GaGa: Verdict

OK, so I didn't enjoy GaGa. This is either because my stadium pop tour expectations are high, as a function of my intelligence and evolved aesthetics, or because I am now old. Old things first: it was just too loud. So loud that a) my eyes were uncontrollably blinking to the rhythm, b) the sound horribly distorted into a deafening scream, and c) I was indeed somewhat deaf after the show, and well into the next morning. Does it make me old to want my hearing? Possibly, but not necessarily erroneously.

It wasn't just my extreme age dulling my enjoyment. Basically, it wasn't a great show. Or, rather, it wasn't a show great enough to match the truly great things GaGa is doing in every other sphere - her clips, visual imagery, appearances etc. Because the production was merely mediocre, everything seemed slightly duller than one would expect: her costumes weren't nearly as interesting or avant garde as her award show costumery, the imagery seemed timid compared to her clips and there was the distinct scent of mediocre American pop stadium tour hanging in the air - or maybe that had seeped into the walls after Britney let off her giant mediocre stink bomb a few months back.

It wasn't so much that GaGa was mediocre, but the production surrounding her was cheap and clunky. Rather than seamless costume changes, curtains were dropped between sets. The stage seemed straight out of Dracula's theatre restaurant. The dance troupe veered awfully close to Britney stumbling around the stage. There were pyrotechnics. And oh so many guitars. Annoyingly, what made this mediocrity even more obvious were the flashes of genius scattered throughout - mostly in the pre-recorded GaGa imagery - that teased you with how the show could have been. Stark (to use my favourite pop word), adventurous, and musically aligned to dance rather than Jacko's big-haired guitar drones (who seemed to have been cloned and released on stage, in a slightly dazed manner). Basically I wanted a show put together by Haus of GaGa but what I got was a show put together by (I assume) merely average touring veterans.

What I should keep in mind though is that even while the Monster Ball Tour was being put together, GaGa was evolving at a fast pace. I just don't think the scope of the show, as it was conceived at that point in time, could handle how awesome, and artistically adventurous, she's gone on to become. In future she needs to put Haus of GaGa in charge of everything, and conjure the anal perfectionism of Kylie's creative team. That would then create the perfect arena spectacular.

Gabriella Cilmi has blindsided me with this. I sort of liked Sweet Like Me until it was played to death, and until I got the vaguest sense that she was just a little bit annoying. But On a Mission has really grown on me. I think musically it's a backward step, but the very fact it sounds so regressive makes it fun.

The bizarre thing is that with the first album Cilmi had instantly captured the kind of international sound that most Australian artists strive for. But with this (not having heard the album), it sounds so Australian, in the S2S vein -- polished but banal. And so trashy. I think she deserves some credit for presenting just a little bit of Chapel Street to the world...

Heidi Montag

Has she had work done?

While Heidi Montag is a vacant starlet in the truest sense (see this), nonetheless her complete plastic surgery makeover is a bold move, and raises some interesting questions about, umm, the boundaries of identity. While I'm tempted to say that in becoming a completely different person, Montag is making a profound political statement, she's most likely playing out some kind of body dysmorphia to tragic effect. But whatever the motivation, her physical transformation is intense. She has actually become a different person, extracting the essence of transgender surgery to rebuild her face and body rather than tweak it.

Unfortunately her face is so bruised she's unable to promote her new album Superficial, suggesting her planning skills are somewhat underdeveloped. But seriously, ever since starlets caught wind of this Warhol(ian?) notion that even the most superficial fame has its own innate meaning, I'm really bad at picking the idiots from the canny ones.

I love this so much.

Goldfrapp

Seventh Tree was unfairly maligned, but nonetheless I love the new Goldfrapp direction with Rocket, particularly the brilliant but inane lyrics ('I've got a rocket/you're goin' on it'). Jaunty, smiley bass, rockety bleepy sounds, a Light Years style countdown and a final rocket blast -- these are all very good things. And the new Xanadu inspired styling is ace, if somewhat derivative these days. But if there's anyone who deserves to do Xanadu, it's Alison Goldfrapp.

Sade seems to be only slightly more productive than Kate Bush, but Soldier of Love is a really promising taste of her/their first album since 2000's Lover's Rock. Whereas By Your Side, one of my all time favourite songs, carried a beautifully soft sentiment of compassion and loyalty (complemented by Sophie Muller's perfectly judged clip), Soldier of Love lays its cards on the table from the opening lyric: "I've lost the use of my heart but I'm still alive". Yikes. The arrangement has a real bite to it, and while the metaphors verge on the trite, there's at least a real honesty to their sentiment. Not sure if I'm according things with more artistry than strictly present -- it's hard not to confuse Sade's beauty and presence with the actual work. Indeed, shocking that she's now 51. Shows one can age gracefully even without giant cheek-orbs and filler.

Courtesy of Tim. Not sure what I think yet.

The Circus Tour

I've been meaning to properly recap 2009 (a good year in pop indeed), but recapping 2009 has meant writing up Britney's Circus tour, which is an act that I've put somewhere down around 'tax return' and 'check if I have diabetes' on my 'to-do' list. Because what is there to say really -- it was awful. Stunningly awful. But bizarrely, not at all enjoyable. If I'd spent $200 on a spectacularly entertaining debacle, that would have been fine (such as I imagine Victoria Beckham gigs would have been, if they'd happened). But this was deeply boring, which is quite an achievement -- to create a spectacular that fails to entertain. There's a long essay in why these sorts of shows often fall over (their alienating slickness for one thing), but to wrap this up quickly, and to provide an outline of the show using effort levels similar to that which Britters put in to the show, dot points are in order:

• Proceedings started dubiously with a series of people with disabilities performing circus tricks. On one level empowering to see such amazing physical achievements, but then, this is the opening of the 'Circus' tour. I'm not sure Britters' fully thought through the cultural baggage attached to that...
• Rather than dancing per se, Britters' tended to strut, shake her shoulders and point to the ground, all the while lazily miming. As in opening and shutting her mouth with no apparent relation to the words...
• Occasionally you'd lose her on the stage, and then realise the person you thought was a slightly tipsy backup dancer was actually the star.
• The show had no taste or subtlety. Even William Baker's efforts on costume design seemed tainted by tack.
• Each tack sounded the same. The show was relentless. Tim fell asleep.
• Many 12 year old girls were in attendence. They took over the men's toilets, leading to an unfortunate experience in which I was literally urinating in front of 12 year old girls.
• She didn't bother performing 3, the single she was, like, promoting.
• Britney Spears has absolutely no star quality in the flesh. The end.

The 'Spiritual' section...

A song to make me happy...

I somehow got a hold of a physical copy of Shakira's new She Wolf album, even though the release has now been pulled until 2010, which suggests record company disarray and panic. Very sad. But anyway, the album is strong, although only nine tracks (if you exclude the Spanish version of She Wolf), which puts it in The Fame Monster mini-album territory. Men in this Town is by far the highlight, with its heartwarming disco yelps, soaring chorus, bizarre lyrics about Matt Damon and suicide. Shakira at her best has a pleasing obtuseness, and here it's perfectly fused into the album's electro-disco template, unlike some of the Pharrell Williams tracks which could have turned up on Hard Candy with only slight modulation. (In an album of nine tracks, how can there be filler?). But this is good, good, good.

KylieNY2009

For me Kylie is imbued with all kinds of transformative meanings, which made my extravagant jaunt to New York feel like a pilgrimage of sorts. Partly offsetting the cost of 42 hours of flying, it ended up being my greatest Kylie experience yet, not only because of the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing (for both me and her), but also because of the novelty of seeing ‘our Kylie’ among a foreign crowd with a completely different take on who she is and what she represents. This crowd did *not* include tipsy secretaries, or families having their once-yearly night out. This crowd was hip, and 90 per cent male.

With nothing in particular to promote, the tour was framed as a composite of the best Parlophone-era live moments, stitched together into something new for an American audience previously denied access to her shows. Accordingly, projection artwork and compositions were borrowed from KylieFever, Showgirl, Showgirl Homecoming and KylieX. Occasionally this led to some odd sequencing, and also the slightly eerie sight of a 2001-era Kylie towering above the 2009 model, who seemed slightly, umm, older. But it basically worked well, and for the uninitiated would presumably have seemed relatively cohesive.

Proceedings kicked off with Light Years, with K descending from the rafters on the famed glitter skull, donning a very GaGa costume, including a new take on the Showgirl Homecoming pink feathers, fused with the American flag. The new choreography was some of the best since Fever, and thankfully moved past the tired robo-moves that were heading steadily towards farce. Her voice was in fine form, she looked suitably refreshed, and she was having a ball. As was the crowd – at random intervals well-dressed men started pashing each other suggesting some kind of overflow of pop pleasure.

The unfortunate return of Red Blooded Woman...

Subsequent sections saw the welcome return of the towering SmileyKylie medley, a fantastic rendition of White Diamond in ballad form (which went beyond show tune to evoke actual emotion), Confide in Me from the first Showgirl tour, Burning Up/Vogue (which seemed to confuse the crowd) and, of course, The One.

There’s not much more to say really. Kylie in New York, and all the wonderful connotations that brings. And also the end of my own bizarre Kylie odyssey -- London, Sydney, Melbourne, New York. I am now truly an obsessive. It has to stop.

Update

I haven’t blogged for a while. I think it’s because I’ve been processing the shock that I actually very much like the new Sarah Blasko album. As much as I’ve always thought (assumed?) that she’s annoying and affected, my god I relate to her lyrics and her sentiment. Am I affected? Is this why I’ve loathed her so? Who knows, but the Peter Bjorn and John production works, and I think albums about tortured separations from long-term creative/romantic partners are generally creatively fertile (not that I expect such self-sacrifice from my artists).

So what else has been going on musically? Had the pleasure of watching the amazing Aimee Mann at the Palais (but pointedly missed her support, Ben Lee). And she was brilliant. So in control, her voice in fine form, funny, jumping from request to request, ignoring her set-list for the last 2/3 of the show. I find her music quite unique in how it skips between dark humour to (once again) desolation from line to line, yet somehow still makes sense as a whole. Although only 28, 31 Today is, once again, devastating.

What else? The new Natalie Imbruglia album shows promise, although not sure about her strategy of releasing a single but releasing a clip for a song which is not the single. Why do mainstream artists go independent then do stupid decadent things like this? For example, Darren Hayes' 2-disc opus which I'm sure even Savage Garden royalties are struggling to pay for. And I’m also increasingly respecting Tina Arena, which I will blog about soon. This is a confronting topic, but Just Me, aside form it’s awful first two singles, is really a very fine album. I'm sure there's more thing's I've missed (the implosion of Mariah Carey, Heidi Montag's 'live' performance debut, Madonna's sleazy Celebration clip), but I will attend to these in time.

Sophie, I love you.

Sophie B. Hawkins is one intense lady, and I love her. But she is also a sort of living testament to the fact that a life lived in full adherence to emotional truth inevitably heads towards living with lots of pets, and writing songs about them -- for her, it's all about shadows of life and death, the merging of body and soul, drumming and Virginia Woolf. But for me this is of course an entirely good thing, as I prefer my emotion to be *bluntly* expressed through music.

It's ironic that someone who consistently channels such a sexual energy is probably most well known for the TTfm (as it was then) staple As I Lay Me Down and the Dawson's Creek soundtrack, as well as, of course, the classic Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover, with its famous sleeveless flannel shirt. But running through most of her work is a theme of destructive sexuality -- an evocation of a sexual/spiritual force (of the elemental variety) that can never be fully expressed, and would most likely tear you apart if it could be. Thus the pets. Thus the drums. I don't really have a point here, except that I like my music overblown, and I think Sophie B. is often overlooked. Looking back, her unrestrained and forceful music is quite refreshing. She also had a fight with Sony Music over a banjo, which I think is pretty cool. Try that Delta, Tina and the rest...

Your Madgesty is dead... long live Shakira!

If one needs any more evidence of Madonna's increasing musical irrelevance, here it is. Celebration is a dud. While theoretically I support her return to dance, this is a track with zero originality -- it could be anyone's track. She doesn't even seem herself in the spoken word sections, normally a Madonna strength. And despite it's celebratory intent, there is no soul. Once again she sounds like she's phoning it in. She makes all the right noises about being yourself, chasing pleasure etc., but she may as well have been recording it from the treadmill, slave to her insatiable work ethic. A sad day this is. I was hoping that after such a setback as Hard Candy, she would be reborn.

Shakira on the other hand has snuck out of hibernation to produce a killer track with a fantastic clip (which echoes Madge's Sorry, as if to emphasise some kind of changing of the guard). She Wolf is disco fun at its best. My hips shake even writing about it. And I love the clip's bizarre concoction of contrary scenes: Shakira gyrating in some kind of glitter womb; her recreation of MJ's Smooth Criminal 'lean forward' move; the bit where she basically detaches her hips in some kind of cage; and her climactic dance solo which evokes early 2000 J.Lo 'house' dance in a thoroughly satisfying way. This is adventurous, progressive and full of soul. Shakira is the new pop innovator.