I
can’t be the only one who thinks the chorus melody to the song Alien by Britney Spears (track 1 off her
new album Britney Jean) sounds like
the pre-chorus melody to the song Behind
Blue Eyes by The Who. Or
can I? Spears’ new album is
unusually restrained; a gentler, slower burn of a disc following the dance
heavy trifecta of Blackout, Circus and Femme Fatale. That
does not inherently make it less interesting musically speaking or less vital
in her catalog though this is not the only reason the album initially stands
out as something of an oddity. The
shortened length and lack of promotion does make one initially wonder if the
album exists more as an advertisement for her Las Vegas residency and less as a
serious minded artistic statement (either way the timing is very likely not a
coincidence). Highbrow folk may be quick to point out the slew of writers and producers which worked
on this record as something which would preclude any artistry whatsoever (I was
almost tempted to follow this logic when I saw how much credit is given to the
odious Will.I.Am).
However
I have always found something of a strange nobility and artistry in extremely
glossy over-produced pop music and Spears’ oeuvre is no exception. Certainly, Ms. Spears herself has
stated this is a more personal work and one expressly crafted as a “thank you”
to the fans. And the songs
themselves are already yielding trademark production intricacies along with
some surprisingly yearning vocals. The
icy synths of this release cascade before me like a shimmering bubblegum
snowfall. In this way
perhaps it would be better to draw comparisons to Nine Inch Nails’ 2008 album The Slip. This was an album given minimal
promotion (receiving more attention for the innovative way it was released
rather than for any of the music), spawned only one single and was a good deal
shorter than the releases which preceded and followed it. Yet Trent Reznor also noted that The Slip was for the fans first and
foremost and seemed quite proud of the work. Years later it remains one of my
favorite Nine Inch Nails releases. Indeed,
part of its charm is actually its shorter length and rougher edges which
provide a fittingly dramatic counter-point to the more layered and polished
records by this artist. How
Britney Jean will stack up in
upcoming years and what place of stature it will fine in her catalog remains
to be seen of course. But I
am interested to find out.
It
seems she is single now. I
remember with vivid Technicolor clarity the very first time I saw her. It was a standard mournful, depressing
morning – the likes of which rear their ugly faces at the start of each and
every punishing day in my failed life – and I had fixed myself a lofty bowl of
Kellogg’s Corn Flakes (the ones with the colorful cock on the box) and switched
on the television, anxious to suckle a bit on the glass teat before beginning
what was sure to be a miserable, worthless day. Images flickered across the screen and
before my eyes like flipping through a picture book of corruption: killers on the
city bus, people slaughtering entire families, teenagers succumbing to drugs
and gang violence, girls getting pregnant while in 6th grade, racial discrimination, political
corruption, wars overseas, wanton acts of terrorism everywhere. Can one blame me for feeling
disgusted? What vile creatures
we are.
But
then.
Then.
Then
I happened I stop on the E! network and suddenly all the world’s problems and
all the disgusting humanity wreaking (while also reeking) their typical and
repugnant havoc across the planet seemed far away. The smoke began to disappear and I
could make out the figure of a woman. A
voluptuous goddess taming everything with her spirit of peace and nurturing and
in that moment I felt all was going to be okay. I set my bowl of aside and called in sick to
whatever pointless job I had at the time.
The latest issue of TV Guide informed me I was catching the early stages
of a 4 hour marathon and there was nothing which would tear me away from this
pure, exquisite vision; she was love, she was everything.
I watched her crack an egg open and allow the yolk to fall into
her hand. It stayed there for a moment
and then slowly she allowed the liquid to slip through her fingers and into a
waiting bowl before letting the entire yolk fall in after. This was glorious, indefinable sex. How wet my immediate surroundings became that
day. And everything from the pastels of
her wardrobe to her hair – as dark and rich as the chocolate she loved to eat –
to her teasing accented voice, only drew me deeper into her wonderful caloric
web. Oh how she savored her
creations. How I
longed for her to roll me up as though I were a ball of cookie dough and
playfully plop me into her mouth like all the delectable food she makes and
then crush me between her glorious white teeth and then roll me against the
roof of her mouth with her elegant tongue while her hot saliva begins to drown
me. Perhaps I would
become inadvertently wedged in between two of her molars and she would have to
be rough and push me out with said tongue.
And before she swallows me she tells me in her posh accent how tasty and
yet how pathetic and ugly and useless I am.
Beautiful.
Last
night I had a rather horrifying dream involving a woman named Lynda with whom I
actually went on a date a few months ago. In the dream I found her somewhere – it
felt like a house I used to live in but everything looked a little off – and
she was extremely visibly shaken. I
asked her what was wrong and she related to me a history of alien abduction, with
5 experiences taking place all within the past two weeks. She started to cry while describing the appearance
of the aliens and suddenly I was able to see them too and I then joined her in the
crying. I spent the rest of the dream
desperately trying to convince her that she
was dreaming or suffering from strange hallucinations but I did not truly
believe this. When I awoke I
spent the rest of the night with the blanket pulled over my head, still trying
to convince myself her experiences in my dream were only dreams
themselves. It did not
entirely work.
I
really don’t think this texting thing is going to catch on.
No comments:
Post a Comment