It had to happen sometime. I haven’t done a review proper of Chris Brown because, well, talking about the guy depresses me a little too much. He’s the horrible gift that keeps on giving even though you’re screaming for it to stop, for the love of god, just go away. I’ve never been a fan of the guy, but that instance of domestic abuse – and all the petulant, bratty, abhorrent behaviour that has occurred since – is enough to make me, and a lot of people, never want to hear from him again.
And yet he sticks around somehow. The US listening audience seems to have fairly roundly rejected him, and yet he still manages relative success here in Australia (this song particularly). Funnily, this is the fourth single to be released from the album ‘Fortune’ and, fun fact, that album isn’t actually out for another couple of weeks. So basically, all of the singles thus far have flopped so hard that they’ve had to release almost a third of the album before it even comes out. The performance of this album seems to be mirroring that of his 2009 flop ‘Graffiti’ rather than his previous effort ‘F.A.M.E’, whose most successful single – Look At Me Now – had the underlying message of, “Fuck off, I’m famous and therefore unaccountable for my shitty actions.” and the fun kicker in the lyrics of Brown saying “you faggots”, paragon of tolerance that he is.
Nothing at all weird about appropriating a term for a shooting someone with a gun – potentially killing them – to your weird, vineyard-centric romantic conquest. Nothing weird about that at all. Oh, Train. There are so many things heinously wrong about you I don’t know where to start. So let’s start at the beginning.
Now, I don’t want to say that Maroon 5 is untalented, which is why I am writing it in this post. It seems less than coincidental that the bands only two hits from whatever their most recent album is called – I assume they released one despite the fact that why would you ever do that – have featured other artists. Basically what I am saying is that, on their own, they’re not really enough of a drawcard. Their comical blandness is hardly helping matters, but I guess comical blandness is what lands you the number 3 song in America and Australia.
Preliminary research suggests that the song likely would never have actually been a thing if it weren’t for frontman Adam Levine’s involvement with The Voice, which was basically a free ad for his shitty song to 10 million people every week. Who wouldn’t do the same thing? And I don’t begrudge the song’s popularity, really, because it’s hardly offensively omnipresent nor aggressively bad. It’s kinda like a fart, but just a silent and odourless one.
I don’t know if anyone else ever does this, but whenever I trawl through the charts listening to the songs I’ve yet to hear anywhere else, I sometimes black out and wake up covered in blood. Usually this is because I listen to a song whose success is so bewildering to me that I can’t help but murder people, maybe. One such song was ‘Call Me Maybe’ by Carly Rae Jepsen, who like, how is she NOT just Taylor Swift 2.0? With a name like that? It’s like she’s the sweet, innocent 16 year old that gets put through the first few rounds of American Idol auditions just because the judges can’t bear to make her cry on national television, because how can Jennifer Lopez harvest her tears to bathe in then?
The most alarming thing about this song, though, is that it’s a hit. But it sounds like a hit from 10 years ago. This is like, the 2012 version of Mandy Moore’s ‘Candy’.
Madonna is back, everyone! This is a good thing. The pop music landscape needs a (stalwart other than Kylie Minogue) to whip these uppity little bitches into shape, and who better to do so than The Queen of Pop? Okay, well, who is more likely to do so? No one, really. As much as I would love for Bonnie Tyler to collaborate with Kanye and break back into the mainstream, I don’t see that happening any time soon (but seriously, has no rapper sampled Total Eclipse of the Heart yet?!).
No, I’m a Madge purist. Continue reading
Are we nearing the end of Bruno Mars’ whining spree yet? Between this new single It Will Rain and Grenade, the title of the World Biggest Pussy is pretty well and truly secured by Mars. This song is basically a soap opera break up distilled into song form. This guy’s popularity is really puzzling to me. He’s so vanilla. He’s basically if Jason Mraz were a bit ethnic and filled with sadness.
I mean, yes, he had those upbeat songs (The Lazy Song) but it’s clear that, now that this is a big hit and Grenade was before it, Mars’ signature style will be that of the heartbroken balladeer. But this is kitchen sink heartbreak. This isn’t the quiet, lovelorn subtlety of Bon Iver’s first album. It’s not the brooding intensity of The National. It’s not the slightly angsty, heartbreaking beauty of The Rural Alberta Advantage. I mean, you just have to look at the lyrics:
I have a theory. I don’t expect it to be a popular one, but here goes anyway: Justin Bieber is the male Lady Gaga.
BEAR WITH ME.
Now, I don’t mean in a musical sense, or (somewhat disappointingly) in terms of fashion either, no matter how much I’d like to see Bieber wearing a giant lit cigarette on his head at his next concert, or shoes that meet regulatory standards for the butchering of cattle, or just dousing himself in pig’s blood and running around screaming, “SISSY SPACEK! SISSY SPACEK! SISSY SPACEK!” as I’m sure Lady Gaga will have to do at some point because ideas are finite.