I just don't know…
Listening to Madge's new album Hard Candy, it's hard not to wonder if things might not be going so well in Madonnaland. "You always have the biggest heart when we're six thousand miles apart…Uncomfortable silence can be so loud," she sings of (one assumes) Guy Ritchie on "Miles Away." In the stomper "Incredible," she seems to be having a good time, until you listen to the lyrics: "Remember the very first time you caught that someone special's eye?…I want to go back to then…I am missing my best friend."
Granted, these are only two out of a dozen songs that mostly bang and thump and scream their way out of your headphones and make you want to dance, plain and simple. But that doesn't mean they do anything to quell the worrisome sense that something is foul in the state of Madonna's Denmark. To put it with cringe-inducing plainness: Madonna's shown her cards, and the depth of her mid-life crisis has been laid bare.
In his Entertainment Weekly review of 2005's Confessions on a Dance Floor, David Browne aptly remarked that "[Madonna's] smart enough to know that dulcet dance music for grown-ups is a worthy niche waiting to be filled." Indeed, the little girls (and, more importantly, boys) who twirled around the playground to 'Material Girl' and later rocked out to 'Music' while husband hunting at their local watering hole are now "all growed up," but they still love their faithful leader. So, she cleverly concocted a confection that would remind them of the first hardcore dance music they remember—90's techno—but was updated and at least 75% less lame. On top, she sprinkled 70's disco references and sly 90's allusions that would sail over the heads of the youngsters but would trigger an almost in-joke nostalgia in those of us old enough to remember tapping our toes to 'Like a Virgin' when it was actually coming out of a radio. The result was a whiz-bang collection of thrilling, superficial songs that made you feel like you were on drugs and threatened to melt your speakers. And it felt totally appropriate, as if our super-cool big sister was telling us what was super-cool. Or at least felt super-cool.
Hard Candy mainly accomplishes the same goals—this time around, she threatens to knock your speakers off their shelf instead of melt them—and it can't be denied: it's one hell of a good time. "Madonna's R&B album" is a misnomer, for Hard Candy is still more pop than anything. But more importantly, it's a throwback, even moreso than Confessions was. "The old Ciccone sass" that Rolling Stone's Alan Light saw peeking out from behind the disco ball on Confessions is literally oozing and dripping from the earphones as the album's pounding beats play.
Songs like 'Give it To Me' sound like the early unreleased demos that were the product of Madonna twiddling the knobs on the Moogs she kept in her East Village hovel. It's weird, all over the place, and a fucking blast. Its follow-up, 'Heartbeat'—which would be the album's best moment were it not for the revelation that is 'Miles Away'—could be imagined as a present-day remix of something that was shelved back in '85 in favor of 'Into the Groove.' If Fab Five Freddy had produced her debut album's funky 'Lucky Star' sparkles and left-field 'Everybody' synth-pop beeps, it might sound a bit like Hard Candy.
Not all the tracks are successes though. The opening track, 'Candy Shop,' is a true cock-up (though, admittedly, it banged the club around the other night). Like Confessions's 'I Love New York,' it's a song whose horrid lyrics rain on its ecstatic beat and production parade—which is a shame, because even its yucky "My sugar is raw sticky and sweet" come-ons are catchy as hell. Pharrell's 'Beat Goes On,' is a gas, but somehow feels like an intermission. 'Dance 2night's' Timberlake-helmed bubblegum-funk sweetness (it recalls Nile Rodgers's Like A Virgin album production) follows 'Beat Goes On' and ends up being a bit of a monotonous bore. And though you get used to it, nearly all of the tracks move between oddly transitionless breakdowns and bridges, some of which seem superfluous (and others of which are downright embarrassing, riddled with lines like "See my booty get down like uhhh"). It's as if Madge is planning ahead, underscoring those 10-minute costume changes that break her live shows into acts.
Still these blows are washed away by all the good stuff. The slog of 'Beat Goes On' and 'Dance 2night' is rescued by the album's riskiest venture, 'Spanish Lesson,' a non-sequitur of random love-centric Spanish phrases that is—let's be frank—a bit stupid, but has a beat and an underscore that is so infectious (think an African-American marching band drumline mixed with a stuttery mariachi band) it seems like Madge has found a way to alchemize crack cocaine into digitally-recorded sound. You can't decide whether it's a guilty pleasure, or just a pleasure. Even the one blatant retread, "Devil Wouldn't Recognize You," (it's Timberlake's own 'Cry Me a River' and 'What Goes Around' mixed with Massive Attack's 'Teardrop') is nonetheless fantastic, full of minor-key drama and rapid-fire delivery. And it's great to finally hear it—Madonna's been kicking it around since the 'American Life' sessions. Overall, Hard Candy is an aptly-titled pop confection with the edges hardened, and it gets better with each listen.
The trouble is who it's coming from. Had 2004's American Life come from a newcomer like, say, Jem or Imogen Heap, it would have been regarded as brilliant and insightful. But coming from Madonna, its plaintive social commentary seemed tediously, eye-rollingly disingenuous. Likewise, were Hard Candy coming from some brand spankin' new pop tart, it would be an absolute sensation. But coming from Madonna, it seems nakedly desperate. It sounds like a throwback to 25 years ago because…well, Madonna clearly wishes it was 25 years ago. She's clearly anxious about the Big 5-0, and the anxiety combines with the marital angst and the constant reminders about late-night stamina and the assertion of sexuality into an album that seems to be desperately seeking Susan. Nearly every song is about dancing the night away: "I can go all night long," she says in one song; "I can go on and on and on" she says in another. You half expect her to add a "no seriously, I really still can!" It's a lot of fun, but it has a hint of sadness; as if the desperate avoidance of the supposed fall from grace that comes with aging might be backfiring and actually bringing it on.
The trick is to avert your eyes and will yourself to kick up your heels (or speed up the treadmill) and forget all that—the way she's hoping you will. Because when you do, you can't help but hand it to her: girl's still got it.
Download it now: 'Miles Away,' 'Heartbeat,' 'Give it To Me'
Need more?: 'Incredible' 'Devil Wouldn't Recognize You'
Guilty pleasure: 'Spanish Lesson'
Avoid like the plague: 'Candy Shop'
Recent Comments