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18 Sunday Territorian. Sunday, February 9, 2014. www.sundayterritorian.com.au
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sundayterritorian.com.au
Angela MollardSUNDAY LIFESTYLE ay
Email [email protected] Follow her on www.twitter.com/angelamollard
Modernmusic is seriouslylacking singerswith heart
John Legend is one of very few male contemporary artists who still seems to believe in love
JOHN Legend is a daft name— I much prefer his realmoniker, John Stephens. Orif he had to do that attention-seeking, headline-abbreviating, single-syllablething (Lorde, Prince, Pink) I’dhave gone with John. John’s asound name.
To be honest, I’m not evenwon over by his hit single Allof Me — certainly it’s not upthere with Percy Sledge’ssoul-squeezing When a ManLoves a Woman or Eric Clap-ton’s enduringly romanticWonderful Tonight.
But something aboutJohn’s song (sorry, can’t wr-ite Legend with any serious-ness) has plucked at myheart. Both the video — amonochromatic, deeply inti-mate portrayal of his relation-ship with his wife — plus hisperformance at the GrammyAwards, where he stoleglances at her — ‘‘you’remy end and my beginning’’— feel like an unashamed,old-school, hand-written let-ter to love.
Because I can’t rememberthe last time a man stood at amicrophone or sat behind apiano and belted out a balladto a woman he adores; when astraight, contemporary maleartist had the confidence tostand up and sing, ‘‘I love youso much.’’
Sure, accuse me of retrosentimentality, of failing toget down with ghetto-speak(indeed, you must, if only onthe grounds of my dubiousfascination with Rod St-ewart). But I don’t want thosepower ballads for me — I havea whole back catalogueseared in my soul: Otis Redd-ing, U2, Robbie Williams,Bryan Adams, Hunters andCollectors — I will kiss you infour places. No, I want themfor Gen Z and beyond becausewhat the ’80s and ’90s lacked
in fashion, they made up forwith songs that took you frompicnics to bars to bed to Sun-day mornings. Even books —Nick Hornby’s High Fidelityand, latterly, David Nicholls’One Day — reinforced that itwas OK for a song to seizeyour heart.
Now it’s all about grabbingyou in the groin — shocking,crude, ugly songs that seducewith a catchy melody buttaunt with an offensive mess-age: ‘‘Are you up for this?’’Robin Thicke is goading in
Blurred Lines when he singsabout trying to domesticate awoman but her being an ani-mal. Now Enrique Iglesias,the Artist Formerly KnownAs Heart-Melter, has comeout with a vile piece of pornpop called I’m a Freak. Thevideo clip reinvents theHefner-esque pool party, com-plete with obligatory twerk-ing, near-naked womenspanking each other, simu-lated sex, shot slamming andcream licking. This from aman who 13 years ago
brought us the exquisite, tear-inducing Hero.
I want to slap Iglesias —clearly not in the way he likes— but on behalf of my daugh-ters, who deserve better thanthis. The soundtrack of theiryouth increasingly comesfrom big fierce power balladchicks — Pink, Adele, AliciaKeys, Beyonce, Rihanna —and a clutch of insipid menwho clearly lack the balls tomatch them at it. As one mu-sic industry insider said tome this week: ‘‘Where’s the
Sinatras, the Tom Joneses?Strong men who are sopassionate they want to grabthe woman they love, lead heron to the dance floor andsweep her off her feet.
‘‘Men need to step back upand reclaim the love song. It’sbeen hijacked by all thegrungy, bearded, ukulele-strumming hipsters who for-get that the toughest thingabout them is their tattoo. Weneed male artists to emote, toscream: ‘I f---ing love you’.’’
The gay community is well
catered for. Macklemore’sSame Love was the anthem of2013 and Mary Lambert’s SheKeeps Me Warm was pure po-etry in both lyrics and clip.Fine if you like James Blunt (Irecently attempted toreacquaint, fearing it was acase of Celine Dion syndromebut, no, he’s a whiny littlegit). And, sure, there’s plentyof room for alternative-cute— Paramore’s Still Into You isa sweetheart of a song.
But as Valentine’s Daylurches round with heart-strewn stationery and flaccidflowers, we need sometestosterone-fuelled love bal-lads, some hit-you-in-the-heart songs favoured by truc-kies and tradies and blokeswho wear Blundstones, notBirkenstocks. Ballads aresongs of the road; of heart, nothead; of loving one woman,not the multiples favoured byThicke and Iglesias and hiphop’s cretinous Lil’ Wayne.The ballad is the rugby unionof rock; it’s about honour andtenderness and respect. It’slove making, not sex.
As Sara Leonardi McGrathsays — she phoned as I waswriting — it’s about ‘‘emot-ional safety’’. She and hus-band Glenn played Islands inthe Stream at their wedding.‘‘It’s not about putting a ringon it or being needy,’’ shesays. ‘‘It’s about allowingyourself to be a woman andputting your heart in some-one’s hands.’’
The feminist Camille Pagliareckons we’re neutering boysof their maleness, that ‘‘there’sno room for anything manlynow’’. I disagree, but in the ageof gender-neutralism we stillneed men singing majesticsongs. Inspiration is plentiful.But if you’re keen and under30, please, I beg you, give awide berth to anything fromChris de Burgh.
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