New Music: Kylie Minogue's "Outta My Way"

I have been obsessed--literally--with Kylie Minogue's hot-as-a-flaming-rainbow track "Get Outta My Way" since late May. That's four straight months of repeat plays. I dance to it, run to it, drive to it, dress to it, dream to it. It's a bubblegum anthem without any of the deep stuff that so easily wears us thin. (Some popstars take themselves too seriously when they reach Kylie's age. Case in point: The "introspective songwriting" of the American Life album.)

The preview for the video is below. This is major.

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.

New Music: David "lil' Archy" Archuleta, Paris Hilton, and far more relevant artists

The past few weeks of music releases have been strong. Not strong in the lasting sense--no one's going to care about Lloyd or David Archuleta's new releases ten years from now--but as a sensory distraction, nothing can beat "Year of the Lover," off Lloyd's Lessons In Love, functioning as this fall's "Bed." It's dirty, but it's beautiful. Lloyd comes off a little lizardy in my opinion, slithering around in a manner far too like a salmonilla-spreading komodo dragon, and that detracts from the believability of the track. (I'm not sure calling Lloyd "lizardy" constitutes an argument, but listen and you'll get me.)

If there's one thing studying at UT has taught me, the weekends are all about letting loose. Interpret that as you will, but two songs I never would have listened to have been brought to my attention by the kind DJs of 6th. "Swing," from some irrelevant "rapper" that is too unimportant to be named, is an infectious track with a bass line so deep is basically encourages drunken girls with fake IDs to grind until one of them passes out. Literally, I (or he, or she, or you) walk into a venue, and if "Swing" is playing, I (or he, or she, or you) will follow his commands: "Oh sh**/shake that a**/now move it like you're tipsy/...drop it low, down to the floor..." Sick. The only knock I have against "Swing" is Soulja Boy's verse, the musical equivalent of vomit on a birthday cake. Watch out, SB wants you to "let him" pull "yo hurr." Really, pull her hair? That's hot now?

The other track is an ancient Jibbs number called "King Kong." Funny story: the first time I ever heard this track was in Finish Line Sports with two friends of mine. One of them, Kevin, was bobbing to the beat (=faggoty sentence, sry), and I totally blew it off. That was over two years ago.

"King Kong" is a blast. It's so straightforward. There's really nothing beyond a chopped and screwed vocal sample as a clever metaphor for massive car speakers. In fact, speakers so heavy they flatten tires and make the "doors fall off." Jibbs, like the rapper behind "Swing," is certainly not a player in the industry this year, but he's got a great sense of humor. Remember "Chain Hang Low?" You know, the creepy track with children singing modified nursery rhymes about gangster bling?

I'm so sick of writing about Kylie Minogue. I don't like her near as much as my blog would lead you to believe. She's fun, but I can only use the word "glittery" as her musical description so many times before...well, before I just stop writing about her. "Nu-di-ty," a track I resisted for a while, is wholly worth a $1.07 purchase. Off X, her now-defunct "comeback" album (that I don't hate), "Nu-di-ty" sounds like a better version of Britney's "Piece of Me." Admittedly, it's odd hearing a fully-grown, married mother commanding, "let me see nudity," telling her partner to "expose it," but at least she hasn't developed that scary stretched-face muscleman syndrome so common in her elderpop counterparts. You know who I'm talking about. The beat hops and changes tempo constantly, synchronizing with the jumpy vocal samples; the production on "Nu" is better than your typical pop track, which is why it won't be a hit, but it's also why it's worth your time.

The Killers have a new single out called "Spaceman," and it's kind of a disappointment. I was really hoping for a Sam Sparro-esque influence for their upcoming album, but it sounds like they'll be going for a Sam's Town/Hot Fuss hybrid. Blippy production with cryptic lyrics and obnoxious vocal flourishes from Flowers.

David Archuleta released his debut album this Tuesday, and while it's getting ravaged by critics, I happen to like a few of the tracks. "Running" is nice--the critics' darling--but, like the rest of the album, it's boring. Nice, though. "Touch My Hand" is scaled-back and emotional, hinting at a bright future for Archuleta. It's clear by the cover art that Clive Davis will be pushing for a more grown-up image--the Jonas Brothers have the tween market carved clean--and I wonder how radio will respond. "Crush" was fluttery and accesible, but "Touch" will be the real test of his mettle.

Now, for the grand opus of guilty pleasures. Paris Hilton, in case you didn't know, released a horrid album a year or so ago, to little commercial fanfare. She had some random reggae track called "Stars Are Blind," which was too lyrically confusing to be enjoyed by a Paris Hilton fan, who's reading experience likely chalks up to the back of cereal boxes and the track listings for old Backstreet Boys' albums. BUT, her second single, "Nothing In This World," is one of those irresistable tempations in life, like reading People at the checkout line or watching Into The Blue, and after two years I gave in and downloaded it. The chorus is, um, kind of like an exploding pinata, and if the song was a pinata, "Nothing In This World" would definitely be made out of paper mache, and would definitely contain those nasty candy neclaces. If you can tell, I'm avoiding any direct compliments to this track, which is simply a reflection of my natural instincts telling me to avoid humiliation.

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.

Music: Beyonce, Cassius and Madonna's sampling minions

The music market is great right now. Musical variety is here, the big names in L.A. are all releasing records this fall, and the club scene is finally warming up. (Ironically enough, as the actual clubs start losing their drunken patronage.) Beyonce's "If I Were A Boy" is decent enough emopop, but I doubt the release will be followed with serious airplay. It's too similar to what Rihanna has done with "Take A Bow," which was in turn a total ripoff of B's own "Irreplaceable." Then again, maybe the departure from traditional Beyonce R&B/Pop--you know, spasmic, over-the-top faux-female empowerment anthems with blaring horns and whistles--is just what she needs. Another problem going for her is a lack of media exposure; it's not that the paparazzi doesn't want her picture (she's looking great in a bikini again), it's that she and Jay-Z avoid them like the plague. Good for their sanity, but not for B's career. There's a price to pay for no longer being a prominent figure in pop culture. Britney Spears just demonstrated how buzz can lead to success with the so-so "Womanizer" which currently sits at the top spot of the Billboard Hot 100. The only way B can come back in full force is with another "Crazy In Love," not likely considering her first two singles.

In other music news, when I started creating my pre-Madonna "Sticky and Sweet Tour" playlist this morning I was led on an iTunes jungle discovery bonanza, where one song led to another and another and another. "Toop Toop" by Cassius is a fun, grungy electronic track similar in spirit to Kylie Minogue's "2 Hearts" (the best track off last years' X), with pegged-on, blippy effects that feel slapped together. The track has a garageband feel to it, which is simply a statement of opinion--not neccesarily good or bad.

I was also turned on to Fedde Le Grand, an electronic artist who apparently missed his bubble of opportunity a long time ago. I only say this because his latest single was in September of 2007, and in DJ circles you have to come hard and fast to maintain the momentum of one good single. (Justice and Simian Mobile Disco are exceptions to this rule, as their talent far surpasses anything put out by your night-to-night DJs.) Regardless, Le Grand did have two good singles, but his only lasting relevance is Madonna's current tour, where she actually covers his breakout track, "Put Your Hands Up 4 Detroit." The song is a blast, with unpredictable synths and Moby-esque vocal samples. The electronic elements are handled in a innovative way that hints at the curiosity of the DJ, with ups and downs and a fun little series of saxophone samples that are instantly recognizable (despite my never hearing them before). Le Grand copies his own brilliance--take that last word with a whole spoonfull of salt--in his follow-up, "Let Me Think About It." Once again channeling Moby, Le Grand tries his hand at funk-electro, to mixed results. Imagine the seuxality of SMD's "Hustler" mixed in with "Put Your Hands Up." It's great for the two minutes it plays, but beyond that I'll stick with the electronica champs, thank you.