In The Rough.

*

Me: "I'm going to a concert tonight."

Friend: "Oh, who?"

Me: "Marina & the Diamonds."

Friend: (blank stare)

And so it goes. If I thought it was hard trying to find people who'd heard of Robyn when I attended last month's show, I found even fewer who had discovered Marina & the Diamonds. This is despite the fact that Marina burst onto the music scene seemingly out of nowhere last May, having already hit it pretty big overseas in her native United Kingdom (she hails from Wales). It was an indie-sized explosion.

But you need to make a pretty big splash nowadays to get the mainstream wet, so Marina is still far from a household name. Who is she? She's Lilly Allen after some anger management classes, Florence + the Machine without the dagger in her heart, Bjork from a planet a little closer to Earth - ie, she might wear that swan costume, but she'd be a little more in on the joke.

"TV taught me how to feel, now real life has no appeal." Her lyrics point to feeling lonely and disaffected in modern times, but without any accompanying melancholy - her tunes are poppy and upbeat. When she sings, "Girls, they never befriend me / 'cause I fall asleep when they speak / of all the calories they eat" in "Girls," it perfectly encapsulates her outsider status amidst today's more traditional pop artists, but Marina isn't feeling sorry for herself. Marina's songs celebrate being smarter, sassier, and more unique than the masses, which is why her relative obscurity works so well. Could the mainstream ever truly embrace her, when she spends most of her time making fun of them?

More fun facts: according to Marina (whose last name is Diamandis), "the Diamonds" are not the band that backs her up, but rather us - her adoring fans, who indeed believe they have found something sparkly and special amidst today's pop music rough.

And, if you take everything on Wikipedia at face value, she also "has a synesthetic condition that involves seeing musical notes and days of the week in different colours." What? That's crazy!

Given her unusual persona, playful lyrics, and a style of singing that, while sonorous, always suggests that she's "doing a voice" to make us laugh, I was quite curious to see what Ms. Diamandis would sound like live and what her persona would be. I could envision her being somber and a little spacey, like Bjork, or making bold, ambitious political statements, like Sinead O'Connor, or being laid-back and too humble to take on any persona at all, like she belonged at Lilith Fair. Thankfully, Marina did not assume any of these roles.

Let's just say I was not disappointed.

Unlike at Robyn's show, where I feared for the future of humanity because the crowd was so gay, the typical Marina & the Diamonds fan is not as gay as you might think. This, perhaps, can be attributed partially to her indie darling cred in the music scene, and mostly to how damn hot she is in her "Hollywood" video.



But at her New York City Webster Hall appearance, Marina was not going for "sexy," per se. Or if she was, well, girl's got a screw loose. Marina emerged in a full-body black velvet dress looking like some combination of a 19th century vampire straight out of Transylvania, a cast member from Dynasty, and an escaped mental patient. Which is to say, she looked awesome. Throughout the show she sported an assortment of nutty eyewear, including sunglasses with peace signs and sunglasses with dollar signs. The sense of humor so prevalent in her music remains intact on stage - I was relieved that Marina's primary interest seems to be in having fun and making sure her fans do, too. She comes off a lot like her music - unusual, breezy, easy to like, and meaningful only if you're really paying attention.

She sang "I Am Not A Robot" bathed in blue lights that made her look, if not like a robot, rather like one of the Na'vi in James Cameron's Avatar, wielding glow-in-the-dark pink hearts that matched her glow-in-the-dark hot pick lipstick. She serenaded two oversized hamburgers in "Hollywood," in which she tells us, "I'm obsessed with the mess that's America." Indeed, many of her songs seem to poke fun at our culture and Western culture in general, and Marina repeated that sentiment many times throughout the night: "I'm obsessed with you!" She claimed London isn't her home - New York is.

Marina got a little more soulful playing keyboard on "Numb" and then "Obsessions," then went back to bringing down the house, dancing to my personal fave, "Oh No!" When she said goodnight, quite a few people made their way toward the exits despite the fact that the lights hadn't even come up in a faux-closing. Moments later, prompted by her Diamonds' effervescent enthusiasm, Marina returned - much to the surprise of those who had already left their spots near the front of the stage, stopping right in front of me instead. "She's singing again!" one hissed. Have they never been to a concert before? Despite this distraction, I soon became lost in the music again as Marina serenaded us with a downbeat interpretation of 3OH!3's "Starstrukk," totally transforming the frat-boy prankishness of the original's "L-O-V-E's just another word I never learned to pronounce" into something stirring and beautiful.

Marina never forgets to have fun, though - her biggest applause was for the wisdom: "Drink to forget, but never forget to drink!"

So if you haven't yet, do yourself a favor and catch up with everyone else who's on top of it. I have included some videos so you can do just that.



Not a robot,

X.

Shake Me 'Til You Wake Me From This Bad Dream.

*



Oh, Justin. I knew I'd meet you in my blogs eventually. I just never expected it to be quite like this...

So Justin Bieber sold out Madison Square Garden. He could probably sell out the state of Texas, if there was a sound system large enough. Tweens are frightening, frightening versions of actual people, and they have terrible taste. This has been true since the dawn of time. It wouldn't surprise me if Jesus Christ was the original Justin Bieber, and the only reason we still know who he is is because BC 16 year olds were, like, so majorly crushing on him. Jesus Fever! At least back then they didn't know how to Tweet.

Twilight, The Jonas Brothers, Harry Potter...all things that become huge because every adolescent and their mother loved it. (And I do quite literally mean "and their mother." What is with Moms jumping on these bandwagons? Are they trying to stay hip? I'm pretty sure there's nothing "hip" about a middle-aged woman wearing a T-shirt depicting a shirtless werewolf-boy that could be her son, and who, if he was her son, would definitely call CPS and have her incarcerated.) Elvis, The Beatles, David Cassidy, New Kids on the Block, the Backstreet Boys, and now Justin Bieber. These artists vary in quality, but they all got their start as teenage dreamboats - and some of them had the good sense to go away soon after.

I fully expected to see Bieber Fever strike the headlines of The New York Times someday, but more in a world-ending, pandemic, Bubonic plague sort of way. I'm surprised by the very serious tone of this article. "Instead his songs crackle with the first blush of seduction and power...?" Really? You heard a crackle? I heard a gunshot, just before journalistic integrity made it's final farewell to this earth. "Those are also among Mr. Bieber’s slower songs, which leave his sometimes thin voice unprotected. He fared better on rowdier numbers like 'Bigger,' 'Baby' and 'One Time'..." Um, excuse me, just who is this article for? Eight year old girls don't read the New York Times! You want to reach that audience, you Tweet "OMG! OMG! I HEART JUSTIN BIEBER! I JUST PEED!" That's about the only "review" of this show you need. I suppose it's possible he was trying to reach the mothers, in which case all he could have Tweeted: "OMG! OMG! I HEART JUSTIN BIEBER! MENOPAUSE IS HERE!"

I was also surprised to see the author of this article was male, but no judgment.

Yes, Justin Bieber is ridiculous. He's about as awkward and goofy as I was as a teenager, except way more popular with the ladies and friends with at least one famous rapper who has probably shot somebody. I can't exactly dig his helmet of hair and chipmunk cheeks - if you ask me, it might as well be Alvin, Simon, Theodore, and Justin Bieber. "Juuuuuustiiiiin!!!" I can't take him seriously. And while it is certainly true that he does indeed look like a lesbian, that's only because so many lesbians dress like 15 year old boys. You can't blame Justin Bieber for that.

However, I have a defense mechanism for dealing with the Justin Biebers of this world. When I sense someone getting popular, I automatically withdraw any and all attention I have ever paid to them and hide inside a shell that protects me from superstardom. (It's not unlike the cloak that shields me from reality TV, which I discussed yesterday.) I have a surprising gift for tuning out what I don't want to hear, and it isn't merely a product of getting older. It's good taste! I was born with it. (Okay, that's a lie - Transformers, Care Bears...I didn't discriminate.) But by the time I was a teenager, anyway, I had pretty much sussed out whose side I was on in the epic battle between good and evil over our souls and ears.

It's true. When I was in junior high and high school, I was pretty disinterested in the Backstreet Boys and N*Sync, and had only a passing interested in Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears. I watched TRL sometimes, mostly because my sister's love for one Nick Carter knew no bounds, but mainly I listened to 107.7 "The End." I know this means nothing to most readers, but for grunge and rock in the late 90's you really could do know better than this Seattle radio station.

This was about when the genre "alternative" was founded, back when it really seemed like there were only two choices: the teen pop phenoms or the likes of Korn, Smashing Pumpkins, and Marilyn Manson.

None of those artists were precisely my jam. I spent my formative years with Sublime, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Green Day, Stone Temple Pilots, and Nirvana, plus a few more obscure bands such as Zebrahead and Dynamite Hack. And, okay, I also really liked Madonna's Ray of Light. But that was pretty dark too...for Madonna.

It wasn't until college that I even really became aware of most current pop music, so immersed was I in my beloved alternative. And even then, I'm ashamed to admit that I enjoyed pop song remixes much more than I enjoyed the original tunes. For the uninitiated, a pop remix is basically when they take the already-repetitive lyrics of the chorus and repeat them even more, for longer. Granted, the remixes I liked best were the more artistic ones that fully re-imagined the song and often made it much darker and more meaningful, often by only using a line or two from the original song. I've tried looking for similar remixes in the years since, but it seems every remix I come across these days is of that first variety - if they haven't "evacuated the dance floor" after hearing that line approximately 70 times on a ten minute loop, Mr. DJ, then they're probably never going to.

Now my relationship with pop music is fleeting. I pick and choose what I want to hear, and generally am not subjected to what I don't. This means I'll check out what Katy Perry, Kanye West, and Rhianna are up to, while I ignore anything by Taylor Swift, The Jonas Brothers, or Miley Cyrus. I have a very powerful filter circling around my head at all times; only the most radioactive of singles ("You Belong to Me," "Party in the USA") make it through to my ears uninvited. Thankfully, we live in a world that allows those of us who'd rather listen to pop from Robyn, Annie, Sia, La Roux, Marina and the Diamonds, and Little Boots to do so while the rest of the world has their Justin Bieber.

There are always alternatives. Every generation has had them. Maybe the pop icons will always be more ubiquitous. Maybe they'll even be so in our faces we want to push them in front of a train. That's fine. I bet there are some people who wanted to push Paul and Ringo in front of a train, too. It's called diversity. If we all liked the same music, we'd be no better than robots, and no one would ever be pushed in front of a train. How boring would that be? What kind of a world?

As for me, I have enjoyed Bieber's "Baby" more times than I care to tell. Something about those lyrics, "Baby baby baby oh, baby baby baby no," really speaks to a profound part of me, I don't know. Plus I think it's funny to hear Ludacris try to rap without saying "pussy." A few months ago, I also discovered an even younger teenage pop star. From Australia - jackpot! What's my prize??

And while I realize that this is my second post in a week that will flag me as a pedophile, I am taking that chance by sharing Cody Simpson with you. Mr. Simpson may not be at the heights of Bieber stardom quite yet, but he was born the year Titanic came out, so there's plenty of time for him to get there.

In a disturbing trend, I'm pretty sure the teen idols are just getting younger. It used to be that the men were quite a few years older than their girly fans. Now it's the case of the Incredible Shrinking Superstar. What will they think of next? When can we expect a boy band made up of zygotes singing about the bitch who broke their hearts? Womb Tunes...you heard it here first. Preteen girls and their moms can have their Justin Bieber, but for my money, I will take an even younger Australian with a human's haircut.

And if anyone hits him with a water bottle, you will know my wrath.

Now, excuse me, I'm off to go hide in my pop culture shell.

Initiating Slut Mode, All Space Cadets on Deck.

"I've got some news for you:
Fembots have feelings too."

If those words mean anything to you, then you are already one in the small but fervent legion of fans who know and love Robyn. (I say "know and love" because I have yet to find anyone who knows her and has not been instantly smitten.)

Last week I had the pleasure of seeing Robyn live on her "All Hearts" tour, co-headlining with Kelis (she of "Milkshake" notoriety, responsible for a wave of young lads popping up uninvited in lawns across America). New York City's Webster Hall was filled with fervent Robyn fans - sorry, we don't have a nickname like "Twihard" or anything, we're not that mainstream - who patiently waited through three opening acts before the Swedish songstress appeared.

Judging by those in attendance, the typical Robyn fan is in their twenties or early thirties (or at least pretending to be) and gay, gay, gay. I bet my friend Connor, who accompanied me to the show, that there wasn't a bona fide straight man in the entire audience. There were a few close calls, but then the music started, they started moving and squealing and clutching their male companions in excitement, and that was that. So seriously, there were none. There were a decent number of females in the audience too - their sexual preferences dubious - but it was comforting to know that if a terrible geographical incident hit planet Earth during the set and somehow, through the magic of Robyn, only Webster Hall emerged unscathed, we could still repopulate the planet. Provided some of the gays were willing to take one for the team, that is.



I unfortunately missed opening act Far East Movement, who I do enjoy. I did catch Dan Black, who I was unfamiliar with. Wikipedia informs me he is a "British wonky pop artist," which is either a new classification of music or someone taking advantage of the user-enabled editing on Wikipedia. You could certainly describe Dan Black as "wonky" - he's big on awkward facial expressions and hand gestures that are almost ironic, but actually just come across as goofy. At one point I said to Connor, "He's like Mika's slightly retarded cousin," which in its own way is a compliment. On the whole I enjoyed his set; however, I couldn't get over his use of the same drum sample from "Umbrella" in his song "Symphonies." This just made it sound like he was totally butchering Rihanna's smash hit, which is not something you want to do in front of a predominantly gay crowd.

Kelis was up next, performing tracks off her new electro album Flesh Tone, a terrific departure from her previous hip hop hits. She wore a multicolored one-piece leotard and a silver wig, looking like she'd just come from kicking Rainbow Bright's ass. Despite having to stop mid-set and admit she'd caught a cold from her baby, she won over the audience with her flashy style and a medley of prior hits, including "Milkshake" performed to the beat of Madonna's "Holiday." I'm pretty sure more than one gay fan exploded at this point, but I was too into the number to know for sure.


The crowd seemed to be eating Kelis right up - that is, until Robyn came out, which made it abundantly clear most of this audience was there to see her. Suffice to say, they went bananas. I'd never seen Robyn live, and given her oft-melancholy lyrics, I expected her to be somewhat reserved. Not so. Robyn emerged bouncing like a manic pixie - and she never stopped. There must be a substance that is legal only in Sweden to give her such a Tinkerbell-esque burst of energy. The effect was contagious. The whole floor throbbed during her set with the energy of the crowd responding to Robyn's surprising effervescence. She quickly entered my pantheon of best live performers I've seen.



So let the purpose of this post be crystal clear: I am here to educate the shameful masses of you who do not know and love Robyn (yet). Earlier this week I told J I was going to see Robyn. He replied, "Who?" and I slapped him across the face. While we both took a moment to recover, I tried to think of how to describe the delightful Swedish lady who was brought so much joy to my life. "She's like the thinking man's Lady Gaga," I said at last. "You know...for people who got tired of hearing the name 'Alejandro' repeated over and over the first time they heard that song."

It's true. I have nothing against The Gags, but it's quite evident that she's trying really hard to be strange and outrageous. Robyn, on the other hand, is nutty by nature. (She can also enunciate, but I digress.) I often hear Gag-ophiles screaming about how L.G. is the "only" female pop musician writing and her performing her own songs (that are actually any good). This is true only if your knowledge of female pop musicians starts and ends with Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and the Real Housewives of Wherever the Hell. There are plenty of terrific women in pop, particularly across the seas, who are just as good as the Fame Monstress herself - and have been at it longer. In a way it's too bad that when I mention Robyn to the rest of the population, they ask, "Who?" (but they know all the lyrics to "Party in the USA"). Then again, it's kind of nice to have a musician all to yourself, since we all know fame ruins people. Just ask Lindsay Lohan - everyone knows who she is.

If you're not yet on the Robyn bandwagon, it's high time to climb aboard. Part Two of her album Body Talk will be released this fall. Until then, tracks such as "Dancing on My Own," "With Every Heartbeat," "Cry When You Get Older," "Hang with Me," and "Fembot" will catch you up with the rest of us.

Konichiwa, bitches!



(Concert photos by Stephen Winterhalter. Not me. I'm not that talented.)

Asshole Boyfriend OR Music Industry??

It is very rare that a pop song can pull a fast one on me. When Britney Spears released "Circus," I was not fooled by her lyrics into thinking that she was actually leaving music behind to join the circus. And when Lady Gaga released Alejandro, I didn't actually consider that some gay hispanic man was chasing her around saying her name over and over again.

No, when it comes to pop standards, I am pretty ridiculously smart about what they're trying to communicate to me. EXCEPT for one pop piano goddess: Sara Bareilles.

Yeah, you know her. She wrote "Love Song" - an anthem whose MP4 I have worn out on my iTunes like it was an old-timey cassette. If you don't know Love Song, then here it is to remind you:



When I first heard this song, I had just broken up with a significant other. It was perfect timing. Yes! I thought. I will NOT write you a love song, ex-boyfriend! Because you're a jerk and I don't love you! I was ecstatic! Sara totally got where I was coming from, she knew how I felt!

But then the ground fell out from underneath me. I found out that "Love Song" is not at all about an ex or love at all. No, it was a Communist Spy-sneaky style attack against the music industry! Sara's song's meaning was in fact literal. A music guy wanted her to write a Love Song, and she didn't want to. So, instead she wrote him a song that told him she wasn't going to write him a love song. (But wait, isn't that, in its own way, a love song? Like when I tell you not to think of a rhinoceros and so you start thinking "okay, I'm NOT thinking of a rhinoceros, I'm not thinking of a rhinoceros..." and not-rhinoceros might as well be rhinoceros because you're still thinking about it?)... head-kaboom!

But kaboom-head aside, I felt betrayed! Because it's not like the lyrics COMPLETELY say what the song means. It's not like the lyrics go "Mr. Record Producer you want me to write you a love song, but I'm not going to because I don't want to be like every other musician!" I mean, if that were the case, then I would NOT be surprised. I would know what the song was about and I would have not been led astray by wordplay and vague possibly-boyfriend-related statements.

Oh Sara, you tricky minx.

But you know what they say about "Fool me once," and all of that. So when Sara released her next single, which is paving the way to her upcoming album, I was on to her game, and ready to spike that volleyball of deceit away from my face before it smashed my nose and knocked me on my ass.

Her new single is called "King of Anything" and even iTunes won't try to fool us this time:

"Sara builds upon the charismatic wit and wisdom imparted by "Love Song" on the new single, "King of Anything," a sharp elbow to the ribs of all the know-it-alls she's met since entering the music business."

Ooooh fuckin burn! You hear that, music executives? Back the fuck away before Sara comes plowin in here and starts elbowing in your stupid know-it-all rib cages! That shit'll bruise! It seems as if the music executives that she's paying (and hopefully not chest-elbow-dropping) are framing her as some sort of professional piano playing WWE wrestler. She's fiesty! She'll pop you in the face if you offer criticism or have ANY experience in being successful!

It also means that she's released a second single on a major label where she uses veiled potentially romantic ex-significant-other-related language to crotch-kick the music industry. Which makes me wonder: will she continue doing this on her third album? What's left for her to beat up? Music album designers? Associate publicisists? The late night janitor at her music label's offices?

I hope it's the last of those options, I'd love to hear her compare his late night mopping to something that could be skewed as romantic.

So let it be known, Sara Bareilles: I'm on to you. No more will I think that any of your songs have to do with the true human condition. No, clearly they are all veiled references to other things. Your asshole tax attorney, your bitchy in-laws, that piano tuner who smells bad whenever he comes by.

Of course, none of this changes the fact that I've played "King of Anything" over 100 times already (as evidenced by iTunes.) I mean, c'mon, that deceptive shit has one hell of a chorus.



J/

THIS JUST IN:

Sara Bareilles is about to go viral with her piano version of Single Ladies... but BE FOREWARNED, BEYONCE FANS! Now, when she tells you to "put a ring on it," she's secretly KARATE KICKING the music industry right BEHIND THEIR EARS for not paying her a high enough percentage royalty when they sell pieces of her singles as ring tones... just an FYI.