Best New Tracks - Pitchfork |  |
|
Posted: 17 Dec 2013 11:38 AM PST
"Probably won't make no money off this, oh well," Beyoncé shrugs on her new album's moody, amorphous second track, "Haunted." And I say this with the requisite curtsy to the Queen, but: bullshit. True, in both content and form, Beyoncé is a risk—an emotionally candid, unconventionally structured experimental pop record that was released digital-only with absolutely no promotion—but we know now that she is going to make a little bit of money off this. Still, how could you not know all along that you've got a blockbuster on your hands, when there is a song on your record like "XO"?
"XO" is one of those big, boundary-obliterating pop songs that demands to be projected onto the sky, like the aural equivalent of a firework. There will be a supercut of people all over the world lip-syncing and doing cute hand motions to "XO" by the end of this week. It's the Beyoncé cut that Ed McMahon would ride for. One of the guys from Skeleton Crew is going to propose to his girlfriend while "XO" is playing and she will say yes. "XO" is the reason why anyone you know who has said, "Yeah, but where are the hooks on Beyoncé?" did not listen to the entire album. Chris Martin is listening to "XO" right now, crying. And, because perfection is overrated, all of the flawlessness here is brilliantly undercut by that gravelly croak in her lower register when she growls, "Baby love me, lights out." You kill us, Bey.
 |
|
Posted: 11 Dec 2013 02:00 PM PST
Erika M. Anderson's Past Life Martyred Saints was quietly one of the best albums of 2011: lo-fi but cavernous, even its barren confessional tracks sounded weightier than most, while its Lou Reed beat tangents ("California") hit with artillery force. But there's nothing quiet about "Satellites", EMA's first release since; if Past Life Martyred Saintswas spiky, then "Satellites" is like an oncoming broadside of spikes.
The track begins and ends alternating from distorted shredding to a looming drone, like the sound that'd underscore an (astronomically loose) space opera's approaching black hole. In between, "Satellites" pulls in sounds with equally operatic force: a gothy piano throb, industrial drum loop and synth squall, sawing violins, landline feedback. Anderson towers above, throaty and multitracked to ten feet of swagger. It's discontent composed to Carl Sagan proportion, and it's easily the most bracing thing yet from an artist already more bracing than most.  |
No comments:
Post a Comment