I Pity The Haters

The most intense and divisive conversations I have with people nearly always begin with, "I have a song I want to play you."

Pop music is a litmus test in the process of young adult coolness authenticity: "You listen to Bon Iver?" [You're cool.] "You listen to Kylie Minogue?" [You're lame, unintelligent, out-of-the-loop, immature, self in-actualized.]

Essentially, pop music can be enjoyed by girls aged in single digits, so if you listen to pop music you have the taste of a nine year-old. Of course, there are exceptions. Lady Gaga, for instance, has been scratched off the Guilty Pleasure list by Rolling Stone and Pitchfork, the birthplaces of indie cred and tectonic divergence zones for what is and is not acceptable to have on your iPod. Other exceptions involve music sites like Hype.fm and Pandora. ("If Taylor Swift plays in my Pheonix channel, I can't help that. I only have so many songs I can skip per hour!")

You can also be so out you're in, like Fergie. I'm not sure how that works, but everyone loves Fergie. I know cokeheads and band agents and American Apparel employees alike who will lose their shit when "Glamorous" comes on. "This is my jam!"

The irony is that many artists with a massive "underground" (i.e. depressed hipster) following like Uffie have pop sensibilities stronger than major aboveground musicians. "DVNO" by Justice is more radio-friendly than anything Gwen Stefani ever released, and she has multiple #1's and a legion of teenage fans.

Acceptable music acts like The Gossip, Tokyo Police Club, and Surfer Blood are the aural equivalent of nails being repeatedly driven into my skull. If I was a cave man, I'd love the grating chorus line of "Keep The Car Running" by Arcade Fire, but I heard Britney Spears' "Crazy" as a preteen inside a Chuck E. Cheese and know that pop music can change your life.

Pop music doesn't alter your life in the same way Fiona Apple does, however. Pop music is so frothy you don't even need to filter the lyrics. With our intellectual webs disabled, pop music hits directly at our pleasure (or pain) centers. The sensation can be so real even the most jaded of hipsters will, I guarantee you, dance when "Rude Boy" plays. They will belt out Mariah's "We Belong Together" in private. They will play Katy Perry's newest single, "Teenage Dream," and tear up in their rooms reflecting on high school memories.

"Teenage Dream" is a perfect example of Pop That Changes Your Life: "You say I'm pretty without any makeup on/...let's go all the way tonight." Damn. Have we not all lived through this? Why cast hate on a story told through this medium? As if hipsters speak more eloquently than most pop music is sung. "You make me/ feel like I'm living a/ teenage dream." There's no pretense. Come as you are, listeners, because we've all been teenagers and you don't need a degree from Columbia and a longtime pretend relationship with "a fashion designer from Brooklyn" to appreciate the first time you woke up and realized you were a little less innocent than you were the day before.

I pity anyone who can't appreciate the sugar rush of Kylie Minogue's "Get Out of My Way" or the electric bounce of Leighton Meester's "Your Love's A Drug." A good pop song, on first listen, can be better than sex. Just as pop can give life, however, pop also taketh away; I remember listening to Usher's "Love In This Club" (a painfully mediocre pop song, really) in the car for the first time and nearly getting into a wreck due to my temporary ecstasy.

We cheat pop music out of whatever potential it has to effect people when we label it the way we do; "deep art" can often be even more transparent than pop, which has a sense of irony and is rarely serious. There's more humor in Perry's "California Gurls" than in any song The Heartless Bastards ever conceived, more tangible emotion in Robyn's "Should Have Known" than any sculpture in the MoMA. (This may or may not be an exaggeration.)

I can't convince anyone to like pop music. You understand the appeal or you don't. However, like someone born with a poor sense of smell can never understand the appeal of French food, I can only try my best not to rub it in.

The Idealized Lady Gaga

?

Lady Gaga's "Alejandro"

Gaga's new video has been on the air for less than an hour and "LADY GAGA OFFENSIVE VIDEO" headlines are already flowing like the freshly spilt tears of Pope Benedict XVI.

When something is offensive it must provoke and upset not by default but by intent, so do not mistake Lady Gaga and Steven Klein as accidentally ruffling the alms-paid-for feathers of the Catholic church. In a perfect world, or just an educated world, the word "offensive" would never coincide with a comment about art. Art is supposed to be offensive and I dare anyone to name a piece of art, whether a play or a song or a sculpture made of discarded placenta, that gave a distinct emotional impression without provocation.

But controversy aside, the video is just okay. Which, in the context of the video's pop cultural importance, is a fairly brutal criticism. "Alejandro" is, after all, a much-anticipated collaboration between one of the most talented American photographers and the most exciting musician in the world as of 2010 and yet, there isn't much of a story or even anything remotely pleasurable to look at. What I saw was a dark, unsurprising collage of interesting (but ultimately--and this is the worst part--pointless) imagery that would be better suited for the centerfold of W or Arena and not reeled into a projector and placed onscreen.

There are a few amazing moments. Near the end of the video, with Gaga standing alone in what seems like the demure outfit your salsa instructor would wear at any small-town ballet studio, there are sparks of real inspiration. Marching and snapping her alabaster fingers, she is defiant and beautiful. The following dance sequence is another strong moment, and the story of the track itself--modern women, the struggle and judgement of society towards homosexual men, and the torturous relationships between these entities--becomes at least somewhat apparent. With her gay soldiers marching at her side, preparing for their incoming battle against the brilliant critiques of Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck, she transcends her human body as Lady Gaga and, in a move that is becoming increasingly easy for her, transforms into a kind of religious icon, an image of something otherworldly. The video ends with her being obsessively disrobed and tossed about, finally exposing her breasts to her acolytes. This is disturbing, but fame is disturbing, and when interpreted this way, the lyrics of "Alejandro" seem disturbing.

Hopefully her next effort, for "Monster" I presume, will be more original. Gaga's already worshiped, but pop-cultural holiness requires a few miracles now and then.

And, as a big fan of Steven Klein, I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the video and a past shoot of Klein's for French Vogue in 2009, picture below. Even the haircuts on the male dancers are identical. Copying your art for the Queen of Pop? Now that's "offensive."

Baptism/Cheerleaders

I haven't posted anything about music in months. Or, like, years.

But sometimes you have two diet cokes and five cups of coffee before noon and, all of a sudden, writing a few words on new music is more an obligation than a distraction.

On the whole, the pop music world is sort of at a standstill. The invention of Lady Gaga has placed a lot of new artists immediately on the shelf of Been There, Done That. The Gaga effect is so clear, songs like "OMG" by Usher are actually getting airplay. Actually hitting #1 on Billboard. Actually being illegally downloaded. Like tasting a filet mignon and being sentenced to Wendy's square meat patties for all of eternity, we as a pop audience have to dig a bit for anything even relatively tasty.

The food metaphors are a perfect lead-in to "Treats" by Sleigh Bells. Seriously, what the fuck is this? The duo--composed of some death metal musician and a girl group dropout--has created some exceptionally bizarre music. The album is aggressive, almost scary, with crunchy guitar sound effects and bass hits that sound more like boulders colliding in low gravity than an 808. I normally don't listen to "alternative"

(Sorry, a shudder just ripped through my body, sending me awkwardly to the floor of Thunderbird Coffee. Caffeine effect?)

As I was saying, Sleigh Bells is not my usual fare, but the songs are irresistible. My favorite track is "Riot Rhythm," probably because of the cheerleader chants. I just love cheerleaders. If Sleigh Bells had an owl on their album cover I probably wouldn't like them so much, but I continually picture the old McQueen ads and, as I grow deaf blasting "Tell 'Em" and yelling out my car window, I picture her doing cheers and flirtatiously (i.e. sluttily) dancing to the industrial sound of Treats.

The new Crystal Castles is pretty sick, too. "Baptism" is my favorite of the new tracks. I think this is a record that, if Lindsay Lohan had any foresight or taste or culture, would have been wise of her to collaborate on. "Baptism," and the album's lead single, "Empathy," are the kind of accessible underground that propelled Justice to international fame. (Or, at the very least, Youtube fame.) Ambitious, not so much--the album is standard CC fare--but it's enjoyable if you aren't in your room with the lights out.

May's seen more than a few killer singles. Kelis' "Flesh Tone" has already unloaded "Fourth of July," "Brave," and impossible-to-hate "Emancipate Yourself," Kelis' answer to Madonna's "Sorry." B.o.B. is boring as hell, but "Magic" (featuring the insanely sexy vocals of Rivers Cuomo, who is hot by rule of his moniker alone) is bouncy fun without any JoBros musical reference.

Xtina's "WooHoo" is one of those embarrassing tracks you can't imagine being approved ("you don't need a plate/just ya face/ahh") and Keane still sucks ass. No surprise there; being relegated to soft-rock radio play in Applebees is a sure sign you should never have a rapper featured on your album. Like, ever.

To conclude, I recommend that no one ever listens to "Freaky" by Koda Kumi. It is horrible and I somehow bought it on iTunes and have no recollection of the purchase. Don't suffer with me.

10 Happiest Albums of the Decade

Two-thousand through 2010 was a thrilling decade for entertainment. Videogames continually defied storytelling expectation, film delivered both brains and brawn (albeit more clumsily), television consistently impressed both the public (the behemoth that is American Idol) and critics (Big Love), and novels like and Away and The Post Birthday World proved great authors still exist. The most creative growth, however, took place in the realm of music. From the anthem pep of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Stadium Arcadium (2006) to Britney Spears' darkly futuristic pop in Blackout (2007), Shania Twain's genre-bending Up! (2002) and the solemn free-by-download In Rainbows by Radiohead (2007), music in the 2000s was as diverse as it was frighteningly similar. Shimmering electro-pop (Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor, 2005) and slinky throwback (Solange's Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams, 2008) were trends both widespread and pervasive, from superficial pop to underground hip-hop. But ten albums stand out in my mind as excellent, innovative from a creative standpoint and, as is most important to The Happiest Activist, a hell of a fun listen.

10. Kings of Leon, Only by the Night (2008)


















It's rumored Caleb Followill wrote Only in a single night, beginning with the haunting, desperate "Closer," about a vampire looking to feed. This is not their Happiest record of the decade, but the general tone and musicality of the album wins with major style points.

Happiest Track: "Revelry"


9. Sam Sparro, Sam Sparro (2008)


















Sparro's debut is unabashed 80's-style pop, but occasionally-deep lyrical content appears when least expected.

Happiest Track: "Too Many Questions"


8. Robyn, Robyn (2008)

















Simple, perfect pop.

Happiest Track: "Handle Me"


7. Feist, Let It Die (2004)

















Happiest Track: "Inside and Out"


6. Lady Gaga, The Fame Monster (2009)
















I was tempted to rank this higher on the list--no other female pop record was quite as fun in the 2000s--but the album is still fresh.

Happiest Track: "Bad Romance"


5. The Postal Service, Give Up (2003)

















Possibly also the Happiest Album Art Award?

Happiest Track: "Nothing Better"


4. Lily Allen, Alright, Still (2006)


















Lily Allen was and still is the most believable pop music brat. And her brand of humor has been copied again and again...(Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Kate Nash...lot's of K's, for some reason)

Happiest Track: "Knock 'Em Out"


3. Fiona Apple, Extraordinary Machine (2005)


















Happiest Track: "Better Version of Me"


2. The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)


















There are a lot of faux-Brit rockers in the music world, but none as slick, sexual or pared down as Brandon Flowers and his less-relevant band members.

Happiest Track: "Smile Like You Mean It"


1. Amy Winehouse, Back to Black (2006)


















Cutting selections from this list--which began much larger than the ten you see here--took a lot of careful consideration and research. I wanted to include a Madonna album, simply for the impact she's had on my life in the past decade, but no single album is better than the above ten (2000's Music came close). I also wanted to throw in Rihanna's Rated R (2009), which is altogether a better record than The Fame Monster but, let's all be honest, the Lady deserves a spot here. There were a hundred others--Shakira (for She Wolf, 2009) and John Mayer (Continuum, 2006), M.I.A. (Kala, 2007) and even electro-pop goddess Annie for the dazzling, whirling disco of Anniemal (2004). But when I had to make a choice for Happiest album, there was no doubt in my mind. Amy Winehouse is a legend in the making. She has a voice without peer and an ability to write lyrics as sharp as shattered glass--and as heartbreaking as the worst breakup you've ever been through. Paired with Mark Ronson's addictive beats and as-of-yet-unmatched talent at mimicking the rasp of vintage recordings, one can only hope her heart is broken again. And that's black.

Happiest Track (of the Decade): "Back to Black"

The Semester

This Fall has been sobering. And not in the healthy way. Not in the, "I woke up today feeling fresh and sprinted six miles!" kind of way; no, in the "God, reality sucks." kind of way. And by "reality," I am referring to what our parents always referred to as The Real World. And this Real World doesn't contain Anderson Cooper's adorable ex-boyfriend.

Lesson 1: Dicks exist. There are people who make unjust decisions based on prejudice and, most frighteningly, for Fuck's Sake, and these people cannot be trusted and deserve no respect. I am actually referring to a very specific series of Fuck Dustin events that hit me in succession in late November and early December. Actually, revisiting them is a bit too harsh at the moment. Though, from now on I'll guard my asshole a bit better.

Lesson 2: You don't always get what you deserve. Ideas can be thrown away, work unacknowledged, and as someone who has happily received everything he ever wanted in life (plus more), this is like taking a sip of water and finding the sour bite of Vodka waiting for you beyond the rim. (It ain't Titos, either.)

Lesson 3: Love is entirely unpredictable. I worked with someone this Fall who was a genuine Flavor-Of-The-Week connoisseur, rummaging the dating world for whatever melted popsicle-of-a-man he could find. Oh, its Monday? That means ThirtyyearoldguyIworkwith must have a new boy. Oh, he thought he tasted like medicine? Back to the garbage can.

[I'm selling him a bit short. He did date one guy with an actual job, and two of them were mildly cute. But grape-flavored popsicles look good, too, until you look in the mirror and your mouth is dyed like you ate one of Lady Gaga's lavender wigs.]

Lesson 3 (continued): There was one man I wanted this semester. (And "wanted" is past tense because there was never any "getting.") He was much older (like, Daddy range--don't judge), but gorgeous, fluent in four languages, and the owner of a Chateau in the rural Loire Valley of France. I have always been into the...erm, ADULT type of man-- I wrongly fancy myself an old (er) soul--but never have I lusted after anyone this strongly. The fact that he never even REALIZED all of my awkward Hellos and How Are Yous (naturally, in my way-too-tight jeans) were an attempt at flirtation is the most upsetting part of the whole story. I just don't have the personal radar. One second I meet a straight man, three seconds later he tells me I'm "charming" and slips me a note with his number and "lets hook up soon." But give me six months, a toned ass and close proximity and I STILL can't get a man's attention.

But why is love unpredictable? (I use the word "love" loosely here) Because, all my time spent on this French-speaking, tanned and rugged Da Vinci of a man left me with nothing; but the entire time, a slightly younger man, yet with all the power and possibly a bit more in his pockets, wanted to, and I quote, "pin me up against a wall." And he did, in due time. But, like lesson number 2, don't I deserve the man I want? The man who is, by all accounts, LESS good-looking and OLDER than the man who actually wants me?!

And that leaves me here. Back at home, playing videogames and reading a biography of Alexander the Great. (My second-favorite gay of all time.) I feel pretty empty. Pretty unsuccessful. And I hope the next year brings something better. To end a year where I excelled at school, had three life-changing internships, spent six weeks in Paris, and lived out a few romantic fantasies in such cloudiness is the real tragedy of this situation. Like winning a marathon but finding the finish line to be two PVC pipes and fishing wire.

Ciara's "Love Sex Magic"

We've all heard it. Justin Timber--er, I mean Ciara's "Love Sex Magic," a sequel of sorts to JT's "SexyBack." (But in the musical vein of "Sexy Ladies.") The song is just above mediocre, not to say I haven't been obsesses with it for a month, but the video is truly stellar. It's a Gaga-Beyonce hybrid, but damn...Ciara is literally sizzling in it.

Icon?

such thought goes into every outfit she wears. Used to hate, now I adore the almighty Gaga.

I've changed my mind

The GaGa is alright after all.

Fashion Icon

Lady GaGa: I've found your next heinous fashion inspiration.

Is Katy Perry the next Madonna?

Right now, everyone's "the next Madonna." Lady Gaga, Rihanna, and Britney Spears, the latter of which being the most realistic candidate, have been crowned the New Queens by blogs and newpapers and films and, in Britney's case, lyrically. There's a reason this debate is going on, too--with her last album, Madonna proved she has lasting power unlike what Confessions on a Dance Floor seemed to suggest. She's got radio power. At 50. With kids. And a divorce.

So, really, who's the next Madonna? (True answer: NO ONE! But let's forget that for a second.) In a moment of inspiration, like, three seconds ago, I decided that the wielder of the Madonna torch is Katy Perry. Think about it--how did Madonna start in this business? Stirring up controversy, courting the gay audience, and setting clothing trends. Granted, Madge had a flawless first album, while Perry's is just oookaaaayyy, but still: the amount of public controversy lil' Katy's "Kissed A Girl" caused is kind of remarkable. It's become this litmus test when you meet someone. "Do you like 'Kissed A Girl?' No? Oh, that sucks. [I.e. Well, our friendship is over.]" Girls who like it are either personally self-affirmed or, well, actually into kissing girls, while those who hate it just hate it because it makes them "good" girls.

Who surrounds Perry on her tour? For better or for worse, a bunch of effeminate makeup artists and dancers and stylists. Who happen to be male. What about the trend-setting style? I will be the first to say Perry's no SJP, but I know more than one girl who's bought a short jumpsuit "like Katy Perry!"

This is truth. Eat it. IT'S KRUCHY!!

P.S. Not my image.

Music: Long overdue

So, a new music post has been forthcoming for about...two weeks. Yes, I posted on Beyonce and Fedde Le Grand, but that doesn't even scratch the surface of the best new music this fall.

Firstly, faux-lesbian duo t.A.T.u. released a new album a few weeks ago, and while they are essentially the most irrelevant pop artists on the face of the earth--hell, they aren't even popular in Russia anymore--they do have a half-decent single off Happy Smiles, unanimously voted by myself as the most inane album title of the decade.

"Fly On The Wall" is a well-produced, tonally-dated track about a male lover "naked in the shower" and sleeping alone and...you get it. It's Clay Aiken's haneous "Invisible" with an injection of squealy sex appeal. How ironic, though, that both Aiken and the t.A.T.u. girls faked their sexual orientations for the majority of their career?

Anyways, the track has the typical bleeps and boops you'd expect from an irrelavent Russian pop duo from the 2001 era, with a bit of muffled buzzing--you know, the kind Timbaland used in 50 Cent's "Ayo Technology"--as a failed attempt at modernity. Overall, it's worth a look, if only out of curiousity at how these girls still have a job.

I have been successful in resisting the appeal of Lady Gaga, a pop figure of far too much style (like, enough to gag anyone with a hint of sartorial instinct) and shockingly little substance, until now. Her debut The Fame is of no interest to me (see the HA comparison on the right); the track "Paparazzi," however, is fun enough to warrant the 3:28 seconds it takes to listen. Gaga has an annoying, shrill voice, but "Paparazzi" sounds like a decent remix of Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone." I use that comparison loosely--there are no lyrical similarities--but the urgent tone is there. I'll be honest, this track impresses me, so if Gaga can make an album of pop this accessible (and without references to anything dirty, rich or beautiful ever, ever again), perhaps I'm not taking her seriously enough.

Now, time for WHATS GOOD! Kylie Minogue, the undisputed queen of all that is ridiculous and tedious about pop music--in other words, all that is not Madonna! ( n00b obesss1on LOLZ)--has a few hidden treasures in her past album music vault. For the record, this vault is rainbow colored, with ill-placed jewels and paper mache unicorns pasted on the lid. But enough about the vault.

"Burning Up," from 2001's Fever, is beyond the brink of fun songs. Like, beyond beyond. Celebratory? Check. Unabashedly saccherine? Check. Nonsense lyrics? Check. Gay club play potential? Check. It must be EUROPOP!

Beginning with a light guitar strum and the ubiquitous "disco" reference, Kylie explodes with a two-word chorus extraganza. And get this: the beat builds. Not in any clever way, but in the expected, Cascada-esque "bum. bum. bum bum bum bum bum bum!" sunny days ahead kind of way. It's a blast.

I highly, highly recommend "Burning Up," if not only to own a slice of music so sweet it could literally give you a cavity. An ear cavity.

just sayin'...

I think it's funny that Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" became famous overnight. I've been listening to the track for a week or two now, and while I think it's just okay as far as dance songs go--Gaga's lyrical enunciation is a bit on the corny side for me, which ruins any sex appeal the track would otherwise have--it's great to see her all over the place. I'm pretty sure "Just Dance" is going to be the anthem for America's Best Dance Crew.

Also, does anyone know: is Akon playing along in the track?