Robyn Tries To Conquer Our Dumb Nation, In Bigger Than The Sound
On The Phonograph record: Is Robyn Substantiation That We're The Dumbest Nation On Earth?
This crataegus laevigata not exactly be news to the more than 6 billion people wHO be exterior of our borders, simply I'm start to surmise that maybe we Americans have a rather inflated sentience of self.
This has zip to do with the fact that, as a unit, we behave like around bizarre, big-headed cross between Rambo, Captain Kirk and Ivan "Ironman" James Maitland Stewart, despite existence unity of the to the highest degree obese, least literate person countries in the world, or that we elected George I W. Bush twice, or that pictures like this survive (or this one).
No, basically, I'm realizing whole this because of Robyn. Or, to a greater extent specifically, about how non famous Robyn is here in America. And how that's never, ever so passing to change, because we are a country of narrow-minded nimrods.
For those not in the know — which is roughly 98 pct of you (or 60 percent of the homophile residential district) — Robyn is the towheaded, down-and-dirty electro diva wHO is wildly famous in her native Kingdom of Sweden (and almost other places on the orb) thanks in no small part to organism one of the almost dynamic, shape-shifting, forward-thinking artists currently qualification pop euphony. She is remarkably self-assured, wickedly funny remark and non afraid to drop a curse intelligence (or 16) in her songs. And she is, for want of a better term, unspeakably wyrd, in the best way possible. Totally of this makes her awesome, and wholly, 100 percent unmarketable here in the States.
Because, to be frank, we entirely like our pop stars unity way: saccharine sweet, lyrically inconsequential and wholly disposable. Oh, and sort of dumb likewise. And I'm non trying to tell that Britney or Christina or Rihanna (or at least Christina and Rihanna) ar really lacking in intelligence, merely rather that their musical theater yield — and their carefully crafted personas — are dumbed-down to a point where they ar little more than pop-culture soft-serve. We lavatory digest them in one slurp, with little fear of getting an icecream worry. And, of course, they have to be this way, because Americans don't like to be challenged when we follow MTV or turn on the wireless. We just like ice cream.
And Robyn is most for certain not frappe skim. Sure as shooting, when she number one broke here in the States — way back in 1997 with a song called "Evince Me Love" (non to be confused with the song of the saami nominate released by American robin S.) — she was merely another strawberry twirl. But sometime afterward that, she changed. She started writing songs around having an miscarriage. She appeared on a Snoop Dogg remix called "Sexual Eruption." And she dropped lines wish "Get the balls bounce/ Like a game of Table tennis" without blushing. So, of course, for more than a tenner, no label would dare vent her records here ... it would be commercial message felo-de-se.
Unfazed, she just now decided to physique her own label (Konichiwa) and spill albums on her possess ... getting weirder (and better) in the treat. In late 2006, she put out The Rakamonie EP, which — based on the strength of tracks like "Konichiwa Bitches" and her cover of the Teddybears' "Cobrastyle" — garnered her critical applaud and announced her arrival as the most interesting, vibrant pop star on the planet. It also got her a deal with Universal Music Group, wHO volition put her on the same mark as Feist (Cherrytree) and announced plans to spill her self-titled record album here in the U.S.
The record comes out April 29. It's fantastic — genuinely smart, sort of begrime, very forward-thinking ... in all probability the topper pop transcription you'll hear this year. In fact, earlier I mentioned the dumbness of Britney and Xtina and Rih Rih ... well, even they managed to sneak come out a brilliant hit or three — like "Toxic" or "Umbrella" or even "Candyman" — and Robyn's record album has at least sestet songs that ar wagerer than any of them. So, naturally, it will in all likelihood be a huge smash hit for UMG, something that volition pay big dividends and earn whomever was smarting sufficiency to sign her a nice raise and a quoin office. It should be played on every radiocommunication station and revolutionize popular medicine. Only I'm fair confident that's ne'er sledding to happen.
Because, let's be honest: It didn't happen for Lily Allen or Kate Ogden Nash or even Amerie — despite (and, at last, because) altogether of them were completely great, in spades against-the-grain purveyors of pop. We don't like wyrd. We don't like complicated or confident or yet cool. We care Jessica Sir James Young Simpson (or at least we used to). We wish Taylor
