with.
7. Don’t patronise young pop fans or use them to justify crap pop. A common response to criticisms of certain pop artists these days is to say ‘the kids like it’. What’s forgotten here is that just as lots of adults like dross, so do lots of kids. Why are we so afraid of thinking this? Watching ‘Crossfire Hurricane’ the other evening I was struck by the scenes from the early career of The Rolling Stones where girls in their early teens were fanatical about them. Just as teens (and younger) throughout the past 50 years have loved Elvis, Little Richard, The Beatles, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Taylor Swift, Beyonce. And loads have hated these artists and loved countless other artists who rarely (if ever) trouble the charts. Every time someone (usually at least double the age of the people they’re talking about) defends something terrible with an appeal to ‘the kids’, they’re talking rubbish.
8. Beware instant opinions. Relating to point 2, great pop is frequently not instant. This is sometimes forgotten, especially in this age of Twitter and Facebook and internet forums and album leaks. Literally ten minutes after a big pop album leaks you’ll be able to find people giving forceful opinions on it. This is fair enough but the nature of online identities is that opinions very easily become entwined with self-worth. They become about getting attention, making a statement, being right and are quickly calcified as a result. This is exacerbated further by the speed of leaks and the corresponding demands on attention, where if an album doesn’t instantly grab you there are strong temptations to move on to the next one almost immediately. Some albums take time; some albums make demands of the listener. This fear of making demands, of not being instant and of people moving on quickly is what fuels the identikit-pop which floods the charts.
9. We are all here because we really love this stuff. All of us who spend hours and hours every week listening to music, thinking about music, writing about music – we are very much in the minority. We are not typical of how most people interact with music. Why, then, do we go to such pains to pretend that we are? Why do we pursue the kind of relativism which, applied to other art forms, would see dreck like ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ compared with Shakespeare merely because ‘people like it’? If we truly thought that mass consumption was the ultimate arbiter we wouldn’t waste our time on this. The fact that we do is because none of us truly believe that and the beginning of a sincere interaction with pop is to acknowledge this and stop trying to speak on behalf of the people who really couldn’t give a toss. It’s not being a ‘snob’ to recognise that you care about all of this far more than most people do. Does that mean your opinion is the be all and end all? Of course not. But it means you shouldn’t instantly undermine said opinion with appeals to an imagined mass audience.
10. So show it. Following on from 8, if we love pop – we should show it. Drop the easy recourse to sarcasm, to gossip, to irony and get stuck in with the art we adore. Let go of corrosive fixations on ‘flops’, on ‘snobs’, on ‘haters’. Stop pretending that we don’t find some popular pop artists spirit-crushingly awful and don’t love some hugely unpopular ones. Above all, stop pretending that we don’t think pop is a wondrous, magnificent, life-changing GREAT THING that matters.
And…there we go. Comments welcome!
These songs and the flirtation with dangerous men as some kind of transgressive thrill completely poison the record. The reggae confection of No Love Allowed finds Rihanna singing ‘I was flying til you knocked me to the floor’ and declaring that ‘this man, he’s the one I’d die for’. Numb features the return of Eminem, who drops a reference to Love the Way You Lie before boasting that ‘the odds are imma end up in the back of a squad car by the end of tonight’ while Rihanna blankly sings a refrain of ‘I’m going numb’. This sense of emotional trauma displays itself in a different way in the obnoxious Pour It Up, where Rihanna has ‘money on my mind’, only sees ‘dollar signs’ and offers the charming lyric ‘Mens make your girl go down and I’ve still got my money’.