|
 By
John Brodeur
Now
that all the non-Kanye fourth-quarter biggies have hit the
market, it’s time for a bit of reflection. I began my Major
Lift tenure less than a year ago with Animal, the debut
album from trash-pop starlet Ke$ha. How convenient
that she’d drop number two (see what I did there?) just in
time to put a cap on 2010. Originally just an EP intended
to be included with a deluxe version of Animal, Cannibal
is also being sold separately, a move not only intended to
make up for today’s shortened pop-single life cycle, but to
capitalize on the fact that this girl can actually sell records.
Like, for real: The lead single, “We R Who We R,” debuted
at the top of the Billboard pop chart, only the seventh
song to do so. It’s of a piece with her previous material,
meaning the lyric, reportedly written in response to the recent
rash of suicides among bullied gay teens, is delivered in
a half-rapped, half-sung drawl over high-decibel, flatlined
dance beats. And while her ode to celebrating one’s own weirdness
is a bit flawed (surely a girl’s aim in life shouldn’t be
to “make the hipsters fall in love”) it’s nice to know she
cares. It’s at least nice to hear her sing about something
other than drinking and fucking.
In fact, it’s that last bit that comes as Cannibal’s
biggest surprise. The eight new tracks here, while sometimes
sounding like the outtakes they probably are, almost manage
to avoid the debauchery chronicled on Animal in favor
of party jams—and a few genuine choruses. The problem with
Cannibal (though you wouldn’t know it from the sales
figures) is the sameness of the material—Dr Luke, Benny Blanco,
and Max Martin are the parties mainly responsible for the
sound, and it’s the same auto-tuned, blown-out noise that
they’ve dominated radio with for years now. (“Grow a Pear”
actually re-recycles the “Tik Tok” chorus hook borrowed by
Luke/Martin/Blanco for Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.”) The
standout tracks are the less-characteristic: “Sleazy” finds
the singer committing to both rapping and singing, separately,
over a chopped-and-screwed beat courtesy of producer Bangladesh;
David Gamson brings a lighter touch to “C U Next Tuesday.”
His production lays off on the auto-tune, too, and it turns
out Ke$ha can actually sing. Maybe next time she’ll get some
real songs to work with.
 The
Major Lift’s calendar year actually started with Rihanna’s
Rated R; she, too, is back with a quicker-than-expected
follow-up. Loud is the Barbadian singer’s fifth record,
and it’s a decidedly more pop affair than its rather dark
predecessor. Fun seems to be the overall aim here: The post-Chris
Brown drama of “Russian Roulette” is replaced with “Sticks
and stones may break my bones/But chains and whips excite
me” (on opener “S&M”). Loud is streamlined, in
a manner of speaking, with less producers and less guests
to clutter the space (though those guests are no slouches:
Drake, Nicki Minaj, Eminem). And while the more artistic bent
of Rated R is missed, the hooks are undeniable, especially
the Shama Joseph-produced dancehall of “Man Down” and “California
King Bed,” an acoustic guitar-based ballad that could have
just as easily fit on the latest Taylor Swift release. Expect
hits.
 Sticking
with some familiar names, one of the fall’s most anticipated
releases is Pink Friday, the long-awaited debut from
Nicki Minaj. She’s already turned in memorable verses
for about a dozen other artists—her turn on Kanye West’s “Monster”
is possibly the year’s best, the Trinidadian rapper’s numerous
personalities all boiled down to a single throat- ripping
turn on the mic. And her famous friends all return the favor
here, from West to Drake to will.i.am (whose Buggles- sampling
collaboration “Check It Out” was one of the fall’s guiltiest
pleasures).
When
she’s at her best, she’s one of the best: “Roman’s Revenge”
finds her more than holding her own alongside a fire-spitting
Eminem (who sounds more like himself here than anywhere on
Recovery); “Blazin’” finds West returning the “Monster”
favor, and Minaj’s opening lines are like a dissertation-length
extension of that great verse. (The half-buried Eurythmics
sample makes this one a particular highlight.) Unfortunately,
Pink Friday is a mixed bag. Minaj is an excellent rapper,
but she spends half of the album singing. The fact that it
skews more pop than hip-hop gives it an unearned feel of desperation—subpar
hooks, like those on “I’m the Best” and “Save Me,” nearly
sink the disc. When Minaj brags that she “shitted on ’em”
(on “Did It On’em”) one wonders if she’s referring to her
own record. For someone with so much to say, she doesn’t seem
to know quite how to say it.
 Kings
of Leon are a band with virtually nothing to say—to paraphrase
some dude’s tweet, they do not make intellectual music. Their
melodic ideas are simplistic and limited; their vocals, nearly
indecipherable. Think of it as stoner-rock, in that it’s probably
pretty easy to perform while stoned. So it’s often on the
producers and engineers to create interesting worlds for the
band’s rather rudimentary riffs to live in.
At the outset of Come Around Sundown, the Grammy-winning
band’s fifth album, the production threatens to swallow the
band whole: Everything about “The End” sounds like it’s coming
from another room, or the basement, or somewhere in a house
down the street. With lead single “Radioactive,” the sound
moves in closer only to reveal a one-note hook. The top third
of Sundown is a dud, honestly. But it gets better:
It could be said that “Pyro” distills the band’s aesthetic
into one 4-minute song; it could also be said that it borrows
ideas from half a dozen other KOL songs. But as the hook (“I
won’t ever be your cornerstone”) makes itself cozy with your
ear, it’s easy to get sucked in. Indeed, there are few new
ideas here, but they’re good ones: “Mary” introduces a little
T-Rex glam stomp to the band’s rhythmic palette; “Back Down
South” adds some slide guitar and a bit of country flavor.
The band’s knack for recycling hooks, both their own and those
of hits past, points to a singular brand of unselfconscious
songwriting that is, honestly, kind of refreshing in a time
when most major rock bands are aiming for the fences with
every swing.
 My
Chemical Romance swung for the fences—and cleared them,
mostly—on The Black Parade. Four years, a few lineup
changes, and an entire scrapped record later, they’re back
with Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys.
It’s a concept album, but do read on. Producer Rob Cavallo
(Green Day) brings his best to the proceedings, and the band
sound like they’re having a ton of fun, from the singsong
melody of the exhilarating lead single “Na Na Na (Na Na Na
Na Na Na Na Na Na)” to the garage-y thrash of “Party Poison.”
If there’s a theme here it’s a pretty loose one; rather than
confine the band, it’s allowed them to do some much-needed
role-playing. Overall it’s more of a rhythm record than one
might have expected from this formerly emo-tastic group—while
the gang-vocal harmonies and diminished chords that made them
stand apart from the pack on past hits like “Helena” remain,
they’ve added more pop elements (processed drumbeats, synths
a-plenty). But that’s not to say they’ve gone soft: “Destroya”
sounds like a more polished Refused, which still makes it
pretty raw, and most definitely rock. It’s the first MCR record
to really look beyond the black-nail-polish set, and it’s
all the better for it.
 |
|
Site
Search 
