This article about contemporary R&B first appeared in a slightly altered form in the Chicago Reader. At the end I\u2019ve included a somewhat snarkier take on the same material, which didn’t quite make it to the final draft.<\/p>\n
Underrated Overground<\/p>\n
LeToya\u2019s self-titled debut is packed with distorted beats, oceanic harmonies, production values that make it feel as if the music is being broadcast from the precise center of your skull, and miraculous songwriting. \u201cTear Da Club Up\u201d nicks a perfect Outkast sample, combines it with skittering Aphex-Twin-worthy beats and and adds a stuttered opening that\u2019s both propulsive and sexy; \u201cAll Eyez on Me\u201d features a titanic pseudo-Bollywood loop that pretty much defines \u201cfat\u201d. Even the tossaway bits \u2014 like a gorgeous, easy-going duet with a Yolanda Adams recording on the Outro \u2014 are spectacular. In other words, this album struts. To say it\u2019s pefect pop is a disservice \u2014 it\u2019s one of the most accomplished and creative recordings I\u2019ve ever heard, in any genre.<\/p>\n
Alas, this is a minority opinion. LeToya\u2019s album has been certified platinum, but the critical response has been, um, tepid. Most outlets haven\u2019t even bothered to review it. Those that did, like RollingStone.com, had little to say, and even less that was laudatory. <\/p>\n
Not that this is a big surprise. Few musical genres are as critically despised as contemporary R & B. Read a review of any random urban diva and you\u2019ll learn that her street-posturing is laughable, her lyrics monotonous, and her voice an embarrassment. Even positive assessments have a defensive air \u2014 a write-up of \u201cKelis Was Here\u201d on PopMatters provides the singer\u2019s fans with talking points so they can fight back against their friends\u2019 inevitable skepticism. And last week in the Reader, Jessica Hopper praised Ciara’s latest . . . because it wasn’t quite as bad as Gwen Stefani’s.<\/p>\n
Different strokes for different folks, of course \u2014 but many of the criticisms leveled against contemporary R&B are confused enough to be actively misleading. Take one of the most common contentions \u2014 the argument that the performers\u2019 voices are lousy. I\u2019ve seen this said of Ashanti, Ciara, Kelis, Teairra Mari \u2014 even, bizarrely enough, of Mariah Carey. And it\u2019s undeniably true that few of those performing R &B can belt out a tune like Aretha. The thing is, they\u2019re not supposed to. Contemporary R &B has very little to do with classic 60s Southern Soul. Instead, it\u2019s rooted in the high-gloss production and intensive harmonies of Motown and Gamble and Huff. There are a couple of exceptions: Shareefa\u2019s debut deftly combines old school grit with new school gloss, and Faith Evans unbelievable\u201cMesmerized\u201d sounds like Stax on steroids. In general, though, a big voice and giant production add up to a faux- Broadway disaster (hello, Christina.) Contemporary R&B just works better with less dramatic singers. Tweet and Monica, for example, both use smooth, creamy deliveries that swirl languidly into the backing tracks. And then there\u2019s Cassie, whose vocals might be kindly described as wispy. That doesn\u2019t hurt her a bit, though; on her debut, her voice is so processed and multi-tracked that the singer becomes just one more electronic blip among many \u2014 part of a robotic, flawless glucose-delivery system that makes Pizzicato Five sound clumsily robust. <\/p>\n
Even if every singer in the genre could holler like Marion Williams, though, I doubt that it would matter. Critics want scrappy; they want subversive \u2014or at least not ingratiating. As Jim DeRogatis puts it in his chronicle of 90s music, \u201cRock\u2019n\u2019roll is a spontaneous explosion of personality and it is an attitude.\u201d That just doesn\u2019t describe R &B at all. In the first place, the female-dominated world of contemporary R&B doesn\u2019t really do misogyny \u2014still the easiest way for rock, hip hop, punk and country artists to demonstrate their edginess. And besides, it\u2019s impossible to pretend that a pre-packaged product of reality-TV like Danity Kane is in any way scrappy. Thus, though divas do occasionally talk about keeping it real, the ambivalence about success and selling-out that is the signal of authenticity in hip hop and alternative barely exists in R&B. On the contrary, performers tend to cultivate a girly, XXXOOOO relationship with their fans. That\u2019s why Beyonce can cheerfully shill for her latest Hollywood movie, Dreamgirls, on B’day and present it as an extraspecial bonus moment for her listeners.. And it\u2019s why she and her rivals all shorten their names into diminutive, corporate one-word brands. <\/p>\n
I must admit that, personally, I find this straightforward willingness to embrace all things commercial rather refreshing. Even if you\u2019re wedded to the dubious concept of mass entertainment as subversion, though, contemporary R&B does have something to offer. In the first place, it\u2019s largely performed by lower-class, teen-aged women of color. Indeed, its perhaps the only way these women have to reach a large audience . Sure, sometimes what they have to say isn\u2019t any more thoughtful than \u201cthe junk in my trunk\u2019ll put a bump in your pants,\u201d as Brooke Valentine quips. But you don\u2019t have to listen to too many tracks before you\u2019ll find songs that tackle more demanding material.<\/p>\n
In fact, the common thread running throughout contemporary R&B is neither drippy sentiment nor mindless partying. Instead, the performers insist on self-worth, independence and strength, even as they acknowledge the importance of close relationships. Like classic country (or classic R &B for that matter ) the music is about love, joy, loss and \u2014 most of all \u2014 about dignity.. Thus, in \u201cNo Daddy,\u201d Teairra Mari expresses sympathy for and solidarity with sex workers without lapsing into moralism or pity; no mean feat. (No I don’t strip in the club\/ Don\u2019t trick in the club\/ But I got friends that do\/ So my girls that’s getting the dough\/ The best way that they know\/ No hate girl, I got you). Mya\u2019s \u201cLate\u201d is a hilarious account of an accidental pregnancy \u2014 with some useful tips on proper condom care thrown in. Cherish\u2019s \u201cOooh\u201d is about teen abstinence. Kelis\u2019 \u201cGhetto Children\u201d with its heart-breaking refrain, \u201cno matter what teacher say to you\/ ghetto children are beautiful\u201d is about the best two-line condemnation of our educational system you\u2019re likely to get. <\/p>\n
The best thing about contemporary R&B isn\u2019t the lyrics, though. It\u2019s the music. Sometime in the late 90s, R&B moved away from the groove-based vibe of TLC and Timbaland\u2019s early work and towards extremely complex song-writing. At the same time, production capabilities, already phenomenal, went into the stratosphere. The result is music of painstaking craft; layers of sound morphing and twisting through bridges and intricate arrangements, while a multi-tracked vocalist sings rings around herself. Often it\u2019s impossible to even tell what instruments are playing, if any, just as it\u2019s difficult to know who\u2019s responsible for the final product \u2014 most songs seem to have three to five writers, not to mention the producers and executive producers. It\u2019s a bit like the shoegazing pop of the nineties and a little like the most polished Philly Soul, though in many ways its more intense than either. Certainly, it can tip over into bombast or undifferentiated mush. At its best though it\u2019s unearthly. LeToya and her peers are pushing against the boundaries of how music can be made and what it can sound like even as they remain firmly in a popular idiom. In this, they\u2019re not unlike the first great swing or rap performers. And like those models, it may take a decade or two before critics start to fetishize them. In the meantime, everybody else has the opportunity to listen to some of the best American music ever made, right there on the top-40 station of your choice.
——————<\/p>\n
The following was originally intended as the beginning of the article, but didn’t quite make it for one reason and the other….<\/p>\n
In his much-lauded book Lipstick Traces, rock critic Greil Marcus celebrated the revolutionary power of pop music \u2014 with some notable caveats. Elvis, the Beatles, and the Sex Pistols, Marcus gushed \u201craise[d] the possibility of living in a new way\u201d because they \u201c\u201dassaulted or subverted social barriers.\u201d Michael Jackson\u2019s album Thriller, on the other hand, \u201ccrossed over [social barriers] like kudzu.\u201d Marcus then goes on to sneer at Jackson because his audience was largely composed of white people. Marcus does not state, but I suppose we are meant to presume, that Johnny Rotten was some sort of hero to black youth.<\/p>\n
Marcus\u2019 comments dredge up some ugly truths. Like America itself, American music is, (A) segregated, and (B) in deep denial. For at least 30 years now, top 40 has been dominated by black-derived dance-pop, and (especially recently) black artists. Yet white rock critics (that is to say, almost all rock critics) have never really accepted this. Instead, as the complexion of pop music has changed, critics have grumpily declared mainstream to be crap, and gone out desperately looking for some \u201calternative.\u201d. But when you take into consideration everything from the hysteria of anti-disco record burnings to the fervent hallelujahs which greeted the release of \u201cElephant\u201d, the much-touted alternative to mainstream fare looks suspiciously like a desperate search for a great white hope. <\/p>\n
To be clear, I am not saying that it is racist to like rock music or to dislike black music, or any combination of the two. Aesthetic preferences aren\u2019t political positions, and I\u2019d personally rather listen to Led Zeppelin than Muddy Waters, for what that\u2019s worth. But Marcus and his sort go beyond a simple statement of aesthetic appreciation. For them, some middle-class white dude strumming a guitar he doesn\u2019t even know how to play is a revolution on disc, upsetting the very fabric of our social order. And, conversely, a working-class black guy singing his heart out over a computer-generated rhythm track is a sell-out, demonstrating the \u2014 ahem \u2014 pale monotony of our popular landscape. Liking a genre is one thing. Claiming transcendent moral superiority because you like a genre is another.<\/p>\n
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This article about contemporary R&B first appeared in a slightly altered form in the Chicago Reader. At the end I\u2019ve included a somewhat snarkier take on the same material, which didn’t quite make it to the final draft. Underrated Overground … Continue reading