Yesterday, I told the story about how Imogen Heap turned me into a poptimist. And while that narrative informed much of the narrative for that post, this record actually deserves most of the credit for that.
Because if we’re going linearly (rather than alphabetically), the moment that shattered my aversion for all things pop was when I logged onto MySpace and listened to the featured track of the week: a mournful, vocoder-only ballad called “Hide and Seek.”
In the fall of 2005, I started my freshman year of college. I was a certified scene kid: I wore girl pants and band t-shirts, painted my nails black. Almost everything I listened to was guitar-based.
Then, I discovered this record (and its spiritual sequel, Imogen Heap’s Speak For Yourself).
And God as my witness, it made me a poptimist.
While Autobahn found Kraftwerk embracing a more robotik sound than their early largely-improvised avant-garde Krautrock, it still had a few fleshy bits sticking to its chrome exoskeleton.
Trans-Europe Express finds their cybernetic mutation nearly complete.
In the last few months, after decades of ignorance, I’ve developed a strange fascination with the pop duo Hall & Oates. Judging by their enduring (and excellent) singles that still dominate “Hits of Yesterday and Today” stations, I had expected their output to stick pretty close to the middle of the road.
I was wrong.
For a movement birthed out of the late 70s’ punk scene, it didn’t take long for new wave to become entirely married to pop.
For years, Daft Punk has shown the world glimpses of pop music’s future. Tracks like “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” or “Human After All” broke through the surface of pop consciousness like an elusive White Whale before diving back down into the depths.
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There’s always been a weird sort of relationship between the independent music scene and Top 40 pop. Often, indie often derides pop for lack of artistic integrity, separating itself from the cheap tricks of pop to make serious music. But there are other times where indie tries to beat pop at its own game, shoving even more hooks and dance hooks into three minutes, which always ends up dripping with irony.
Then, there’s CHVRCHES.
It is not difficult to argue that the Jackson 5 were a novelty act. But it’s almost impossible to dismiss them as a such. Sure, the lead single’s target audience doesn’t seem to be much older than Michael’s own twelve years, and yeah, all of their originals (four of the twelve tracks) were written by a Motown Records production team dubbed The Corporation (not very punk rock) that was tailor made to write songs for the Jackson 5, but I defy anyone to tell me that they weren’t some of the best performers the world has ever seen.
At the surface, it seems the most fitting description of this album (and the Carpenters’ career at large) is “Pleasant. Not much else.” The siblings’ tight harmonies and lush arrangements create an atmosphere that is easy on the ears, without any of that weird experimentation that the Beatles and Beach Boys and Byrds and just about every other hope for good pop music in the 60s dabbled in. But the closer, Another Song, is a riotous jazz improvisation, with no vocals at all. Clearly, there must be more deeper down in the album.