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.
I have banged on about Poptimism and its ultimate position as a snobbery every bit as tedious and shallow as Rockism far too often. Yet pieces like this recent, pointless attack on Dylan, every bit as predictable and depressing in its way as a Kerrang! column attacking Britney Spears, make me weep. They reduce music to a lifestyle signifier and are far more about how the author wants to be seen than about the music itself. The endless cry from many pop fans is that the best of ‘their’ music is just as worthy of attention and respect as the established canon of greats. This is of course true. However the intention must surely be other than to build a new, separate canon with which to beat the other ‘tribe’ – knee-jerk dismissal of Bob Dylan and praise of Ellen Allien seems no better to me than the converse. Positively revelling in disliking music which you feel you are expected to like seems to be an attitude we should aim to leave behind with our teens. Worse than that, it can prove rather limiting to the pop we profess to love.
The rock/pop divide came to mind today as I read about the fate of two albums released this week. Both The Killers and Nelly Furtado previously released their third (English) studio albums in 2008 and the intervening four years have seen curios – a live album and a couple of solo projects from The Killers, a Spanish album and a barely promoted Greatest Hits from Furtado. Curiously, both have returned to their second albums in 2012 – the sweeping Americana of Sam’s Town is the clear precursor to Battle Born while Furtado’s The Spirit Indestructible updates the eclectic folk and experimentation of Folklore, still her bravest and best album. Clearly the two artists have few similarities, yet they both straddle genres – The Killers flirt with electronic music, perform with Pet Shop Boys and receive dancefloor-friendly remixes from Stuart Price; Furtado, meanwhile, liberally mixes club-oriented beats with those most authentic of genres, folk and world music. Broadly speaking, however, I think it’s fair to say that The Killers are seen as a rock act while Nelly Furtado is seen as pop.
It’s difficult not to think of the differing contexts offered by these definitions while looking at the fate of the records. Both had under-performing lead singles but, looking at the charts available today (Amazon, iTunes, HMV) it seems that Battle Born is cruising towards the number one spot while The Spirit Indestructible will struggle to enter the top 30 (perhaps even the top 40). Crudely speaking, I think Furtado having to compete in the pop arena makes things that much more difficult for her. If we look at the acts who could be considered peers of The Killers – Coldplay, Kings of Leon, Green Day, Arctic Monkeys – it’s common for them to disappear from view for two, three years at a time between albums. The pressure isn’t quite there for them to be in the charts constantly and their records can breathe as a result. Yet if you look at the dominant pop acts of the moment – Gaga, Rihanna, Katy Perry – they have barely been ‘away’ in the past few years. They’ve released albums, re-issued albums, released EPs, performed on other people’s songs. Rihanna is rumoured to be about to release her 7th album in 7 years, while Lady Gaga is gearing up to release her 4th in 4. It seems almost that our modern popstars are increasingly terrified of ‘going away’ for too long lest they be forgotten. Whether it’s being a judge on ‘The Voice’ or ‘American Idol’, making guest appearances on other artists’ songs or being a staple of the gossip columns, modern pop stars seem to be on a gruelling treadmill to stay ‘relevant’. Whitney Houston 4 massive albums in the span of 1985-1998 or Michael Jackson’s 5 from 1979-1995 look like a Kate Bush-esque work rate by comparison. Indeed, it’s inconceivable to think now that Warner Bros had massive issues with Prince wanting to release an album every year. Nonetheless, when artists like Prince, Stevie Wonder or David Bowie had periods of prodigious prolificness you got the sense of an intense creativity at work; with Rihanna (however good the results sometimes are) it feels like a mix of fear and having nothing better to do.
The idea still remains that albums are by and large a ‘rock’ thing while singles are a pop thing. Witness, for example, the argument that Madonna had become a ‘classic rock’ act when MDNA did decent business despite the failure of its singles. Perhaps this has much to do with the genesis of the album as the pinnacle of popular music being tied up with artists like Dylan and The Beatles. Despite strings of classic singles (and in the case of The Beatles, enormously successful ones) they have become totemic of Rockism, associated with rock bores who think everything after 1980 is dreadful. Whatever the reason, it seems reasonable to argue that this is why a rock band can disappear for a decent amount of time and still sell albums once they return while current pop acts feel the need to throw everything they have and hope something sticks. If anything this seems counter-productive in terms of great pop music: Rated R is undoubtedly Rihanna’s greatest album and one which has artistic merit, yet its relative commercial failure has seen her pull back from the potential it realised to become a one-woman Now! compilation. Since P!nk’s Try This underperformed she has released three variations on Missundazstood while Christina Aguilera has become the latest in a long list of pop stars to go down the Max Martin route after the failure that was Bionic. Heck, even Taylor Swift at the peak of her career has just released a Max Martin single which you could easily imagine being performed by P!nk/Kelly Clarkson.
Furtado’s The Spirit Indestructible really doesn’t fit against this backdrop of homogeneity, which is perhaps surprising given the involvement of Darkchild. As the title suggests it’s a testament to the human spirit, to hope, and it has an identifiable ideology and cohesiveness. It struck me while listening to it that major pop albums which show such a messy but clear artistic impulse seem to be getting rarer. Given the almost certain commercial failure of the record, we can perhaps expect Furtado to rush into the arms of Dr Luke in 6 months’ time.
The point of all this rambling? We should worry less about which side we’re on in the rock/pop divide and try to support artists who are trying to do something interesting/different. Artists who have an identifiable voice and who provide that little bit more than a catchy song. Ultimately it seems that this is the only way we’ll get big pop artists taking creative risks again at a time when the big trend is towards uniformity. We need to give pop artists room to breathe, the courage to fail and, more than ever, the strength to know that we don’t need them throwing another Max Martin/RedOne/Dr Luke song at us every 3 months.
I may be dumb but I’m not stupid
You know what would be really great? Billboard (if this news is confirmed) putting an editorial about it in the magazine, as opposed to just one feature amongst many of the website. I am really sick to death of music (and wider entertainment) magazines, sites, blogs, thinking that they exist in a vacuum and thinking there is no implication to featuring the latest Chris Brown video because they ‘don’t make judgements’ or they’re ‘not involved in politics’ or they’re ‘just doing their job’. It’s all utter bullshit. These are choices and every choice we make means something – maybe not something huge, but it means something. We all write about music and pop culture because we love it and because we’re a part of it. As such, we all have a relationship with it and we all have something to say. I had an argument with the editor of a (dreadful, admittedly) music website last year as he reprinted without edit or comment a Chris Brown PR piece (with all the hyperbole that entails) as a ‘news item’. He kept saying that he made no judgements on the press releases that were submitted to him. When I asked if he would have reprinted a Gary Glitter praisefest in full, he suddenly left the conversation and blocked me. Which says everything, really.
How ironic that it’s the frequently hysterical (in tone) Fox News that sticks its head above the parapet and dares to be ‘serious’ about Chris Brown. I wrote about Chris Brown’s non-redemptive redemption here and since then it has only gathered pace. None of the big pop writers, pop blogs, pop sites, seem to address the issue. I suspect it’s largely a result of the fear of being ‘serious’ that is so endemic in our media (in our society!) Even this brilliant video can only tackle the unpleasant truths around the whole affair in a humorous way but, then again, you don’t look to Fox News for thoughtful commentary on misogyny and the arbitrary divide between the personal and the political, do you?
It’s good that someone is actually speaking about this (the only previous person I’ve seen was from The Observer, the sister paper) but this isn’t really the article that is needed. The willingness of people to ignore Chris Brown’s violence is a sad indictment of our society’s attitude towards domestic violence. I wrote on Twitter previously – society will have reached a good place when domestic violence is viewed in the same light as paedophilia. Completely beyond the pale.
I don’t believe that an act makes you a persona non grata for evermore. But redemption must be earned, and despite what this article claims, Chris Brown has most certainly not earned it. He carried on as normal. releasing an album mere months after the brutal beating and paying the most desultory lip service to an apology on ‘Larry King Live’. Anyone who has watched that footage can see that Chris Brown is going through the motions and doing what his media handlers have told him to do. Most offensively, he refuses to take responsibility for his actions and instead claims to not remember doing it.
Then we have this idea that he deserves some credit for not following his hardcore fans and blaming Rihanna for the incident. Well, first of all, there is no way in hell that he isn’t aware of what his fans have been saying and he hasn’t once spoken out to stop them, as any decent person who recognises that they’ve done wrong would. Secondly, let’s have a look at that album he released the same year as the attack. An album that he knew would be analysed for a glimpse of his response to the attack. Smack bang in the middle is a track called ‘Famous Girl’. Already the alarm bells are ringing, right? It’s clearly about Rihanna – it’s littered with references to her songs (one line: “I was wrong for writing “Disturbia” ”). It links her to a series of men, states “you let me down” and, most pathetically of all, “you were first to play the game though, sorry I bust the windows out your car.” The (very thinly veiled) implication is that Rihanna cheated on him, and that’s why he brutally beat her. It’s a completely indefensible attitude.
This was a song released only FIFTEEN MONTHS ago. What has changed since then? He cried at an award ceremony. That really appears to be the extent of it. His attitude is still plain to see: with a shocking lack of self-awareness, he has called his new album ‘Forgiving All My Enemies’ (a nod at the overwhelming self-pity he has demonstrated since the attack). When horrific photos of Rihanna’s injuries were leaked in the midst of his chart revival, he tweeted that ‘the devil is always busy’ and blamed a conspiracy against him.
This is a man who should be apologising, apologising and apologising again. He should be spending years repairing the damage he has done, trying to educate his young fans that their misogyny is not acceptable, and accepting that it’s a long hard slog before he has a right to any success again. Instead he has two singles in the UK top ten. It was with some astonishment that I noticed a mini-outrage over a Gary Glitter-penned song being used in ‘Glee’ this week. Fair enough – you can understand that people don’t want a child abuser profiting (both financially and in terms of reputation) from one of the biggest, and most child-friendly, shows on tv. Yet only a few months after Chris Brown hospitalised his girlfriend, ‘Glee’ featured one of his songs. I’ve never once seen a complaint about it.
People seem to have this idea that domestic violence is ‘private’. That it’s between the two people involved. It’s not. It concerns all of us. It’s all of our responsibility to oppose it, to condemn it, to report it and to make it completely unacceptable. Treating it as a private matter allows it to thrive. It’s about power, and the thugs who practice it rely on the quiet acquiescence of everyone around.
Still, the misogyny that allows violence against women to thrive unimpeded is clear from a cursory glance at BBC Radio 1. There has recently been some tabloid outrage over their playlist including a song that sends the wrong message to its listeners, that glamourises violence, that is inappropriate for daytime listening. No, it’s not Chris Brown (who is on the playlist). It’s Rihanna’s ‘S & M’, a silly, playful song about sex that has Rihanna firmly in control and is apparently so outrageous that it’s been heavily censored. The guy who beats up his girlfriend and then spends 2 years blaming her and complaining about being a victim gets off scot-free. Now that is some fucked up ‘morality’ on display.
“It says much about Rihanna’s story that she pierced the mainstream bubble only after she was widely photographed sporting a black eye, given to her by her then partner, the singer Chris Brown. For a woman who became the overnight face of domestic violence to later release S&M, a song with the lyrics: “Sticks and stones/ May break my bones/ But chains and whips/ Excite me,” is either ironic, empowering or plain silly.”
This rewriting of history is one of the many sad (and even disturbing) fall-outs from the domestic violence case. Of course Rihanna had ‘pierced the mainstream bubble’ well before the ‘incident’ and had a string of massive hits behind her. She was also hardly known as being a wallflower. So what does it say that self-identified feminists now see her as someone who was ‘made’ by being attacked and should be mindful of this when creating new pop?