Whatever else Blackout may be, it’s not Britney’s Low. For one, that would have required a largely instrumental second half with cut-up and processed/distorted voices, and we only get the latter; the miniature Barthesian essay on the nature and expression of the word “baby” three-quarters of the way through “Perfect Lover” which uses only the word “baby,” and the more pressing matter of Britney’s ProTooled/Auto-detuned/stretched/squashed vocal grains throughout; the startling Godardian Cinemascope of the low, growled “More!”s in “Gimme More,” Britney as her own man/lover in the parlous elegy of “Naked (I Got A Plan),” the logical next point of departure from Dee D Jackson’s “Automatic Lover,” the booming, low “LOW!” which intrudes into the “turn the lights down” quasi-fantasia of “Break The Ice.”
For two, Britney does not sound especially low on this record (and for an incidental three, the lowing on this record sounds to me unambiguously Britney despite, or even because of, the multiple Berioesque variations which Bloodshy & Avant, Danja and co. apply to her voice(s)). Yes, there is the swipe at the press in “Piece Of Me” with its chain gang chorus of multiple facets of Britney, and the occasional extended bout of what I take to be K-Fed bitching – “Toy Soldier” (“I’m sick to death of toy soldiers!.../I’m so damn glad that’s over”) and the quite gorgeous Neptunes closer “Why Should I Be Sad?” with the Philly oasis which shimmers into view midsong contrasting pointedly with Spears’ snarl at “stupid freaking things” - but her closing invocation of “Time for me to move along” – which at one point provokes a semi-ironic “Hey baby, what’s your name?” from Pharrell – and her “goodbye”s do not indicate a New Pop “Decades”; rather, the upstanding resignation of someone who throughout this record seems more firmly in control than on any of her previous ones; see for instance the hilarious Gwen Stefani send-up in the first verse of “Cool As Ice” (with curious “hooka hooka” backing vocals which seem to have strayed from Tusk).
For four, Blackout is so musically strong and packed with creamy nowness that most of the rest of this year’s pop might as well get back into bed. When Britney does the schaffel schtick, as she does on “Radar” and “Ooh Baby Baby,” we do not think of slumming Sloanes or Hoxtonites trying to pass themselves off as cutting edge but of rainbows old and horizons new – the repeated dove-like swoop of “on my radar” in the former might count as the greatest use of Autotune on record. Britney (and producer Farid Nassar) is even bold enough to revive the “Rock ‘N’ Roll Part 2” rhythm on the latter and make it sound like tomorrow; it is a not inconsiderable feat that I could easily imagine Elvis performing either tune.
But even if Blackout is not the apogee of nihilism that perhaps too many people were expecting – then again, neither was In Utero – it still has its “Be My Wife,” its moment where everything suddenly clears and naked emotion is clarified, and “Heaven On Earth,” the loveliest song that Britney has ever sung, is that moment. Its opening New Order-via-PSBs-via-Tiga sequencing bassline is promising enough but Spears – and producers Bloodshy & Avant – then build steadily on its foundations with more than a nod to Scritti’s “Lions After Slumber” with its opening foray/seduction/catalogue of “Your touch, your taste, your breath, your face, your HANDS (Britney about to crumble at the prospect of those hands), you’re sweet, your love, your teeth, your tongue, your eye (just one?), your mind, your lips, you’re fine,” intoned with breathless expectance of transformative ecstasy.
Then the melody begins to make itself known and there is some sharp intake of listener breath as one realises how great and noble this song is going to be as the two-part chorus commences; the first, almost Motownish in a different world, bearing her already fainting “Waking up and you’re next to me” with the emphasis floatingly on the “wake” and “next,” the “look and you stop” leading to an abrupt pause, punctuated by an upwards squirting synth flourish, before the second part demonstrates such lyricism you want to cry all black holes into extinction via exhaustion – “when you’re next to me it’s just like heaven on earth” is not the most original of observations but in this setting carries the weight of paradises regained. The extended moment of the first half of the second verse – a slowly perambulating but determined “I’ll move across the world for you,” followed by “Just tell me when, just tell me where, I’ll come to you” – is shattering, though immediately mended by the distant cry of a modified syndrum at 2:11.
The minor key piano echoes into view after the second chorus but it is laying down the foundations for happiness rather than digging an oblivion while synths detune, warp and chuckle behind. But even this does not prepare the listener for the “Strawberry Fields” citation which accompanies the “Fall off the edge of my mind” coda, after which words, for the first and final time on Blackout, fail her; “So in love,” she mumbles in unreachable joy. “I said I’m so in love! With you!” she repeats as both voice and mind crack up (“Yeah!”). A brief electronic wave looms out of the distance before being cut off. The rest we’ll have to guess, as Britney lets go.
For two, Britney does not sound especially low on this record (and for an incidental three, the lowing on this record sounds to me unambiguously Britney despite, or even because of, the multiple Berioesque variations which Bloodshy & Avant, Danja and co. apply to her voice(s)). Yes, there is the swipe at the press in “Piece Of Me” with its chain gang chorus of multiple facets of Britney, and the occasional extended bout of what I take to be K-Fed bitching – “Toy Soldier” (“I’m sick to death of toy soldiers!.../I’m so damn glad that’s over”) and the quite gorgeous Neptunes closer “Why Should I Be Sad?” with the Philly oasis which shimmers into view midsong contrasting pointedly with Spears’ snarl at “stupid freaking things” - but her closing invocation of “Time for me to move along” – which at one point provokes a semi-ironic “Hey baby, what’s your name?” from Pharrell – and her “goodbye”s do not indicate a New Pop “Decades”; rather, the upstanding resignation of someone who throughout this record seems more firmly in control than on any of her previous ones; see for instance the hilarious Gwen Stefani send-up in the first verse of “Cool As Ice” (with curious “hooka hooka” backing vocals which seem to have strayed from Tusk).
For four, Blackout is so musically strong and packed with creamy nowness that most of the rest of this year’s pop might as well get back into bed. When Britney does the schaffel schtick, as she does on “Radar” and “Ooh Baby Baby,” we do not think of slumming Sloanes or Hoxtonites trying to pass themselves off as cutting edge but of rainbows old and horizons new – the repeated dove-like swoop of “on my radar” in the former might count as the greatest use of Autotune on record. Britney (and producer Farid Nassar) is even bold enough to revive the “Rock ‘N’ Roll Part 2” rhythm on the latter and make it sound like tomorrow; it is a not inconsiderable feat that I could easily imagine Elvis performing either tune.
But even if Blackout is not the apogee of nihilism that perhaps too many people were expecting – then again, neither was In Utero – it still has its “Be My Wife,” its moment where everything suddenly clears and naked emotion is clarified, and “Heaven On Earth,” the loveliest song that Britney has ever sung, is that moment. Its opening New Order-via-PSBs-via-Tiga sequencing bassline is promising enough but Spears – and producers Bloodshy & Avant – then build steadily on its foundations with more than a nod to Scritti’s “Lions After Slumber” with its opening foray/seduction/catalogue of “Your touch, your taste, your breath, your face, your HANDS (Britney about to crumble at the prospect of those hands), you’re sweet, your love, your teeth, your tongue, your eye (just one?), your mind, your lips, you’re fine,” intoned with breathless expectance of transformative ecstasy.
Then the melody begins to make itself known and there is some sharp intake of listener breath as one realises how great and noble this song is going to be as the two-part chorus commences; the first, almost Motownish in a different world, bearing her already fainting “Waking up and you’re next to me” with the emphasis floatingly on the “wake” and “next,” the “look and you stop” leading to an abrupt pause, punctuated by an upwards squirting synth flourish, before the second part demonstrates such lyricism you want to cry all black holes into extinction via exhaustion – “when you’re next to me it’s just like heaven on earth” is not the most original of observations but in this setting carries the weight of paradises regained. The extended moment of the first half of the second verse – a slowly perambulating but determined “I’ll move across the world for you,” followed by “Just tell me when, just tell me where, I’ll come to you” – is shattering, though immediately mended by the distant cry of a modified syndrum at 2:11.
The minor key piano echoes into view after the second chorus but it is laying down the foundations for happiness rather than digging an oblivion while synths detune, warp and chuckle behind. But even this does not prepare the listener for the “Strawberry Fields” citation which accompanies the “Fall off the edge of my mind” coda, after which words, for the first and final time on Blackout, fail her; “So in love,” she mumbles in unreachable joy. “I said I’m so in love! With you!” she repeats as both voice and mind crack up (“Yeah!”). A brief electronic wave looms out of the distance before being cut off. The rest we’ll have to guess, as Britney lets go.
3 comments:
Not only all that, but she is better than The Eagles any day of the week.
I deliberately didn't read this until I'd finished my Pitchfork piece on the record (column not review) - it's good to see someone with a good word for "Why Should I Be Sad?" which I've been very dismissive of - the Philly link opens it up for me.
I think it is quite a nihilistic record, but that doesn't make it an unhappy one. My "Low" comparison wasn't intended as musical, just as a gentle poke to remind that fucked-up circumstances can and do create masterpieces.
I seriously believe "Blackout" is not only the best album of the year but one of themost perfect pop albums ever released. Not even Madonna has something as good as this one.
Whenever Britney sings "Fall off the edge of my mind" she reaches metaphysical heavens and hells that few musicians have managed to reach in their lifetime.
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