Michael Jackson: 1958 - 2009
By: Eric Henderson and Sal Cinquemani On: 06/26/2009 12:54:58 In: Artists Comments: 5
Upon hearing of Michael Jackson's death yesterday, one of the first things that popped into my head was: "Have you seen my childhood?" I say that as naïvely and as free from cynicism as I can. At its best, pop music both clarifies and enriches receptive souls' personal experience. And the touchtone moments in pop culture exist as a simple purification of every individual's life experience. Speaking personally, the death of Michael Jackson will forever denote the moment I left my 20s behind; it comes literally days before I turn 30. It's a perfect parallel, in a sense. The arbitrary acknowledgement of my wonder years' passing will be forever intertwined with the death of the man who was never allowed a proper childhood, and who subsequently raged with all his creative might against the onset of adulthood. Jackson's music still serves as a crucible for our various compromises and self-imposed psychological barriers. It sounds carefree, but it's impossible to listen to without assessing its creator's hidden torment. Even the smoothest, catchiest, most disco-tastic singles in MJ's back catalog are a little obsessed. (Don't stop 'til you get enough? Got me working day and night?) Which is my own tortured way of saying it sounded great then, and it sounds great now. In the mid-'80s, I always thought of Michael Jackson and Prince as a perfect yin and yang of pop and R&B, the former representing good and the latter evil—or close to it. In retrospect, both were never more compelling (and downright terrifying) than when they confounded that syllogism. (Prince's "God" is as chillingly direct as Jackson's "In the Closet" is hauntingly abstruse.) Time's cruel joke: Now that I'm old enough to appreciate Jackson's artistic persona on its deeper levels, I only want back the simplicity of his showmanship. I want back the days when it wasn't the Eagles sitting atop the all-time list of best-selling albums. I want the Michael Jackson who somehow nailed flawless, effortless quadruple turns easing down the road in The Wiz while wearing size 37 scarecrow slippers. I want him back. Eric Henderson
Michael Jackson's Wikipedia page was updated within moments of the announcement of the glittery gloved one's passing. Twitter crashed harder than it did during the peak of last week's protests in Iran. Two of the major broadcast television networks suspended their primetime schedule to air specials about Jackson, while radio stations across the country cued up songs from his extensive catalogue of hits. One woman called in to New York's Power 105 in tears, repeating, "I loved Michael Jackson! I loved that man!" over and over, before threatening to throw herself in front of a car. You can hear his influence in the music of today's younger pop, R&B, and hip-hop stars, and his own songs, whether it's "Human Nature" or "Remember the Time," rarely sound conspicuous when sandwiched between the top radio hits of 2009. If the self-proclaimed and globally ordained King of Pop's career was in decline—or even over—at the time of his death, you'd never know it. To celebrate the very reason he mattered, still matters, and always will, we've compiled a list of our 10 favorite Michael Jackson singles and videos (in chronological order). Enjoy. Sal Cinquemani
When Marvin Gaye recorded a version of Leon Ware's plaintive long-distance love song, "I Wanna Be Where You Are," little could he have known it would just a few years later sound like comforting "I'll always love you" sentiments from beyond the grave. The gap was far longer in Jackson's case (he recorded it in 1972, one of his earliest singles without the Jackson 5), but again the song now aches with the foreknowledge of something lost:
After a glorious fake-out prelude of tentative, mumbling first-date banter, Jackson and producer Quincy Jones absolutely blow the roof off. Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" is declaration as explosive imperative, pop music's ultimate side one, track one:
Prevailing wisdom dictates that "Rock with You" and "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" should be cited as Jacko's best disco-era tracks, but "Off the Wall" comes pretty damn close. And this one lyric seems to capture the often bizarre icon's too-short life: "Life ain't so bad at all if you live it off the wall."
The Jacksons's "Can You Feel It" wasn't the first time Michael Jackson blew his socio-musical aspirations out into Cinerama dimensions, but this stately slice of disco represents maybe his first successful stab at synthesizing social consciousness and million-dollar production values. It's the secular forerunner of "Man in the Mirror":
To quote Ed Gonzalez from our 100 Greatest Music Videos list: How fucking cool was Michael Jackson that he could light up a sidewalk with the tap of his foot in "Billie Jean"?
To quote again from that list, never before had a music video, a largely artless marketing tool up until that point, employed plot, costume, and cinema style as expansively as "Thriller":
As the leadoff single from the album that had the dirty job of following up Thriller, "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" seemed an unlikely candidate. It wasn't danceable. It wasn't immediately hooky. For Christ's sake, it was a duet! But aided immeasurably by the endlessly descending chords of a particularly melodramatic chorus, it's Jackson's finest moment as a adult heterosexual male recording artist:
A slow jam of the highest order, "Remember the Time" proved that even when the King of Pop's crown was starting to get a little rusty, his R&B was as smooth as ever:
The blockbuster-budget video, the Jam & Lewis crashes and clatters, the long-awaited collaboration with the only other Jackson who matters. All superfluous. "Scream" boils down to that solitary curse: "Stop fucking with me." Only Michael Jackson could, as late in the "Parental Advisory" game as 1995, make the word sound like a direct slap:
If there's one good thing to come from the sudden passing of the first black artist to get played on MTV, it's that the network is actually playing music videos again, at least temporarily. Specifically, they're playing Jackson's videos—all of them. Or almost all of them. Presumably, they haven't played either version of the controversial 1996 single "They Don't Care About Us." The first was directed by Spike Lee and was shot in a favela in Rio de Janeiro; the second was a less subtle statement about poverty, racism, and the prison system, juxtaposing images of the civil rights movement with Jackson shackled in a prison cell and performing among inmates in a prison cafeteria:
Upon hearing of Michael Jackson's death yesterday, one of the first things that popped into my head was: "Have you seen my childhood?" I say that as naïvely and as free from cynicism as I can. At its best, pop music both clarifies and enriches receptive souls' personal experience. And the touchtone moments in pop culture exist as a simple purification of every individual's life experience. Speaking personally, the death of Michael Jackson will forever denote the moment I left my 20s behind; it comes literally days before I turn 30. It's a perfect parallel, in a sense. The arbitrary acknowledgement of my wonder years' passing will be forever intertwined with the death of the man who was never allowed a proper childhood, and who subsequently raged with all his creative might against the onset of adulthood. Jackson's music still serves as a crucible for our various compromises and self-imposed psychological barriers. It sounds carefree, but it's impossible to listen to without assessing its creator's hidden torment. Even the smoothest, catchiest, most disco-tastic singles in MJ's back catalog are a little obsessed. (Don't stop 'til you get enough? Got me working day and night?) Which is my own tortured way of saying it sounded great then, and it sounds great now. In the mid-'80s, I always thought of Michael Jackson and Prince as a perfect yin and yang of pop and R&B, the former representing good and the latter evil—or close to it. In retrospect, both were never more compelling (and downright terrifying) than when they confounded that syllogism. (Prince's "God" is as chillingly direct as Jackson's "In the Closet" is hauntingly abstruse.) Time's cruel joke: Now that I'm old enough to appreciate Jackson's artistic persona on its deeper levels, I only want back the simplicity of his showmanship. I want back the days when it wasn't the Eagles sitting atop the all-time list of best-selling albums. I want the Michael Jackson who somehow nailed flawless, effortless quadruple turns easing down the road in The Wiz while wearing size 37 scarecrow slippers. I want him back. Eric Henderson
Michael Jackson's Wikipedia page was updated within moments of the announcement of the glittery gloved one's passing. Twitter crashed harder than it did during the peak of last week's protests in Iran. Two of the major broadcast television networks suspended their primetime schedule to air specials about Jackson, while radio stations across the country cued up songs from his extensive catalogue of hits. One woman called in to New York's Power 105 in tears, repeating, "I loved Michael Jackson! I loved that man!" over and over, before threatening to throw herself in front of a car. You can hear his influence in the music of today's younger pop, R&B, and hip-hop stars, and his own songs, whether it's "Human Nature" or "Remember the Time," rarely sound conspicuous when sandwiched between the top radio hits of 2009. If the self-proclaimed and globally ordained King of Pop's career was in decline—or even over—at the time of his death, you'd never know it. To celebrate the very reason he mattered, still matters, and always will, we've compiled a list of our 10 favorite Michael Jackson singles and videos (in chronological order). Enjoy. Sal Cinquemani
When Marvin Gaye recorded a version of Leon Ware's plaintive long-distance love song, "I Wanna Be Where You Are," little could he have known it would just a few years later sound like comforting "I'll always love you" sentiments from beyond the grave. The gap was far longer in Jackson's case (he recorded it in 1972, one of his earliest singles without the Jackson 5), but again the song now aches with the foreknowledge of something lost:
After a glorious fake-out prelude of tentative, mumbling first-date banter, Jackson and producer Quincy Jones absolutely blow the roof off. Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" is declaration as explosive imperative, pop music's ultimate side one, track one:
Prevailing wisdom dictates that "Rock with You" and "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" should be cited as Jacko's best disco-era tracks, but "Off the Wall" comes pretty damn close. And this one lyric seems to capture the often bizarre icon's too-short life: "Life ain't so bad at all if you live it off the wall."
The Jacksons's "Can You Feel It" wasn't the first time Michael Jackson blew his socio-musical aspirations out into Cinerama dimensions, but this stately slice of disco represents maybe his first successful stab at synthesizing social consciousness and million-dollar production values. It's the secular forerunner of "Man in the Mirror":
To quote Ed Gonzalez from our 100 Greatest Music Videos list: How fucking cool was Michael Jackson that he could light up a sidewalk with the tap of his foot in "Billie Jean"?
To quote again from that list, never before had a music video, a largely artless marketing tool up until that point, employed plot, costume, and cinema style as expansively as "Thriller":
As the leadoff single from the album that had the dirty job of following up Thriller, "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" seemed an unlikely candidate. It wasn't danceable. It wasn't immediately hooky. For Christ's sake, it was a duet! But aided immeasurably by the endlessly descending chords of a particularly melodramatic chorus, it's Jackson's finest moment as a adult heterosexual male recording artist:
A slow jam of the highest order, "Remember the Time" proved that even when the King of Pop's crown was starting to get a little rusty, his R&B was as smooth as ever:
The blockbuster-budget video, the Jam & Lewis crashes and clatters, the long-awaited collaboration with the only other Jackson who matters. All superfluous. "Scream" boils down to that solitary curse: "Stop fucking with me." Only Michael Jackson could, as late in the "Parental Advisory" game as 1995, make the word sound like a direct slap:
If there's one good thing to come from the sudden passing of the first black artist to get played on MTV, it's that the network is actually playing music videos again, at least temporarily. Specifically, they're playing Jackson's videos—all of them. Or almost all of them. Presumably, they haven't played either version of the controversial 1996 single "They Don't Care About Us." The first was directed by Spike Lee and was shot in a favela in Rio de Janeiro; the second was a less subtle statement about poverty, racism, and the prison system, juxtaposing images of the civil rights movement with Jackson shackled in a prison cell and performing among inmates in a prison cafeteria:
Pompous Circumstance: Rappers Behaving Badly
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 09/01/2007 07:56:12 In: Artists Comments: 1
As someone's grandma once said, you can take the gangbanger out of the ghetto, but you can't teach him how to use a salad fork…or something like that. This year marks the first time since 2001 that 9/11 falls on a Tuesday, and rappers 50 Cent and Kanye West have chosen the controversial day to play Whose Dick is Bigger? The artists' third albums (which both leaked online this week) will hit stores simultaneously, which has prompted the two to puff up their chests and claim they'll come out on top. Fiddy and Kanye's egos have been bolstered by huge album sales and huge critical praise, respectively, but Fif takes the cake. His album was originally slated to come out months ago, but the classy MC pushed the release date back and claimed the record wasn't up to his "standards" after the first few tracks were met with tepid responses and then declared that he would never release another solo album if West outsells him next week (I urge you to pre-order your copy of West's Graduation today). The artist who should be known as Pocket Change admitted to MTV that he trashed his record label's offices after learning that his new video had been leaked and said comparing him and West is "like me putting myself against Michael Jackson's [album-release] date and then acting like, 'Woah, it's a battle between 50 Cent and Michael Jackson!', when Thriller sold 30 million records and 50 Cent's biggest album sold 12 [million], you feel what I'm saying?" Not really.
Releasing an album on 9/11 isn't the only political thing about 50 Cent. In the upcoming issue of Rap-Up magazine, he acknowledges that George W. Bush has one talent: "He has less compassion than a regular human being." But just when you think Fif isn't so hateable after all, he goes and says something retarded like, "When I took a trip to Iraq—'cause I went to perform for the soldiers in Iraq—they had the same vehicles that I ride around in New York." Yes, little boy, it's called a Hummer. You're riding around the congested streets of Manhattan in a gas-guzzling war tank with trim, leather interior, stereo radio, and air conditioning. Makes you feel like a big strong man, don't it?
In other annoying news…T-Pain, the man responsible for the Video Music Award-nominated, Hooked on Phonics-deprived, inexplicably chart-topping "Buy U a Drank (Shawty Snappin')," recently spoke with MTV about the irritating voice-enhancing technique he employs throughout the song (and others—he even stinks up Kanye's next single "Good Life"). He uses Auto-Tune, the software that, for the past two decades, has helped bad singers sound decent by pitch-correcting their recorded vocals. The effect is similar to the more retro vocorder, which uses filters and modulators to turn the human voice into something that sounds a lot like a robot and has been used by artists like Kraftwerk for decades. Only, according to T-Pain, to get Auto-Tune to sound funky, "you gotta sing in a key that's between off-key and on-key," which is almost exactly the same description French producer Mirwais used back during a 2000 interview when discussing his use of Auto-Tune on a certain pop superstar's album. And that brings us to the most obnoxious thing about T-Pain's interview with MTV: He essentially implies that he invented the technique, one that sounded passé when Madonna used it seven years ago. "You gotta ask my permission [to use it], man. That's me," he said. Apparently "me" is Cher circa 1999.
As someone's grandma once said, you can take the gangbanger out of the ghetto, but you can't teach him how to use a salad fork…or something like that. This year marks the first time since 2001 that 9/11 falls on a Tuesday, and rappers 50 Cent and Kanye West have chosen the controversial day to play Whose Dick is Bigger? The artists' third albums (which both leaked online this week) will hit stores simultaneously, which has prompted the two to puff up their chests and claim they'll come out on top. Fiddy and Kanye's egos have been bolstered by huge album sales and huge critical praise, respectively, but Fif takes the cake. His album was originally slated to come out months ago, but the classy MC pushed the release date back and claimed the record wasn't up to his "standards" after the first few tracks were met with tepid responses and then declared that he would never release another solo album if West outsells him next week (I urge you to pre-order your copy of West's Graduation today). The artist who should be known as Pocket Change admitted to MTV that he trashed his record label's offices after learning that his new video had been leaked and said comparing him and West is "like me putting myself against Michael Jackson's [album-release] date and then acting like, 'Woah, it's a battle between 50 Cent and Michael Jackson!', when Thriller sold 30 million records and 50 Cent's biggest album sold 12 [million], you feel what I'm saying?" Not really.
Releasing an album on 9/11 isn't the only political thing about 50 Cent. In the upcoming issue of Rap-Up magazine, he acknowledges that George W. Bush has one talent: "He has less compassion than a regular human being." But just when you think Fif isn't so hateable after all, he goes and says something retarded like, "When I took a trip to Iraq—'cause I went to perform for the soldiers in Iraq—they had the same vehicles that I ride around in New York." Yes, little boy, it's called a Hummer. You're riding around the congested streets of Manhattan in a gas-guzzling war tank with trim, leather interior, stereo radio, and air conditioning. Makes you feel like a big strong man, don't it?
In other annoying news…T-Pain, the man responsible for the Video Music Award-nominated, Hooked on Phonics-deprived, inexplicably chart-topping "Buy U a Drank (Shawty Snappin')," recently spoke with MTV about the irritating voice-enhancing technique he employs throughout the song (and others—he even stinks up Kanye's next single "Good Life"). He uses Auto-Tune, the software that, for the past two decades, has helped bad singers sound decent by pitch-correcting their recorded vocals. The effect is similar to the more retro vocorder, which uses filters and modulators to turn the human voice into something that sounds a lot like a robot and has been used by artists like Kraftwerk for decades. Only, according to T-Pain, to get Auto-Tune to sound funky, "you gotta sing in a key that's between off-key and on-key," which is almost exactly the same description French producer Mirwais used back during a 2000 interview when discussing his use of Auto-Tune on a certain pop superstar's album. And that brings us to the most obnoxious thing about T-Pain's interview with MTV: He essentially implies that he invented the technique, one that sounded passé when Madonna used it seven years ago. "You gotta ask my permission [to use it], man. That's me," he said. Apparently "me" is Cher circa 1999.
December Turkey?
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 07/24/2007 23:37:49 In: Artists Comments: 1
Leave it to the creative minds at the New York Post to twist Kelly Clarkson's words and completely fabricate a story that's way more interesting than the reality. The singer posted an apology to no one in particular (the most specific she gets is "those whom I have done a disservice") on her website this week, expressing her regret over the fact that her conflict with label honcho Clive Davis over her new album My December was made public. She reiterated her admiration for Davis and gracefully acknowledged the respect he's given her:
"There has been quite a bit of controversy surrounding the release of My December, much of which has focused on a supposed feud with my record label, in particular, Clive Davis. I want to set the record straight on this by saying that I want my band, my advisors, those close to me and my record label to be one big, tightly knit family. Like any family we will disagree and argue sometimes but, in the end, it's respect and admiration that will keep us together. A lot has been made in the press about my relationship with Clive. Much of this has been blown way out of proportion and taken out of context. Contrary to recent characterizations in the press, I'm well aware that Clive is one of the great record men of all time. He has been a key advisor and has been an important force in my success to date. He has also given me respect by releasing my new album when he was not obligated to do so. I really regret how this has turned out and I apologize to those whom I have done disservice. I would never intentionally hurt anyone. I love music, and I love the people I am blessed to work with. I am happy that my team is behind me and I look forward to the future."
The fact that this supposed feud became such juicy fodder for the press reeks of sexism. Would we even be having this conversation if Clarkson were male or if the exec in question were Polly Anthony or Slyvia Rhone? Page Six's Richard Johnson jumped all over Clarkson's open letter, claiming "the chubby-cheeked soprano" had "submitted" and "surrendered" to Davis, as if she were some kind of sex slave, and called her album, which has sold half a million copies in less than a month and which still sits in the Top 5, a "turkey." He also asserted that her letter was an apology for not listening to Davis, when, in fact, it was only lamenting the fact that the dispute had been exaggerated in the press by rags like...the New York Post!
Leave it to the creative minds at the New York Post to twist Kelly Clarkson's words and completely fabricate a story that's way more interesting than the reality. The singer posted an apology to no one in particular (the most specific she gets is "those whom I have done a disservice") on her website this week, expressing her regret over the fact that her conflict with label honcho Clive Davis over her new album My December was made public. She reiterated her admiration for Davis and gracefully acknowledged the respect he's given her:
"There has been quite a bit of controversy surrounding the release of My December, much of which has focused on a supposed feud with my record label, in particular, Clive Davis. I want to set the record straight on this by saying that I want my band, my advisors, those close to me and my record label to be one big, tightly knit family. Like any family we will disagree and argue sometimes but, in the end, it's respect and admiration that will keep us together. A lot has been made in the press about my relationship with Clive. Much of this has been blown way out of proportion and taken out of context. Contrary to recent characterizations in the press, I'm well aware that Clive is one of the great record men of all time. He has been a key advisor and has been an important force in my success to date. He has also given me respect by releasing my new album when he was not obligated to do so. I really regret how this has turned out and I apologize to those whom I have done disservice. I would never intentionally hurt anyone. I love music, and I love the people I am blessed to work with. I am happy that my team is behind me and I look forward to the future."
The fact that this supposed feud became such juicy fodder for the press reeks of sexism. Would we even be having this conversation if Clarkson were male or if the exec in question were Polly Anthony or Slyvia Rhone? Page Six's Richard Johnson jumped all over Clarkson's open letter, claiming "the chubby-cheeked soprano" had "submitted" and "surrendered" to Davis, as if she were some kind of sex slave, and called her album, which has sold half a million copies in less than a month and which still sits in the Top 5, a "turkey." He also asserted that her letter was an apology for not listening to Davis, when, in fact, it was only lamenting the fact that the dispute had been exaggerated in the press by rags like...the New York Post!
Patrick Wolf's Life on the D-List
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 07/19/2007 19:22:50 In: Artists Comments: 1
This morning, British singer-songwriter Patrick Wolf posted a short-but-not-so-sweet bulletin on MySpace: "Mika is a twat." Mika's debut, Life In Cartoon Motion, failed to make me vomit despite several nauseatingly and infuriatingly catchy tunes—so much so that I actually gave the album a passing grade. But for one of the most self-consciously posturing entertainers since, I don't know, Jena Malone at age 13, to criticize another artist for what he deems, according to a subsequent verse-style bulletin titled "translation," "over marketed, expensive heartless tacky rubbish, autotone, airbrush," is just plain calling the kettle fuscia. If Mika is Britney Spears, then Wolf is Avril Lavigne. Same shit, different costume. When he demands "justice for good music and firebrands who refuse to compromise to be popular," I can't help but think about how Wolf fancies himself much more popular than he actually is. "Should I market myself to look OUTRAGEOUS and kooky or would it be easier if I sold records by playing safe and serene and for the family?" Are you not marketing yourself to look outrageous and kooky already, Patrick? Just days after I complained about Wolf's capricious, self-involved MySpace blog entries in my review of his brilliant new album The Magic Position, he went and hit his drummer over the head with a cymbal stand during a live performance and then posted a typically melodramatic, long-winded message on his official message board claiming that he was retiring from touring. Okay, Cher. The truth is, Wolf is a publicity whore. He loves that I'm writing about him right now. He's the Kathy Griffin of indie-pop…only his haircut is even worse. Patrick, lose the delusions of grandeur and let your inspired, captivating music speak for you.
This morning, British singer-songwriter Patrick Wolf posted a short-but-not-so-sweet bulletin on MySpace: "Mika is a twat." Mika's debut, Life In Cartoon Motion, failed to make me vomit despite several nauseatingly and infuriatingly catchy tunes—so much so that I actually gave the album a passing grade. But for one of the most self-consciously posturing entertainers since, I don't know, Jena Malone at age 13, to criticize another artist for what he deems, according to a subsequent verse-style bulletin titled "translation," "over marketed, expensive heartless tacky rubbish, autotone, airbrush," is just plain calling the kettle fuscia. If Mika is Britney Spears, then Wolf is Avril Lavigne. Same shit, different costume. When he demands "justice for good music and firebrands who refuse to compromise to be popular," I can't help but think about how Wolf fancies himself much more popular than he actually is. "Should I market myself to look OUTRAGEOUS and kooky or would it be easier if I sold records by playing safe and serene and for the family?" Are you not marketing yourself to look outrageous and kooky already, Patrick? Just days after I complained about Wolf's capricious, self-involved MySpace blog entries in my review of his brilliant new album The Magic Position, he went and hit his drummer over the head with a cymbal stand during a live performance and then posted a typically melodramatic, long-winded message on his official message board claiming that he was retiring from touring. Okay, Cher. The truth is, Wolf is a publicity whore. He loves that I'm writing about him right now. He's the Kathy Griffin of indie-pop…only his haircut is even worse. Patrick, lose the delusions of grandeur and let your inspired, captivating music speak for you.
Hilary Duff Loves Slant Magazine!
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 03/27/2007 15:06:01 In: Artists Comments: 0
Okay, probably not. In the unlikely event that Hilary Duff's even read Slant Magazine, she'd probably never come back, though considering her recent gig at a gay club in London, anything is possible. Shortly after writing my review of her new album, Dignity (don't laugh at the title just yet—read the review), I stumbled across her top 5 dance songs of all time on MySpace:
"Groove Is In The Heart" by Dee-Lite [sic]
"Vogue" by Madonna
"It Takes Two" by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock
"SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake
"Can't Get You Out Of My Head" by Kylie Minogue
Four of the five were included in Slant's list of 100 Greatest Dance Songs (two of them from our top three). I'll let you guess which one wasn't included on our list, but it shouldn't be too hard—it's the only one to win a Grammy. Regardless, The Duffster is slowly starting to warm our icy hearts.
Okay, probably not. In the unlikely event that Hilary Duff's even read Slant Magazine, she'd probably never come back, though considering her recent gig at a gay club in London, anything is possible. Shortly after writing my review of her new album, Dignity (don't laugh at the title just yet—read the review), I stumbled across her top 5 dance songs of all time on MySpace:
"Groove Is In The Heart" by Dee-Lite [sic]
"Vogue" by Madonna
"It Takes Two" by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock
"SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake
"Can't Get You Out Of My Head" by Kylie Minogue
Four of the five were included in Slant's list of 100 Greatest Dance Songs (two of them from our top three). I'll let you guess which one wasn't included on our list, but it shouldn't be too hard—it's the only one to win a Grammy. Regardless, The Duffster is slowly starting to warm our icy hearts.
Hung Up: Madonna, The Church, and AIDS
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 10/18/2006 15:43:50 In: Artists Comments: 423
In a recent "editorial" column, Andrea Peyser of The New York Post, that shining beacon of anti-journalism, likened Madonna's recent adoption of an African AIDS orphan to taking home a souvenir. Peyser, who claims to write about the social and political issues important to New Yorkers, declared that "the sluttish, egomaniacal mother-of-the-century has topped even her most revolting self" by "raping Malawi," the tiny African country where the singer has donated three million dollars for a new orphanage. Yes, the endeavor is partly financed by Kabbalah (the only thing more annoying than her allegiance to the faith are the media-propagated rumors surrounding Madonna's anti-religion religion—namely those blessed bottles of spring water and her supposed dogmatic rituals), but what's one "Spirituality For Kids"-sponsored project when Christians have the bloody monopoly on missionary crusades?
Pundits claim the adoption is a publicity stunt—as if, coming off a record-breaking concert tour, Madonna needs it. Carol Sarler of The Observer condemned the attitude of those who claim it's just gesture-politics, outright dismissing the obscene mentality that "if you can't save a million, there's no point in saving one." I specifically mention the Post column not because it is representative of even Madonna's harshest critics (Peyser isn't even worthy of being called a journalist—she's so low on the food chain that she actually does what Madonna has been accused of doing for a quarter century: garnering attention from shock and awe), but because one ridiculously over-the-top editorial seems to accurately distill the absurdity of the media's obsession with Madonna's adoption. Just as Britney Spears was not the first woman to give birth, Madonna is not the first person (or celebrity) to adopt a child from the third world. Or maybe Angelina Jolie is a better example of the latter since Madonna has been accused of copying Angie by adopting, but what about Mia Farrow? Meg Ryan?
The media (and the world) is finally catching up to public figures like Madonna, Bono, and others who have attempted to bring attention to the plight of AIDS around the globe, not the other way around. This is a woman who, for over 20 years, has watched many of her close friends die of the disease and has given huge chunks of change to various AIDS organizations while leaders behind both political and religious pulpits remained eerily silent. Madonna's maligned album Erotica, released at the apex of the crisis, was one of the first pieces of mainstream pop art to fully reflect and comment on the sexual repression of the era. (I've often joked that Madonna must have had a cold while recording her nasally vocals, but, intentional or not, her stuffed-up voice only adds to the claustrophobia of the record, compounding the sense of sickness and restraint that permeates almost every icy moment.)
My colleague and good friend Ed Gonzalez took issue with the mock crucifixion during Madonna's Confessions Tour earlier this year, claiming it paled in comparison to the singer's Erotica-era pleas for compassion. And, yes, now that she's a family woman, Madonna seems to be a bit removed from the gay community (much to the chagrin of Rupert Everett). But as with everything she does, Madonna opened her performance up to interpretation, and I saw the condemnation of the Catholic Church's hypocrisy and their decades-long failure to address the scourge. In a public statement, Madonna reminded us that Jesus wasn't the only one who died on a cross—crucifixion was the preferred method of public execution in Biblical times. And it's interesting to note that no one seemed to mind that Madonna was, in relative terms, violently strapped to an electric chair during her Reinvention Tour two years ago. Perhaps people remained mum about that display of un-Christian capital punishment because they recognized that, like Jesus, many innocents have died at the hands of people like the former governor of Texas. But I doubt it.
NBC, which is broadcasting Madonna's show during November sweeps, is reportedly caving under pressure from various extreme Christian groups to cut the crucifixion scene and strip the show of one of its most powerful and important moments. Christians aren't just ignoring the AIDS crisis anymore; they're, in effect, actively obstructing the exposure of the pandemic under the transparent veil of censoring a supposedly blasphemous pop star. In an article reporting on the controversy from Spero News, a pastor is quoted condemning Evangelical Christians for focusing their energy on Madonna's "stunt" and not "the unbelievable atrocities that are committed in the name of Christianity," suggesting they instead direct their outrage on what is really breaking God's heart. Like, say, the millions of children orphaned by AIDS in Africa?
Many have come to Madonna's defense by acknowledging the images, statistics, and Biblical quotes that are projected behind the star as she hangs from the cross, but few have mentioned the actual song she sings, "Live To Tell." Two decades after it was first released, it remains one of Madonna's most personal, revealing songs. "I have a tale to tell," it starts. Maybe it's arrogant of Madonna to believe that she's finally lived to tell it, and that she's capable of making people "hear," "learn," and "know" it to the point where they'll leave her show and donate money or adopt an orphan of their own. But by adopting this child, she's putting her money where her mouth is. And she's being crucified for it.
In a recent "editorial" column, Andrea Peyser of The New York Post, that shining beacon of anti-journalism, likened Madonna's recent adoption of an African AIDS orphan to taking home a souvenir. Peyser, who claims to write about the social and political issues important to New Yorkers, declared that "the sluttish, egomaniacal mother-of-the-century has topped even her most revolting self" by "raping Malawi," the tiny African country where the singer has donated three million dollars for a new orphanage. Yes, the endeavor is partly financed by Kabbalah (the only thing more annoying than her allegiance to the faith are the media-propagated rumors surrounding Madonna's anti-religion religion—namely those blessed bottles of spring water and her supposed dogmatic rituals), but what's one "Spirituality For Kids"-sponsored project when Christians have the bloody monopoly on missionary crusades?
Pundits claim the adoption is a publicity stunt—as if, coming off a record-breaking concert tour, Madonna needs it. Carol Sarler of The Observer condemned the attitude of those who claim it's just gesture-politics, outright dismissing the obscene mentality that "if you can't save a million, there's no point in saving one." I specifically mention the Post column not because it is representative of even Madonna's harshest critics (Peyser isn't even worthy of being called a journalist—she's so low on the food chain that she actually does what Madonna has been accused of doing for a quarter century: garnering attention from shock and awe), but because one ridiculously over-the-top editorial seems to accurately distill the absurdity of the media's obsession with Madonna's adoption. Just as Britney Spears was not the first woman to give birth, Madonna is not the first person (or celebrity) to adopt a child from the third world. Or maybe Angelina Jolie is a better example of the latter since Madonna has been accused of copying Angie by adopting, but what about Mia Farrow? Meg Ryan?
The media (and the world) is finally catching up to public figures like Madonna, Bono, and others who have attempted to bring attention to the plight of AIDS around the globe, not the other way around. This is a woman who, for over 20 years, has watched many of her close friends die of the disease and has given huge chunks of change to various AIDS organizations while leaders behind both political and religious pulpits remained eerily silent. Madonna's maligned album Erotica, released at the apex of the crisis, was one of the first pieces of mainstream pop art to fully reflect and comment on the sexual repression of the era. (I've often joked that Madonna must have had a cold while recording her nasally vocals, but, intentional or not, her stuffed-up voice only adds to the claustrophobia of the record, compounding the sense of sickness and restraint that permeates almost every icy moment.)
My colleague and good friend Ed Gonzalez took issue with the mock crucifixion during Madonna's Confessions Tour earlier this year, claiming it paled in comparison to the singer's Erotica-era pleas for compassion. And, yes, now that she's a family woman, Madonna seems to be a bit removed from the gay community (much to the chagrin of Rupert Everett). But as with everything she does, Madonna opened her performance up to interpretation, and I saw the condemnation of the Catholic Church's hypocrisy and their decades-long failure to address the scourge. In a public statement, Madonna reminded us that Jesus wasn't the only one who died on a cross—crucifixion was the preferred method of public execution in Biblical times. And it's interesting to note that no one seemed to mind that Madonna was, in relative terms, violently strapped to an electric chair during her Reinvention Tour two years ago. Perhaps people remained mum about that display of un-Christian capital punishment because they recognized that, like Jesus, many innocents have died at the hands of people like the former governor of Texas. But I doubt it.
NBC, which is broadcasting Madonna's show during November sweeps, is reportedly caving under pressure from various extreme Christian groups to cut the crucifixion scene and strip the show of one of its most powerful and important moments. Christians aren't just ignoring the AIDS crisis anymore; they're, in effect, actively obstructing the exposure of the pandemic under the transparent veil of censoring a supposedly blasphemous pop star. In an article reporting on the controversy from Spero News, a pastor is quoted condemning Evangelical Christians for focusing their energy on Madonna's "stunt" and not "the unbelievable atrocities that are committed in the name of Christianity," suggesting they instead direct their outrage on what is really breaking God's heart. Like, say, the millions of children orphaned by AIDS in Africa?
Many have come to Madonna's defense by acknowledging the images, statistics, and Biblical quotes that are projected behind the star as she hangs from the cross, but few have mentioned the actual song she sings, "Live To Tell." Two decades after it was first released, it remains one of Madonna's most personal, revealing songs. "I have a tale to tell," it starts. Maybe it's arrogant of Madonna to believe that she's finally lived to tell it, and that she's capable of making people "hear," "learn," and "know" it to the point where they'll leave her show and donate money or adopt an orphan of their own. But by adopting this child, she's putting her money where her mouth is. And she's being crucified for it.
Hip-hop's Class Act?
By: Sal Cinquemani On: 09/03/2005 09:47:55 In: Artists Comments: 231
Kanye West never ceases to amaze me. And not in a good way. I only caught a minute of NBC's A Concert for Hurricane Relief last night, but luckily for me, it happened to be the exact moment Kanye was babbling incoherently about race relations in this country (a topic that deserves examination in light of the events in New Orleans, and one that was more eloquently discussed by the panel on HBO's Real Time with Bill Mahr an hour later). Once again, the man the ever-important Time has dubbed "Hip-hop's Class Act," publicly struggled to construct a sentence in his head, shoved his entire foot in his mouth, and attempted to talk at the same time. Mike Myers, who was paired with Kanye, nodded his head in a vain attempt at supporting his onscreen buddy, said something about supporting the relief effort, and then passed the baton back to Kanye. You could almost see the gears in the rapper/producer's head turn just before he blurted out "George Bush doesn't care about black people" with about as much conviction as someone reading from a teleprompter—go figure. (To see video of this outburst, please click here.) Cut to Chris Tucker. Host Matt Lauer ended the night with this bit of wisdom: "Emotions in this country right now are running very high. Sometimes that emotion is translated into inspiration, sometimes into criticism. We've heard some of that tonight. But it's still part of the American way of life." Unless you live on the West Coast, in which case your American way of life—regardless of how inappropriate, simpleminded, or unintelligible it may seem—will be edited for content.
Kanye West never ceases to amaze me. And not in a good way. I only caught a minute of NBC's A Concert for Hurricane Relief last night, but luckily for me, it happened to be the exact moment Kanye was babbling incoherently about race relations in this country (a topic that deserves examination in light of the events in New Orleans, and one that was more eloquently discussed by the panel on HBO's Real Time with Bill Mahr an hour later). Once again, the man the ever-important Time has dubbed "Hip-hop's Class Act," publicly struggled to construct a sentence in his head, shoved his entire foot in his mouth, and attempted to talk at the same time. Mike Myers, who was paired with Kanye, nodded his head in a vain attempt at supporting his onscreen buddy, said something about supporting the relief effort, and then passed the baton back to Kanye. You could almost see the gears in the rapper/producer's head turn just before he blurted out "George Bush doesn't care about black people" with about as much conviction as someone reading from a teleprompter—go figure. (To see video of this outburst, please click here.) Cut to Chris Tucker. Host Matt Lauer ended the night with this bit of wisdom: "Emotions in this country right now are running very high. Sometimes that emotion is translated into inspiration, sometimes into criticism. We've heard some of that tonight. But it's still part of the American way of life." Unless you live on the West Coast, in which case your American way of life—regardless of how inappropriate, simpleminded, or unintelligible it may seem—will be edited for content.
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