A Rant Turned Tribute

I have a bone to pick.  I can't completely decide who it's with exactly, but contenders include Rolling Stone magazine, music critics in general, and the culture of popular music.

Perhaps you would like a bit of context.  Some of you may know by now that I am a bit of a list-o-phile.  Usually I like my lists to be specific enough to make sense, but open-ended enough to have to make tough decisions, such as the greatest ______ of a particular genre or time period.  But every once in a while I love to spend some time in the vast lists that Rolling Stone enjoys dropping.  Recently a coworker and I made a competition out of seeing whose iTunes library included more of their "500 Greatest Songs of All-Time".  (By the way, I won the competition, so this is not the response of a bitter loser).  The list was not nearly as sweeping as it claimed, completely ignoring anything before 1957 and barely entering our present decade or the one before it.  I won't even bother with that list here, but it did get me curious about their similarly titled list of albums, which I quickly found some issues with.

Out of 500 albums spanning from the 1950's to now, and across the genre spectrum from Country to Rap, Soul to Psychadelic Rock, those with female participation in bands or as solo artists make up 13%.  If I were to add only those by either solo female artists and bands with front women, it would be below 10% with 45 artists.  45!  out of 500!  See the whole thing HERE.

Now, I recognize that Rolling Stone magazine is about as sausage-festy as magazines get, but it is also one of the most well-respected publications in popular music, and is, at the moment, the driving force in writing our pop music history.  So, is it the fault of listeners and buyers of music that success is only given to male solo artists, or all-male bands?  Or, is it the fault of these panels of judges, who write articles and best-of lists, painting our perception of greatness with a brush of testosterone?  

And so I'd like to lead you on a scavenger hunt for great albums by female artists that seem to be missing from Rolling Stone's list.  Seeing as I have a tendency to specify lists in some way, we'll look at one genre at a time.  First of all, is there anything missing from the world of jazz and blues, music that has indeed paved the way for all modern pop music?  Miles Davis is there, John Coltrane is there, even Frank Sinatra showed up for the party!  Then, surely Ella will make an appearance, even if only alongside Louis Armstrong, and Billie Holiday should be expected at some point with a live recording or a best-of!  I dare you to try to find either of their names anywhere.  With the possible (but not justified) argument that Ella and Billie were not writing or producing their albums, an even more stark omission is Nina Simone, who wrote music for more than 40 albums in her lifetime, and continues to be constantly quoted, referenced, covered, and sampled all over the place in hiphop and pop.

Those are just the obvious, but in a list of 500 I might also expect to see Mahalia Jackson, one of the greatest gospel voices to hear on vinyl, or Bessie Smith the "Empress of Blues" who inspired all of the above, and who also inspired many blues artists (male and female) who did make the list.  I would also implore consideration of Alice Coltrane's Journey in Satchindananda, one of a few jazz records where the front woman is not a vocalist, but a pianist and harpist.  Still, it's possible that we know of her by the celebrity of her husband.  Newer women of jazz and blues could include Norah Jones, Cassandra Wilson, or Natalie Cole.

R&B/Soul is represented relatively well on this list by the likes of some expected (ie. Aretha, Dusty Springfield's Dusty in Memphis and Diana Ross & The Supremes) and some surprises (ie. TLC, Whitney Houston, and Mary J Blige).  I'm not going to lie, I loved the fact that Janet charts with both Rhthym Nation and Velvet Rope.  Many additions I would make would have more to do with a need for updating (the list was published in 2003), to include newer records such as Amy Winehouse's Back to Black, Janelle Monae's Archandroid, or nearly anything by Sharon Jones.  At this point I might even venture to suggest Beyonce's 4, but are you really surprised?  Still, others cannot be excused by time, because 3 years is certainly enough to recognize the force and beauty of Erykah Badu's Mama's Gun, which is nowhere to be found in the 500.  Not to mention the mature and smouldering Lover's Rock from british beauty, Sade, that came out the same year.  Others that I wouldn't mind seeing on the list might be Roberta Flack's First Take or legendary Killing Me Softly, Gladys Knight's Imagination, something from Jill Scott, or Tina Turner without the abusive Ike on Private Dancer.


I'm sure I could go on, but we'll take a break and move along to Country and Folk.  I don't have a lot to say about Country music in general, and when it comes to albums, the few female-made records I would expect are here: collections of Dolly Parton, Patsy Cline, and Lucinda Williams' Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.  I do however, notice a lack of certain folk singer-songwriters.  Joni Mitchell has some representation with Blue and Court and Spark, but I would add Hejira, For the Roses and maybe Clouds (If Randy Newman can chart with 3 albums, I think Joni Mitchell is entitled to at least one more).  The Joans (Baez and Armatrading) are both missing entirely along with two incredibly prolific poets, Ani DiFranco and Kate Bush.  They would have been well represented in my opinion by Not a Pretty Girl and Hounds of Love respectively, although they each have many additional album contenders.  Tori Amos' Little Earthquakes should probably be included, and maybe her Strange Little Girls as well.  As singer-songwriters go, Tori offers not only well-written individual songs, but album contexts that invite us to find relationship between the songs.

                                         

Moving on to the genre that Rolling Stone loves most: good old Rock 'n Roll.  This genre makes up an overwhelming majority of the list, and is littered with multiple albums of The Beatles (with 11), The Rolling Stones (with 10) and Bruce Springsteen and The Who (with 8 each).  I have no problem with classic rock - and I'll freely admit to having a lot of this music, either on vinyl or mp3 - but it becomes overkill when a list so clearly wants to promote one kind of album to greatness, without considering albums that are the products of imagination and a desire to move the culture of pop music in a new direction.  It also suggests to me a "golden age" of music (7 of the top 10 are from the 60's), that doesn't consider other influences and movements enough.

That being said, this rant is really only worth writing if it is true that there are indeed women making music as well as men.  So who can replace an extraneous 60's or 70's British rock band record?  I have a few suggestions.

Patti Smith finds herself in the top 50 (at #44) with Horses, but I would love to also see her more conceptually driven Easter, which fearlessly explores themes of the religious holiday, such as death and resurrection.  I was certainly expecting some of my favorite female rockers, especially Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart with Dreamboat Annie.  "Crazy on You" was equally snubbed from RS's 500 Greatest Songs, in my opinion, so I suppose we shouldn't be shocked.  I found myself scanning for either Pat Benatar or Joan Jett, who may have done more with singles, but so did a lot of men on the list.  For some 90's representation, I would have thought Sheryl Crow's Tuesday Night Music Club could hold its own, having won Crow the first 3 of her 9 Grammys.


Annie Lennox shows up for the first and only time on the list at #500, and even then, only with the Eurythmics.  I'm not entirely sure what that's about, but wonder if the editors of Rolling Stone have heard album giants Diva and/or Medusa.  Medusa is full of great songs written by men, many of which they consider to be "all-time greats".  Perhaps they feel threatened that a woman does these tracks so thoughtfully and originally.

Another one-hit-wonder on the list is Bjork, whose accessible Post is at #373, but her brilliant electronic masterpiece, Homogenic is left out. Homogenic is considered by many to be the best of electronic music, yet can't even scrape into the top 500 albums of all time.  If this is not an offense to women, it is an offense to the genre.  As we've already moved into the world of pop, I can't help but wonder about Mariah.  In 2003, did we still love to hate her so much that we couldn't take seriously anything she did in the 90's?  If so, it's unfortunate.  Say what you want about Mariah, but she has a more impressive range than nearly anyone on the list, and although it's pop, she's writing her own material.  All the while in heels and a mini-skirt.  Broadway divas such as Barbara Streisand and Judy Garland are also ignored, although each has at least one album that has been recognized by a Grammy.

Finally, let's take a minute to talk about rap music.  I will admit, there are not enough women in rap in general.  However, there is only one woman recognized: Lauryn Hill at #312 with her Miseducation and #477 on The Fugee's The Score, so even though they chose the best, they keep her above 300.  I understand that there is not exactly a plethora of solo female rap artists putting out fantastic albums (and RS was probably patting themselves on the back for including any rap at all), but I seriously hoped for a bit of Missy Elliott, and crossed my fingers for a taste of Salt-n-Pepa.  If they revisit the list, I would be floored if they fail to include M.I.A.'s Kala.


This is by no means a comprehensive list of women in music, but I hope it at least it reminds us that women are making music, even if male-critics like those at Rolling Stone don't seem to recognize it.  In the mean time, check out some of the artists I've mentioned.  I made it easy to get started: all the pictures (and some of the words) link to performances on youtube.

Peace out,

Danice

Lungs - Florence + The Machine, 2009

I have begun to write this particular blog so many times that finally an incentive occured to me.  Last night I went out and bought F+tM's new record, Ceremonials, and I am allowing myself to listen to it only once I've finally published this.  So you can be guaranteed what I'll be up to for the hour following this post.  I'm pretty stoked.

I think my problem has been that I have attempted to listen to Lungs (with the intention of blogging) on several trips, and by the time I arrive at my destination I have no time to actually do something with my thoughts.  This has happened on 4 separate occasions, and I am left to at least notice that this is a great album to travel with.  It sounds especially great when you are alone and the volume is up, so that you can sing along loudly whether or not you know the lyrics; it just makes us want to yell.

Dog Days Are Over is one of those songs that has been impossible to avoid, not that I've bothered to try.  The hopeful anthem is rather perfect for drama of all kinds, being pushed forward by action, excitement, and fantasy.  The first track wisely asks us to let go and set our sights on the good that's coming, and sets the tone for the rest of the album both instrumentally - with plucked harp and heavy drums - and atmospherically.

"Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)" continues with a similar sense of freedom.  It's hard to picture anything other than some beautiful Stevie Nick-ian woman running through an enchanted forest.  Spiritual-mythological themes are introduced, causing many to describe Lungs as Goth-pop as she uses fantasy lit imagery to invite us into her world and question it with her.   In turn, we are also invited to question the things we know of our own world.

"I'm Not Calling You a Liar" is so stunning and always makes me think of the Ani lyrics that compare liars with alcoholics, asking, "Has he changed?...  Or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?"  By the time "Howl" hits the course, I am seriously wondering how one woman can carry the energy of so far 4 phenomenal tracks in a row on one album.  I know recording isn't that simple, but I am almost exhausted just from pretending to Florence; what must it be like to have such ideas and passion that exudes itself all over this record?

Now for something a little different.  "Kiss With a Fist" was my first Florence song, so I have a soft spot for it.   Even though this song feels more similar to contemporaries like Lily Allen or Kate Nash in its playfulness and violence, Florence hits this genre harder, and shows off her ability to just plain rock out.  And right before slowing down and giving us the bluesy, and morbid ballad, "Girl With One Eye"; one of the many tracks that reminds me of Annie Lennox in her uniquely powerful, story-telling voice.

"Drumming Song" "Between Two Lungs, "Cosmic Love" come as a triplet, acting as not only the middle section of the album, but the mysterious center of the setting we've been drawn into.  The first and last are two of my favorite songs to blast in the car and drum along to, and all three give a context for the album title as they explore the physical and visceral of life and death, love and purpose.  Life and death continue to be contemplated even more explicitly in "My Boy Builds Coffins". 

"Hurricane Drunk", though still thematically dark has a lighter tone and sounds the most like a pop song so far.  I get a little annoyed when this song fades out, but when "Blinding" sets in I forgive and forget, as the softer song builds.  I really can't believe that this album is able to sound so cohesive and consistent in tone and setting, and yet I still can't say I've had enough.  I am still stoked to rip open the new album and listen to more of the same!  But before I need to do that, Florence presents me with one of my all time favorite covers of "You've Got the Love".  The album finishes, but my time with Florence does not.  If you loved the last track as well, it was remixed by the genius Jamie from The XX.  Listen to it here.

Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814, 1989

If I were writing a top ten list of albums that shaped me as a kid, I might as well start by putting this record on top.  So forgive me if I wax nostalgic.  No matter what song is played from this album, my first mental image is of being in my older brother's basement room, using his double bed as a stage and a deoderant bottle as a microphone, trying my darndest to be Janet.  Before spending countless hours in front of the tv, trying to memorize her brother's "Thriller" dance, I was taking lessons from Rhythm Nation 1814.

I won't attempt to talk about this album with mentioning the videos associated with it because very few of us who have ever seen this, can listen to "Rhythm Nation" without being transported to the stark setting of the streets or the sparse warehouse where militant dancers are being trained to transform the world.  Janet has a long resume of impressive music videos with high production quality (and costs), however what I love about the videos connected with Rhythm Nation is that they are all very simple ideas and settings allowing the focus to remain on choreography and narrative.

As soon as the bell tolls, opening the album, I am there - one of Janet's army - and to be honest, I've never counted myself out of this number since first hearing this record.

The first three tracks set the foundational concern towards social injustice, calling for a new formation of people along the same line as George Clinton's One Nation Under a Groove.  Here, Janet reminds us that there is still a place for the protest/socially conscious song in R&B that was established in the 60's and 70's by Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, ect, but had been missing for nearly a decade.  Janet is young here, but with the New Jack Swing fathers, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis she is able to deliver a call to justice and equality that packs a punch, and keeps us dancing.

After reminding us of the "State of the World", and delivering her thesis that only "The Knowledge" can conquer the likes of prejudice, ignorance, bigotry and illiteracy, she moves the album along with:
"Get the point?  Good.  Let's dance..." and continues to encourage movement with two power dance tracks, "Miss You Much", and "Love Will Never Do (Without You)".  For someone with such a light wispy voice, she sure knows how to energize her listeners.  Still, she never let's us get too far away from the issues at hand, reminding us to think of the children in "Livin' In a World (They Didn't Make)".

I recently bought this on vinyl, and "Living in a World..." appropriatly concludes the chapter that is side A.  When I turn it over I'm thrust back into the action with the brilliant anthem, "Alright".  This song could alone define New Jack Swing with its street class swagger, and marriage of R&B melodies with heavy hip hop beats.  Not to mention it boasts one of my favorite music videos of the time.  I'm going to go ahead and imbed this one...

Together with "Escapade" these two tracks offer two attempts to hide from the harsh reality, the first with imagination and friendship, the second with flight.  "Black Cat" instead faces the danger of the streets as a warning to her lover.  Written by Janet herself, I'm not always sure how the harder rock-inspired track fits into this dance record, but it's an example of decent songwriting that sounds eerily like Michael. 

There is a very small part of me that wishes the album ended here.  However, the last three tracks prepare us all for Janet's sexual revolution that is to come.  We can't say she didn't warn us.  I read a review somewhere that said "Lonely" is the sexiest song about not getting any that ever existed.  That's probably true, at least as of 1989.  As in any new nation, love is never left out of the equation entirely.   Still, when she takes it all the way to the anticipatory "Someday is Tonight", I just feel dirty.  For some reason, this song is so much worse than her way more explicit stuff that comes in the 90's.  I don't know why, maybe her age, or how it fits on Rhythm Nation...  but however I might justify it, this is my favorite track to skip for sheer awkwardness. 

A brief Interlude followed by the same bell tolls that open the album asks us not to allow our eyes to deceive us, since it is only our "knowledge and wisdom that separate us".  If I were to critique her philosophy here, I might say we need more than darkness to be blind to our differences, but brighter light to see how deeply we are the same.  But that's not what I'm here to do.  The real point is that this unlikely young Jackson does exactly what she sets out to do: inspire us to dance in the darkness and invite everyone to join in, regardless of race or status.

21 - Adele, 2011

I've been attempting to finish a post on the magnificent Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation, 1814 for the past couple weeks, but can't seem to.  I'm sure a large part of the delay is the fact that I'm awaiting a vinyl copy to come in the mail, and want to have listened to it once before finally publishing anything.  That's what you have to look forward to.  In the mean time, I've been going through a bit of a music funk.  I'm tired of almost everything I've heard before, but can't seem to find the energy to listen to anything new.

The one exception has been Adele's second album, 21.  Yes, it's titled from the age at which she wrote the material, and yes, that throws me off every time considering the emotional depth and maturity that echoes through most of the tracks.  I have to admit, this album is growing on me with every listen.  As a follow up to 19 I immediately found it disappointing.  Don't get me wrong, I fell in love with "Rolling in the Deep" like everyone else, and was playing and re-posting her performance at the Brit Awards of "Someone Like You" along with the half of facebook.  But after my first listen, I felt that the rest of the album couldn't live up to these two power songs.

I still think they are the strongest on the album along with "Rumour Has It".  Yet at some point I gave the rest of 21 another chance, and this time I imagined that it was a backwards sandwich - the goods at either end with mostly boring essentials in the middle.  Eventually it morphed into a Lasagna, where the cheese is still on top, and most of the good juices drip to the bottom, but really, it's all good.  Something tells me I'm hungry...

As I mentioned, 21 begins with a bang.  The album is an exploration of a particular breakup, but instead of opening with melancholy, Adele comes out swinging.  There is indeed a fire in her heart, and it's contagious.  I guess the first two songs represent the anger stage of the grief cycle.  That's my favorite.

"Turning Tables" jumps back in time to the moment she realizes a breakup is necessary, and although it's a good song, it has an annoying tendency to get Rihanna's "Unfaithful" in my head.  I'm no Rihanna-hater, but this is really one of her worst.  Still, I shouldn't take out my feelings on Adele; it's not her fault that Rihanna wrote a catchy tune that talks about being a murderer.

The one song I haven't changed my mind on is the next: "Don't You Remember".  Adele, you are so much better than a shmultzy country song.  I know every breakup album needs a depression-infused-regret song, but this can not be it.  I honestly think I would have enjoyed this album much earlier if this wasn't included.

And now that we're past it, I can relax.  It gets better from here; it's a steady increase of good tuneage.  "Set Fire to the Rain" is quickly becoming the spicy meat in my Adele sandwich... or lasagna.  It's the ideal Adele instrumentation that starts with piano at the foundation and builds through the verses to create a climax at the chorus with strings and an epic feeling chord progression.

I love the punctuated piano shots of "He Won't Go", and I do tend to sing along, so perhaps it'll still grow on me, but right now I'm mostly excited for the ballads to start.  "Take It All" feeds that craving.  Pure, soulful Adele-voice, with the tiniest dab of gospel choir.  I kind of wish she saved this one until later, because it's hard to go back to the poppy "I'll Be Waiting".

Something about "One and Only" sounds like it should be in Dream Girls (Am I alone in this?).  Maybe that's why I feel like it doesn't hit as hard as it might be trying to.  I do LOVE the bridge, where she gives him a little understanding:  "I know it ain't easy, giving up your heart."  Almost wish it was a song in itself.  Then Adele does something I never would have expected.  She covers the Cure's "Lovesong".  I really like this a lot by itself, but I'm still not sure how it goes with everything else.  Are we meant to hear that she's ready to love again, is it denial, or does she actually feel like she'll love the D-bag forever?  I'm a little confused.

I forgive and forget everything that came before as soon as the arpeggios of "Someone Like You" begin.  This son makes me melt all over, no matter where I am; I become that dork on the bus with the iPod who closes her eyes super dramatically, and worries everyone around that she might burst into tears, and no one will know what to do.  But hey, you try to listen to this tragic tune without controlling your emotional reactions.

Here's that post I love to share.  I have to go cry now, and no, I don't have time to talk about whatever the bonus track is that came with my iTunes download. 

Actor - St. Vincent, 2009

Recently, I made the mistake of trying to listen to St. Vincent's Actor at work.  I call it a mistake, partially because this album begs more attention than it gets as the soundtrack to my pink ukulele sales pitch, but also because I've become accustomed to listening to it on vinyl, in my living room, very loudly.  Background levels of volume at the music store hardly does it justice, and left me wanting, so I played it again on the bus over my headphones, and yet again when I got home on the record player where it was truly meant to be.

I have no qualms describing Actor as a work of art.  Themes and images run deep beneath thick textures boasting of driving rhythms and catchy-as-hell melodies and counter-melodies(whether sung or played on sax or violin, I can be heard whistling St. Vincent melodies daily).  As the title suggests, the album explores the line between fake and real, authenticity and invention, especially in the portrayal of personas and primarily in the likely setting of the suburban neighborhood.  Nearly every song is linked by foundational questions of how well we are really known by our lovers, friends and family, introduced right off the bat in "Strangers".  As I let these questions percolate, I can't help but wonder what part her stark headshot on the album cover plays, and indeed, even her use of pseudonym (her given name being Annie Clark).  How well do we know this woman who serenades us?  Who is she really?  How thick a line separates who we are from who we present ourselves to be?

When I break from philosophizing, I appreciate St. Vincent's sense of orchestration.  Like listening to Radiohead, you know know that every sound has been placed by a perfectionist - with utmost precision - so that even the most chaotic moments are fully controlled.  Also like Radiohead, St. Vincent loves to experiment with extreme clarity and distortion, yet somehow is never beyond accessible.  Strings, horns, and a rhythm section give Actor the epic feel of a movie soundtrack that is mostly rock and roll, but transforms itself when necessary to jazz or even Broadway-esque.  Her rhythms are intensely controlled, creating a contrast against her almost lazy vocals.  

One thing that I find so beautiful about listening to this on vinyl is that it seems intentionally divided into two acts, moving the final song on the CD, "The Sequel" to the end of Side A, allowing for the bouncy "Laughing with a Mouth of Blood" to be heard as a new beginning, and concluding the album with "Just the Same but Brand New", which I never even noticed before hearing it as the final track.

Although the songs of this album feel completely tied to one another, in an attempt to take angled digs at the same subject, I feel as though I respond to each one differently: During "Strangers", I'm philosophizing; "Save Me from What I Want" has me grooving with my shoulders while I drink my beer; "The Neighbors" gets me moody; "Actor out of Work" gives me an all-out desire to dance; "Black Rainbow" has me singing the lines of the violins and horns out-loud; "The Sequel" allows me to sink back into my head, before I'm brought back to reality when I flip to Side B and hear "Laughing with a Mouth of Blood"; I can't not rock out to "Marrow" before settling into my thinky-ness as "The Bed" brings me a sense of mystery in the world, though it doesn't make me want to actually lie down in bed like "The Party" ironically tends to; and finally "Just the Same but Brand New" pulls me full-circle to a nostalgic questioning of meaning in the world.  And I don't regret the experience for a minute.  Just writing this blog gives me such an impatience for this woman's next work of art.  But for now, let's watch this great video:



Peace out,
Dance

ArchAndroid - Janelle Monae, 2010 (Part II)

I have trouble knowing exactly how to understand the two Suites found on The ArchAndroid.  What really throws me off is that the first Suite (Monae's album The Chase) and presumably her fouth/last Suite are albums to themselves.  Why has she put the middle two on one epic album?  Are they incomplete without each other, or was it simply practical?

Although the two Suites are distinct from one another separated by their overtures, the album is listened to in its entirety.  Never have I thought to myself, 'well, I think I'll just listen to the third suite of The ArchAndroid now'.  The album is divided, but it's still one album: If Monae really wanted separate listening experiences, she would have turned it into a double disc at least.


And so here we are where I left off: The third Suite's overture chiming in, interestingly enough not only foreshadowing the melodies to come, but also picking up on themes provided primarily by the final song of Suite II, "Mushrooms and Roses", further evidence that there is something more substantial linking these particular two Suites.

"Neon Valley Street" moves directly out of the Suite III Overture with a much smoother transition then that of Suite II.  It feels almost like a song meant to give you a bit of time to remember where and when you are in the performance, and settle into your seat for the second act.  "May the song reach your heart" beckons the listener back into the story, and by the time Janelle's robotic rap starts up I am hooked again.  The speaking outro could just as easily be the intro to "Make the Bus" which abruptly begins with Of Montreal's Kevin Barns voice which is totally creepy, and works super well with the whole science-fiction vibe.

In fantastic form, Monae proves that she can indie it up, and then move into "Wondaland", whose melody is reminiscent of the catchiest of an Earth Wind and Fire track.  I find myself humming it when I'm walking around work, or waiting for a bus on a regular basis.

The next two tracks are on the mellower side, "57821" (the number referring to Cyndi's droid number) points to her chosen-ness.  Sir Greendown is both her lover, and biggest believer in her being a Messianic figure, and it seems that this song suggests that even her droid number somehow prophecies that Cindi will indeed be the one to save Metropolis.  Musically, the song layers harmony with Monae and Deep Cotton, and reminds me of something that Fleet Foxes would do.  (Have I mentioned that her genre diversity literally blows my mind?)  "Say You'll Go" is haunting and beautiful, and comes across to me as a duet between Janelle and the piano.

Finally, "BaBopBye Ya" which transitions through a whole bunch of varied sections, and yet always makes me think of the James Bond movie songs that scroll during the opening/closing credits.  You know, like this:  It allows the album to end while still holding an intrigue and mystery as to what is to come with Suite IV.  I'm ready for it, Janelle Monae!

The ArchAndroid, though only the middle of a story, has a lot to say.  About love, freedom, race, and boundary crossing.  And it is definitely worth a listen.

ArchAndroid - Janelle Monae, 2010 (Part I)

2010 was a pretty incredible year for music.  And I know it's a little late for any best-of blogs, but part of my hiatus here has had to do with an onslaught of good new music to listen to.  It's time to pay homage to one of those distractions, and although there are several to choose from, none of the records from last year have demanded attention like Janelle Monae's The ArchAndroid.  It's insanely ballsy, diverse in genre and mood, and yet cohesive in both its bizarre concept and polished production.

The album needs a rather large introduction since the only real way to listen to it is within the context of its concept.  The ArchAndroid is composed of 2 Suites, each propelled and punctuated by an overture (at tracks 1 and 12).  This is why I've decided to break this blog into two parts, and will discuss each Suite separately.  Also, there's just way too much to say!

There is a serious overlap of music with drama as Monae theatrically presents the suites (actually the 2nd and 3rd of what will be a total of 4) as work of the futuristic character of Janelle Monae, who was forced to leave her home year of 2719, and is imprisoned as a patient in Palace of the Dogs in the present.  Much of her music regards her sort of alter-ego, Cindi Mayweather, an android (and THE Archandroid whom the album is named for) built with Monae's DNA who is a messianic figure of Metropolis.  Yes, a somewhat complicated story.  But one that adds layers to the listening experience as The ArchAndroid unites Science Fiction to Reality and Past to Future.  Even as the story presents itself as distant from our world, the liner notes name inspirations for each track to be familiar icons of our present and past culture, from "Princess Leia's cinammon (sic) buns hairstyle" to Salvador Dali.

Certainly Monae isn't the first to produce and promote an album through the use of an alter-ego.  Many have gone before, and certainly comparisons have been made - most clearly to David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust - yet it seems worth mentioning this is the first by an African-American woman (no, Sasha Fierce does not count).  The significance of a protagonist of a beautifully crafted Futuristic setting being an African American woman cannot be lost.  I know I'm no Science Fiction buff, but I can think of very few black women in the genre of Science Fiction at all (Nyota Uhura from Star Trek is not exactly a household name), much less as the central figure on whom hope rests.  This album is a statement, or at the very least, a new option of hero for an up-and-coming generation.

Musically, Monae pushes through countless boundaries, as each track seems to hop from genre to genre without feeling disjointed or sacrificing the continuity of the album.  Whether it's funk, soul, rap, progressive or experimental rock, she sounds at home, and ready for company.  She breaks divides by doing collaborations with not only the somewhat expected Big Boi (she's worked with Outkast in the past), but also with the offbeat indie rockers, Of Montreal on "Make the Bus".  On top of it all is her fabulous on stage image, dancing like James Brown in her "uniform"comprised of a black suit with a skinny tie and saddle shoes.  Not to mention the gravity defying poof on her head. 

Ok, let's freaking listen to this thing!  As I mentioned before, the album kicks off with an introduction to the 2nd Suite, which picks up on a few melodic themes from songs to come.  Somehow she manages an effortless transition from orchestral overture to rhythmic, upbeat, bassy and beepy "Dance or Die" which launches Janelle into energetic rap-sing verses (that tends to remind me of Missy Elliott) hoping for heightened freedom, over a beat which is established with Saul Williams' poetry.  It sets the stage, and like any good setting, it's hard to notice when something new has begun, which is exactly how "Faster" begins.  I can't tell you how many times I've felt as though it was the second part of the same song.  Still, it adds to the tension of the story as we're reminded that our hero is a fugitive.  Again, "Locked Inside", which continues themes of captivity and the hope and fight for freedom, begins without drawing great attention to the fact that a new song has begun.  The first three tracks launch us into the tension and urgency of the story, and work as a single unit - kind of like the first act of a play.

Then, probably because of a fade out, Sir Greendown slows down and reflects on the primary romantic relationship at hand: Cindi Mayweather and Anthony Greendown, first introduced to us during Monae's first suite called The Chase.  Greendown's love gives our hero the motivation and power to persevere, even though the next two giant songs of funk and melody, "Cold War" and "Tightrope" lyrically find the work difficult.  Still, the groove in each is enough to feel as though she can do anything, and dance right through it.  "Cold War" makes me nod my head without fail, and "Tightrope", well, it makes me want to perfect my tightrope dance.  Again, grounding us from this dance interlude, Monae slows it down with a backward recording on "Neon Gumbo" allowing us to reflect where we are in the story.  It also bridges into the at first acoustic-sounding "Oh Maker", one of my favorite non-dance tracks on the album. 

Abruptly we find ourselves in two songs linked by their names and perhaps their use of electric guitars, but otherwise could not be more different.  "Come Alive" is fantastic, bizarre, and sometimes angry, while "Mushrooms and Roses" can only be described as the sex scene of the album (if albums can have sex scenes...), which ever so gradually fades out, and thus appropriately ends our second Suite.  But not the album, of course!  Here's a link to ArchAndroid Part II  (and the third suite of Metropolis).

Peace out for now,
Dance

I Never Loved A Man the Way I Love You – Aretha Franklin, 1967

When I bought Tom Moon’s 1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die, I made two lists: recordings that sounded interesting that I should check out at some point, and albums that I should actively pursue and pay money for, pronto.  I Never Loved A Man was in the second category.  I didn’t already own this record because I’ve always thought that Aretha was a hit-maker, but not necessarily an artful album-releaser, so I was surprised when Moon listed two of her albums, (along with Amazing Grace, which I’m still in search of for cheap on vinyl) instead of one really good collection that included all of her power ballads and historic gospel tracks. 

So anyway, this has been on my purchase-upon-sight-list for about half a year now, and I found it recently on a Sabbath Monday record shop stroll.  The album artwork is truly one of Aretha’s few beautiful covers, with the Queen of soul herself looking pensive and candid.  As Tom Moon directed, I remembered that this album historically propelled its heroine both into the mainstream, and onto a level shared with the fathers of soul, and listened to it as a beginning.  I pretended to have never heard neither the crisp and lively voice that was about to burst from the speakers, nor what has become The feminist anthem of our time.  I imagined that I knew ‘Respect’ only because Otis Redding recorded it first, and that the last time I heard strong feminine soul music it was through the vocal chords of Jazz’s triple-threat: Billie, Ella, and Sarah – powerful and deep, yes, but a different game entirely.  I placed myself in 1967 as best I could. 

And this record completely.  Blew.  Me.  Away.

She begins with ‘Respect’.  If that by itself doesn’t demand it, I don’t know what does.  She is bold and I can’t take my ears off her, because she means every word, every horn shot, and every pitch inflection.  She takes Otis’s ingenious-to-begin-with track, and gives it a whole new meaning as she represents the other half of the human population, bringing the song into the hearts of generations of people – men and women alike. 

And then, just when you think this woman has established her confidence and strength, she drops the saddest song in the world.  When anyone else sings ‘Drown In My Own Tears’, it’s nothing but melodrama, but I am pretty sure Aretha is channeling Billie Holiday, because I believe every word. 

The remainder of side-1 continues to dig deep into the emotional life of this mesmerizing woman of strength and beauty, while highlighting original tunes of herself and her fellow musicians (such as Soul Serenade which was written by T Sax player, King Curtis).  The title track makes it clear why she was launched onto the billboards, and is not nearly played enough compared to some of Aretha’s other huge singles. 

I never want to skip a single track on this record, but I do start to bounce a little in anticipation of flipping it over.  There is something about the second side of a record – and I say that especially in regards to this one.  Side-2 begins with the three most fun and groovy songs of the album, ‘Dr. Feelgood’, ‘Good Times’, and ‘Do Right Woman – Do Right Man’ (which connects gender-equality and right-relationship perfectly with head-nodding and chair-dancing), and then they are coupled with the desperate, sad, and yet hopeful ‘Save Me’, and Sam Cooke’s track that is strained with urgency: ‘A Change is Gonna Come’.  

I Never Loved A Man the Way I Love You is a true gospel album that speaks, no, sings of both the best and worst of life from the most honest place possible, and ends looking forward with ample faith and confidence.  I feel like I’ve laughed and cried, and am officially ready to start the day.  At 2:30 in the afternoon on a Friday.  

Lauryn Hill: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, 1998

I know, you thought I had completely given up on this venture. Well, so had I. Not intentionally. I can't exactly blame business for my lack of writing, because the truth is, I wrote the most when I had the most school work to do, and since graduating I haven't had nearly the deadlines! Perhaps I've been at least partially word-paralyzed by the immensity of the album that has for months now been my next listening project: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.

Miseducation is an album that I never need a reason to play. In 1998 it rightly swept the Grammies, and gave a ridiculous know-it-all teenager a strong down-to-earth and talented female role-model. Although I hadn't experienced half of the life Lauryn sings about (love, motherhood...) I felt as though she was singing words from my own soul. Maybe she was just showing me where my English-raised soul was located. Either way, it was an experience of something much deeper than cool sounds.

So I will try my best not to wax sentimental here. Without the nostalgia, which I do realize can be terribly powerful, there is plenty to appreciate. Let's start with the cover art. We find ourselves looking down on a sloped wooden desk, like many times before, oblivious to the lesson spouting at us, tracing with our finger the outlines scratched by earlier students, and wondering who sat here before us. It's clear what we have in our hands is a story of a student who has become the teacher. As soon as the record begins our interest is peaked even further when we realize that our protagonist is missing from the roll call... and my mind's camera seems to pan out and zoom to the real location of Lauryn.

And this is when I tend to wake up. Whenever The Lost Ones kicks in as my alarm, Lauryn spits words at me with a beat that makes it very hard to remain horizontal. Her words are harsh and motivating with a "wake up and pay attention" feel, as she calls her listeners on every mistake of pride and hypocrisy. We're getting ready for a lesson. And it's clear once we're back to the classroom that the topic of the day is love. The entire album moves between two educational settings: the classroom and wherever Lauryn is, and it seems to frame the record as a lesson or at least discussion on the definition of love.  

Yet Lauryn's first love song of the album is not what we might expect from such a lesson! Instead of being about a beautiful man or incredible sex, it's about choosing to keep her child, Zion, and finds her focus on spirituality, complete with a backing gospel choir and the prayer-like solos of Carlos Santana. Meanwhile back in class the kids are talking about what it's like to be in love.

Superstar and Final Hour have always felt like a pair to me and even though they have entirely different feels, they are connected by their concern with being real, calling artists away from selling out with choruses like, "Music is supposed to inspire," and "You can get the money, you can get the power, but keep your eyes on the final hour". She draws attention away from celebrity to personal integrity ("I'm about to change the focus from the richest to the brokest") warning us all to "watch out what you cling to".

When It Hurts So Bad begins to sound a little more familiar as an R&B ballad of unrequited love, and has never gripped me like the rest of the album, along with I Used To which I barely noticed. More than that, its seeming fickleness bugged me: She used to love him but now she doesn't? What's that about? Yet I was forced to pay more attention this time considering not only Lauryn, but Mary J. is also belting out the lesson. The song is really about a unhealthy relationship (abusive?) that is suffocating these strong, beautiful women. I wonder if we are meant to experience the juxtaposition of the fickle sounding background hook and the verses that reveal a true salvation song - much like an outsider might react to a breakup, without knowing the whole story.

Forgive Them Father may sound a bit preachy, but it also proves to me that no one can rap biblical references like Lauryn can. Is she a prophet? It could explain the crazy she now finds herself in.

I have only at this point listened to half of the album and still there is plenty left to say! Nothing Even Matters reigns as the most stereotypical love song on the album, completed by dueting Lauryn with D'Angelo who you do not even need to look at to be physically attracted to (although looking wouldn't hurt). Still, organs add a really unique texture to the track, and the finger snaps are as groovy as finger snaps have ever been.

From here on out, we are deep in love, metaphorically and literally. With Lauryn herself. Ex-Factor is a true-to-life reflection on the complications of love and breaking up, where the singer flits between being the one trying to let go to the relationship, and the one desperately hanging on.

Doo Wop was easily the biggest deal from this album. Everyone remembers this song, and everyone should remember the music video. This track is the perfect example of how great Lauryn is at everything she does: we have layers of perfect old-school soul-filled harmonies, exciting energy, and the heaviest fattest rhymes proving that "female rapper" is no oxymoron, all the while spitting a lyrical truth that though we might call it love, some guys/girls are only about that thing.

The retro feel of Doo Wop (That Thing) launches us into the nostalgic track Every Ghetto, Every City, full of references of early hip hop years that give me the imagination that it's where I'm from, even though I'm a white girl from a suburb called New Westminster.

Everything is Everything at the moment does nothing but remind me of Mia Michaels on So You Think You Can Dance. Everything she loves is "everything". Every instrument on this track hits hard, like Lauryn's rhymes, which give a contrasting background to her smooth vocals on the verses and choruses. Ms. Hill  reminds us that change is always around the corner, so we need to take advantage of what we're given in the time being to make that change a good one. Or maybe, slightly more far-fetched, that regardless of how "schooled" we think we are, we always have the chance to be educated by life. Yep, that was far-fetched. Sorry.

The album concludes (but doesn't finish) with the title track, that's given a vinyl record quality, and I'm forced to imagine what it would be like to have this album on vinyl for real. The organ and keyboard are superfluous and kind of sound like church. Well, what I imagine a black church to sound like. A combination of a black church and my dad. Ok, I'm taking on a bit of Lauryn's crazy now...

Finally The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill wraps up with two bonus tracks: You're Just Too Good to be True, and Tell Him. I think they're bonus because we're not really meant to hear them as a part of the story (whatever that may have been for you), but they're applicable and appropriate. I love these tracks, but I'm going to end this here. I feel as though I've made up for months of missed writing, and these songs are primarily meant to be enjoyed and not talked about.

Peace out,
Danice