Adele bothers me more than most major pop-stars.
This sentiment comes on the heels of her James Bond theme
hitting the Internet (which to my surprise is a fairly strong effort) as well
as my latest attempt to give 21 another umpteenth listen in the hopes
that I’ll finally “get it." I suppose
part of this also stems from the fact that I glanced through her Rollingstone cover story, which also added gasoline to the hypercritical flames I
usually hold her over. In any event, I’m
bothered. This is gonna be a long one,
buckle up.
Though I’ve long ago resigned to the fact that my listening
habits are not of the Top 40 variety, Adele is something of an anomaly for
me. She is the only artist in recent
memory that's compelled me to obtain her records, listen to them with
escalating levels of rage, delete them from my iTunes, forget about her, and
then obtain her records again in some sort of vicious Groundhog Day/Mobius Strip
of hilarity. This is problematic for me
because I generally stick to my opinions.
Except with Adele, that is. With Adele, I
weigh the evidence, make a rational decision, and then offend all my friends
that have “Rolling In The Deep” as their ringtone. It is what it is, and the snark remains the same.
I guess my relationship with Adele is a complicated one
because I WANT to cut her a break and understand what 24+ million people find
appealing. Like most human beings, I want to be part of the party. Yet, something happens mid way through 21, where I'm consumed with resentment that she's got my attention again, and it's wasting my time. And for some absurd reason, I still stop
just short of dismissing her completely.
The cycle repeats endlessly, and it’s quite the sinister enigma to solve.
She’s the third shooter in Dallas, my
Cubs World Series, my white whale (and no, that’s not a weight pun).
Thanks to “Skyfall,” and Rollingstone, I think I now know
why.
There are two Adeles within Adele Adkins, two distinct
narratives that are simultaneously interwoven with each other. Interestingly, the manner in which they're
blurred has left me with the inability to decide how I feel about her artistic
output. More to the point, the fact that
these two narratives are twisted in on themselves might just be indicative of
where pop culture is going in the next decade or so, which is either terrifying
or hilarious depending on how your listening habits function. Allow me to elaborate on
these two very different Adeles:
Adele #1—Adele The Sophisticated
This is the Adele 24+ million people think they’re getting
when they watch Adele in an interview, a music video, or what they imagine her
artistic persona to be. This is the
Adele I want to buy into: The smoker, the drinker, and the girl with the broken
heart. The earnest little artist that
could, telling super producers like Rick Rubin and Paul Epworth to strip back
all the studio trappings on 21 to make it raw and immediate. She’s a songwriter. This Adele is visceral, tapping into a rich Motown
tradition that’s all but been forgotten.
She doesn’t play to “traditional” body images, and she’s ambivalent to
the press that picks her part for it. This
Adele has a boyfriend, a reclusive private life (in fact, she CREATES a private life),
and is the most technically proficient singer of the past five years. She’s Dusty Springfield and Joan Holloway, all
chutzpah and hand grenade vocals. She’s
a champion, a storyteller, and alchemist that can translate talent into mountains
of awards, and legions of followers.
Adele #2—Adele The Ordinary
This is the Adele 24+ million people get when they hit play
on 21, who we read about in the gossip columns, and who’s real legacy is
grounded in manufactured awards show buzz.
This is the Adele that functions within the rigid pop-paradigm, with
enough raw talent to support an album full of three singles and indistinguishable filler,
a Grammys' reckoning. She’s the kind of radio
wonder that will put out a decidedly nostalgic sounding LP plagued by the
hilariously modern Loudness War—A record constructed to feel resonant and warm
but comes across as flat and cold. You
hear this singer in the super market aisle while you’re shopping at Whole
Foods. This is the kind of malleable
talent that Columbia Records will hand-pick to work with super producers like
Rick Rubin and Paul Epworth, focus-grouping ballads about John Q.
Anybody-But-Somebody-Specific. This is
the Adele that swings the pendulum the other way for me, the one that exists in
a manufactured pop-vacuum, not a cultural revival. More to the point, this is the Adele Columbia Records tries to hide from you.
If you’re feeling a bit like Keanu Reeves right now, I can
assure you that was planned.
I suppose this is sort of true for any artist. There is a romanticized ideal that we think
we’re experiencing juxtaposed with the cold calculating reality we’re oblivious
to. Art is a reaction to commerce and
commerce reacts to art.
Then again, some musicians really create art with a message
and drive. Sometimes that romantic rock
n’ roll narrative is 100% true--your Iggy Pops, the Tom Waitses, and the Johnny
Cashs. There, it’s harder to differentiate
danger from the "narrative" because they truly live their story. Kurt Cobain was an insanely depressed drug
addict. Raise your hand if you wince(d) when watching Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged? These
artists embody the kind of stories that shake us as listeners, and these narratives help us create lasting bonds
with musicians--endearing us to records we’ll listen to over and over again.
The closer the connection to reality and art, the more human, personal,
and resonant it becomes. We love to be immersed in this mystique because it simultaneously validates the artist and ourselves.
We like manufactured pop music for different reasons. With pop music, with Top 40 radio, the
invented narrative you’re being asked to believe is never hidden. We ALWAYS see the Wizard behind the curtain. Here,
HOW the narrative is constructed helps us shop around. For as ridiculous as the
90s boy-band explosion was, as well as the bubblegum-glam of everyone from
Debbie Gibson to Britney Spears, no one will mistake who made these stars
popular and how they did it. This is why
we loved them, and why they've sold more records than God. The beauty of Top 40 is these artists don’t
have to hide how the sausage is being made—people will eat it up because they
like the way it’s made. If you’re loyal
to the process, who cares about substance?
If you buy into Top 40 pop-stars, you buy into what you’re expecting.
The problem is that market is only so large, and record companies are greedy little greed mongers.
Adele is a fascinating exception, the pop-star disguised as
sophisticated songstress. In a
technological age that blurs reality more and more, Adele effortlessly muddles
the line between romantic and manufactured.
Her personas are not divided by authenticity, but by weapons grade
advertising. She’s a massive success
because her reach extends past those who traditionally buy into constructed
pop-escapism. This is because in the
modern warfare of democratized digital listening, Adele is the perfect stealth
bomber to sneak past enemy lines. She
looks, feels, and embodies the serious and dramatic, but she’s been assembled a
few doors down from Katy Perry, Ke$ha, and Rihanna. She’s
the perfect product. With Adele, the fact that you can’t always see the Wizard is why she’s a massive success. She
consciously appeals to those that would normally buy her records as well as those
that would typically shun such a massive commercial titan, totaling 24+
million Adele-colytes in the process.
Then again, maybe I’m just bitter that Adele continues to
trick me into listening to 21 over and over again, without really enjoying more
than three tracks on it.
Oh well, fool me once, right?
