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      Lorde Opts Out on the Provocatively Subdued ‘Solar Power’

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      The singer and songwriter trades the sonic dynamism and moodiness of her 2017 album “Melodrama” for sun-soaked self-assurance on an LP that doesn’t always come into focus.Eight years ago, the New Zealand pop singer-songwriter Lorde’s breakout hit “Royals” arrived with a seismic rumble and an observational critique: “Every song’s like ‘gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin’ in the bathroom, blood stains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room.’”For all its eye-rolling, refusenik attitude, the implicit joke was that “Royals” was in some sense one of those everysongs, too, lip-syncing along to the same sentiment it was rejecting. After all, that hook was one of the catchiest parts of the song, underlined by Lorde’s signature, soon-to-be-ubiquitous multitracked self-harmonies.Eventual accusations that “Royals” was moralizing about hip-hop culture did not necessarily take into account the fact that it was paying studied homage to it — woven into the sonic DNA of the song’s low-blood-pressure, 808-heartbeat. Lorde’s music is often idiosyncratically personal, but it also speaks from the perspective of the royal “We.” Something that has always kept her point of view from feeling didactic — even if it has occasionally made her intentions feel a little muddled — is the way her music blurs the line between social commentary and self-own.In a similar spirit, on the third track of her provocatively subdued third album, “Solar Power,” Lorde declares in her looping, vocal cursive, “Don’t want that California love” — this on a song that explicitly references Laurel Canyon folk, the most well-known Joan Didion essay and Quentin Tarantino’s Los Angeles pastiche “Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood.” Once again, it takes one to know one. “It’s all just a dream,” Lorde gently chides the Coachella-era flower children, on a weightless, twinkling song that sounds suspiciously like one.Earlier this summer, when Lorde first released the album’s breezy title track, some listeners who had expected a sound similar to her bruising, resilient 2017 triumph, “Melodrama,” were left wondering if the 24-year-old known in civilian life as Ella Yelich-O’Connor was kidding. Was this a sendup of influencer culture or a music video explicitly designed as a carousel of Instagram screenshots? How could someone who’d previously made an emotionally operatic 11-song concept album about running into an ex at a party suddenly toss off a line as carefree as “Forget all of the tears that you’ve cried, it’s over”?“Solar Power” and its subsequent singles, “Stoned at the Nail Salon” and “Mood Ring,” make more sense within the context of the album, thanks largely to the vivid scene-setting opener, “The Path.” Atop a murky guitar, Lorde presents a series of impressionistic snapshots of her post-“Royals” life: Attending the 2016 Met Gala in a cast, swiping a fork as a souvenir for her mother, “supermodels all dancing ’round a pharaoh’s tomb.” Elsewhere, she recalls the life-changing moment “when Carole called my name” (as in, Carole King announcing “Royals” as song of the year at the 2014 Grammys) and admits, “I’ve got hundreds of gowns, I’ve got paintings in frames and a throat that fills with panic every festival day.”With the plunging swoop of chorus on “The Path,” though, Lorde suddenly rejects the notion that anyone present for such surreal, celebrity-studded scenes — including herself — can tell the average person how to live their life. “If you’re looking for a savior, well, that’s not me,” she sings, her lush stacked vocals this time highlighting the line’s unapologetic defiance.Lorde, though, is hardly alone in this sentiment. It is somewhat remarkable to consider how many pop albums of the past year have taken up the sometimes-debilitating stress associated with modern-day fame as their main theme: Billie Eilish’s “Happier Than Ever,” Clairo’s “Sling,” and Lana Del Rey’s “Chemtrails Over the Country Club” all chronicle their creators’ burnout and consider, to varying degrees, packing it in and quitting the pop game forever. (A similar conversation has been happening with young women in the sports world, too.) It is perhaps not such a coincidence that three of these four albums, including “Solar Power,” were produced mostly by the seemingly busiest producer in the music industry, the girl-pop-Zelig Jack Antonoff.What keeps much of “Solar Power” from really taking root, though, is that most of these songs are written from the perspective of an enviably serene person snugly on the other side of that struggle. “Dancing with my girls, only having two drinks, then leaving/It’s a funny thing, thought you’d never gain self control,” Lorde sings blithely on one of the album’s more cloying numbers, “Secrets From a Girl (Who’s Seen It All).” At times, “Stoned” and the otherwise incisive “The Man With the Axe” depict personal growth and maturity as a universal footbridge that one decisively crosses once and for all around age 21, rather than a messy, ongoing, lifelong process of stops and false starts. “I thought I was a genius,” she reflects on “Axe,” “but now I’m 22.” At least wait until Saturn returns, Lorde!Make no mistake, amber is the color of her energy, at least at the moment. The mood board of her career peak, “Melodrama,” though, contained a whole kaleidoscope of color, and it’s that wonderful album’s sense of contrast and sonic dynamism that’s missing the most here. Every song on “Solar Power” pulls from a similar and finely curated aesthetic — early 2000s “CW”-theme-song pop; sun-drenched ’70s folk; just a pinch of Kabbalah-era Madonna — and rarely draws outside those lines, let alone picks up differently hued crayons. Name-dropped proper nouns too often feel like a pile of signifiers one step away from being shaped into sharper observations. Even the songs that most directly skewer modern-day wellness culture (the spiritual satire “Mood Ring,” the devilishly emasculating “Dominoes”) would not exactly be offensive to the ears if they were played during a yoga class’s savasana.Perhaps the most stirring moments on the album come toward the very end, at the conclusion of the loose, winding six-minute closer, “Oceanic Feeling.” It’s partially a showcase of the striking, near-photographic clarity Lorde can sometimes achieve with her lyrics (“I see your silver chain levitate when you’re kickflipping”) and a kind of guided visualization of an eventual life after pop stardom. The girl who just eight years ago was asking, however playfully, to be your ruler is now singing with a stirring serenity, “I’ll know when it’s time to take off my robes and step into the choir.”Even as it has billowed to consider such lofty elements as water, sun and air, Lorde’s close-miked music has retained such a careful intimacy that, at times, you can still actually hear her smiling. But like a beaming Instagram photo selectively chosen from a vast camera roll of outtakes, “Solar Power” stops just short of offering a full, varied range of expressions.Lorde“Solar Power”(Republic) More

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      How Lorde Got Happy

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      Watch how your favorite pop hits get made. Meet the artists, songwriters and producers as Joe Coscarelli investigates the modern music industry.Watch how your favorite pop hits get made. Meet the artists, songwriters and producers as Joe Coscarelli investigates the modern music industry. More

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      Jack Antonoff Doesn’t Want to Just Take Up Space

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      As he prepares to release his third album with Bleachers, the musician and producer explores how his cultural must-haves intersect with his creative impulses.To the outside observer, Jack Antonoff might seem like something of a workaholic.A widely trusted collaborator whose fingerprints are all over contemporary pop, Antonoff has already worked on a number of this year’s notable releases by Lana Del Rey, Clairo and Lorde. “Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night,” the third studio album from Antonoff’s band Bleachers, is due July 30, lest anyone forget he also makes music of his own.But the portrait of Jack Antonoff, ubiquitous workhorse, isn’t familiar to Antonoff himself. “I don’t see myself doing anything different than any of the people I know,” he said. “I’ve actually put an amazing importance the past couple years on my own time and my family. And I’ve realized that sitting in the studio all night is kind of a hoax. You might be better off going to dinner with your friends.”Antonoff, 37, has been splitting his time between New York and his home state of New Jersey. Both places are woven into “Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night,” an album Antonoff wrote around the idea of falling in love and taking a new partner back home, “as a metaphor for showing them your truest self.” In promoting the record, Antonoff has made this passage extremely literal, performing his new songs while crossing state lines on a moving bus; while perched inside the Holland Tunnel; and, in the case of the single “Chinatown,” while in a car with one of his influences, Bruce Springsteen (who also lends vocals to the track).Calling from his Brooklyn apartment, Antonoff shared 10 of his much-loved cultural items — and tried to keep it honest. “When people make these lists, it always seems like they’re punching one notch above what they actually feel,” he noted. “I just jotted down a bunch of things I really like.” These are edited excerpts from the conversation.1. “Martha” by Tom WaitsI’ve never heard more longing in a song. There are plenty of songs about love and regret, and there are plenty of sad chords. And then every once in a while, you hear something that is so much bigger than the sum of its parts. In high school, I had this girlfriend, and she would put on “Foreign Affairs” and we would make out. This song isn’t on that album, but I fell in love with his voice and when that relationship ended, I took Tom Waits with me.2. John F. Kennedy MemorabiliaI have a lot of it around my house. Growing up, we had this J.F.K. bust; I don’t know where my dad got it. Then I started collecting J.F.K. busts, and all these great J.F.K. speech compilation LPs. There’s just such a heavy cultural context that comes along with it that makes you think of so many hopeful, tragic, bizarre elements of what it is to be an American. He’s become a really interesting symbol to me, in his complication.3. “The Ben Stiller Show”It was a sketch show on MTV with Ben Stiller, Andy Dick, Bob Odenkirk and Janeane Garofalo that was so incredibly far ahead of its time. I see it as kind of the architecture for a lot of more bizarre comedy that has gotten really popular in the past 10 years. And it just isn’t culturally recognized in the way that you can throw it into a conversation the same way you can “Kids in the Hall” or Upright Citizens Brigade or even “The State” — those things people have a context for.4. Martín RamírezHe was part of a field of outsider artists. There’s a great book called “American Self-Taught” that highlights a lot of this stuff: Henry Darger, Bill Traylor, William Hawkins. All these artists mean a great deal to me, because there’s something really incredible about seeing work that nobody asked anyone to make. It just comes from the desire to make it. Martín Ramírez had some real mental health issues; I don’t have much in common with him or his story, but when I look at his work, it really feels like the inside of his brain.5. Magic: The GatheringA couple of years ago, my manager and I were walking by this comic shop. When I was growing up, everyone bought Magic cards — it was a big deal, at least in my corner of Jewish New Jersey. We went in and started talking to this guy behind the counter, who was talking about Magic in this really beautiful way. So we bought some cards and started playing and got obsessed with it. There’s such an art of putting together your deck. It’s a crazy meditation on your life: You make these choices, and you put all these theories and road maps into it, but then you shuffle your deck and hope one of them will pan out. It’s just a beautiful game that requires so much of your intellect and soul. And I’ve only scratched the surface. But it’s fun to be a part of something that you could never get to the end of. That’s a bit how I feel about music: The goal is not to master this thing, the goal is to be a part of it.6. Afghan HoundsI’m enamored with them. I’ve never had one, and I’ve only met a few. But there’s a version of my life where I just need to be around one. This one is a little bit more of a free association: I thought I’d throw something in that’s entirely unexamined and coming from some deep place. I just fantasize about Afghan Hounds being around.7. @NJGov on TwitterThere’s this whole culture of brands having a snarky Twitter, and sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s kind of cooked, but this is just right on. If I go on social media and look around, that doesn’t necessarily feel like a cozy place to me, but when I see New Jersey government tweets, I feel a joy and a calmness. It’s just a job well done — that’s not as common as we act like it is. It’s so infectious when someone’s just killing it. Such a part of making records is sort of like, “Why are we doing this? We should only do this if we’re all in, not just to take up space.” The New Jersey government Twitter does not take up space.8. Sam DewHe’s an artist, someone I collaborate with a lot, a friend. He might have the best voice in the world. Every once in a while, you’re in the presence of someone who was just dropped on this earth with an ability that nobody else has. That’s not even something that I usually gravitate toward; sometimes I’m more interested in all the messy things that people can put together that make something very beautiful in the end. But if you can ever be in a room and watch him sing, it’s a life-changing experience.9. Not SpeakingHere’s how I feel about not speaking: I forget to think sometimes, and everything good in my life has come from thinking. The concept of being alone can’t be a catchall for thinking. Everyone’s like, “Spend time alone, get to know yourself,” and, like, what the [expletive] does that mean? Just because you’re alone, it doesn’t mean you’re thinking. I love being in public or around people I know and not speaking, because if you can crest past that feeling of needing to be entertaining or keep some sort of vibe going, you do real thinking when you’re around people but not speaking. Probably part of why I love the city is the ability to be around people and not speak.10. John Darnielle’s LyricsHe’s our Dylan. It’s amazing when you hear a beautiful [Mountain Goats] song about loss or love, and it makes you think of the person that you lost or loved. That’s magical. But every once in a while, you’ll hear something that pulls at a part of you that you don’t even know where it is, you just know it’s there because it’s being pulled. That’s the highest form of this work, when you’re connecting in a way that is truly beyond words, beyond anecdotes, beyond “this song makes me think of this summer with this person.” It’s just on a whole other plane. More

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      Clairo Takes a Defiant Leap on ‘Sling’

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      The songwriter and producer’s second album is proudly retro and humbly indie, drawing on her emotional epiphanies and anxieties about the music industry.“Sling,” the second album from the introverted but openhearted musician Clairo, was inspired by two relatively common pandemic-era life changes: In the past year, the 22-year-old songwriter and producer born Claire Cottrill relocated to upstate New York, and adopted a dog.Fans have been acquainted with Joanie, a part chow chow/Great Pyrenees mix, via Clairo’s Instagram since she was a puppy. The musician’s gradual acceptance of Joanie’s unabashed dependency and unconditional love forms the emotional arc of the album. (Joanie is also credited with providing “chimes” and “snoring.”)One upstate lure was the scenic Allaire Studios in Shokan, N.Y., which Cottrill told Rolling Stone had a transformative effect on her sound: “Seeing mountains every day when you’re making music,” she said, “I suddenly felt the urge to put a horn on a song.” The transition from the gently kinetic pop of Clairo’s excellent 2019 debut album “Immunity” to the folk-pastoral “Sling” is a dramatic sonic leap akin to Taylor Swift’s shift between “Lover” and “Folklore.” Naturally, Clairo co-produced “Sling” with one of the architects of Swift’s Cottage of Sound, the ubiquitous Jack Antonoff.Clairo first came to prominence almost by accident, in 2017, when the charismatic, self-recorded video for her song “Pretty Girl” went viral. It was a YouTube phenomenon (75 million views) but its vibe now feels proto-TikTok: a casually dressed, slightly bored teenage girl passing time in her bedroom by performing for her camera and an imagined audience. The easy charm of the video may have unwittingly diverted some of the attention from Clairo’s songwriting, but it led to a record deal when she was 19.“Sling,” a strange, uncompromising and anti-commercial album, doubles down on the subtly defiant spirit that was already present on “Pretty Girl,” although this time Clairo’s target is not a narrow-minded partner but an entire industry poised to commodify and cash in on her artistry.“I’m stepping inside a universe designed against my own beliefs,” she proclaims on the bucolic but itchy “Bambi.” The album’s arresting first single, “Blouse,” features haunting backing vocals from fellow Antonoff collaborator Lorde; “Why do I tell you how I feel, when you’re too busy looking down my blouse?” the two women croon like a long-lost ’70s folk duo. “Mom, would you give me a ring? One for the ride, and one for the magazine,” she sings on “Management,” a winking critique of the sort of image creation she has felt pressured to stage in service of her career.Clairo may have initially arrived as an indelible product of the high-speed internet era, but the world “Sling” inhabits is miles from the nearest Wi-Fi connection. Its sound is proudly retro and humbly indie: Vampy Wurlitzers, woolly acoustic guitars and trilling woodwinds abound. At times, “Sling” sounds like Steely Dan’s “Pretzel Logic” had it been released on the D.I.Y. label K Records.Clairo co-produced “Sling” with Jack Antonoff, who has recently worked with Lorde and Taylor Swift.Adrian NietoUnfortunately, this sonic palette can make some of the less memorable songs bleed together, their meandering melodies and sludgy tempos failing to distinguish themselves. Tracks like “Partridge,” “Wade” and “Zinnias” get lost in dense, dizzying thickets of their own creation.Clairo sings in a low murmur that occasionally surges with great emotion — “Sling” makes the case that her most direct vocal precursor is either Elliott Smith or Phil Elverum — and her various co-producers have experimented with different methods of recording her voice. If the avant-pop producer Danny L. Harle threatened to drown it out with bells and whistles on her 2018 EP “Diary 001,” Antonoff sometimes gives it too much space to roam. Rostam Batmanglij, the atmospheric-pop-minded producer who collaborated with Clairo on “Immunity,” had helped her find a middle ground, buoying and giving structure to her delicate sensibility without overwhelming it.Clairo does pull off that balance, though, on the new album’s second track, “Amoeba,” a highlight anchored by funky, insistent keyboards and a steady beat — a song that manages to brood and saunter at the same time. Even more affecting is the acoustic ballad “Just for Today,” which, like the stunning “Immunity” song “Alewife,” finds Clairo to be a fearlessly vivid correspondent from the darkest corners of her depression. “Mommy, I’m afraid I’ve been talking to the hotline again,” she sings, her voice sounding childlike in its desperation but suddenly relieved by the release of this confession.“Just for Today” is further proof of a pleasant surprise: There was always more depth to Clairo’s sadness and songcraft than could be conveyed by the three-minute synth-pop ditty that made her famous. It also demonstrates that her music is at its most lucid and effective when an extended hand — or paw — is drawing her back up to the surface. The definitive version of “Just for Today” might be the demo she posted to Instagram in January 2021, the night after she wrote it. “At 30, your honey’s gonna ask you what the hell is wrong with me,” she croons, and then suddenly dissolves into giggles. A yelping Joanie has jumped up and thudded against her guitar, trying to snuggle into her lap.Clairo“Sling”(Fader Label/Republic Records) More

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      Taylor Swift Wins Album of the Year, Again

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Grammy AwardsGrammys: What HappenedWinners ListBest and Worst MomentsBeyoncé Breaks RecordRed CarpetAdvertisementContinue reading the main storyBeyoncé Breaks Grammy Record; Top Prizes for Billie Eilish and Taylor SwiftTaylor Swift takes album of the year, becoming the first woman to win three times.March 14, 2021, 11:37 p.m. ETMarch 14, 2021, 11:37 p.m. ETTaylor Swift broke a record with her album of the year win for “Folklore.”Credit…Chris Pizzello/Invision, via Associated PressTaylor Swift’s “Folklore” won album of the year on Sunday, making the singer and songwriter the first woman to win the prize three times, following her victories for “Fearless” in 2010 and “1989” in 2016. Swift tied Frank Sinatra, Stevie Wonder and Paul Simon as the only artists with three career best album trophies. (The mastering engineer Tom Coyne has won four, including one for “1989.”)“You guys met us in this imaginary world that we created,” Swift said during her acceptance speech, flanked by her collaborators Aaron Dessner, Jack Antonoff, Laura Sisk and Jonathan Low. Dessner, who collaborated remotely with Swift on the pandemic album, called her “one the greatest living songwriters, who somehow put trust in me.”[embedded content]A surprise release in July, “Folklore” represented Swift’s foray into more acoustic sounds and indie-rock textures following years of pop bombast. She was nominated six times in all on Sunday, but lost in five other categories before taking home album of the year.“Evermore,” the “sister record” to “Folklore” and Swift’s second secret pandemic release, came out in December, meaning it could be nominated at next year’s Grammys and represents her fourth potential album win.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      Taylor Swift Illuminates ‘Folklore’ in a Stripped-Down Studio Concert

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      “Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is straightforward and cozy. Taylor Swift and her two main collaborators and producers for her album “Folklore” — Aaron Dessner (from the National) and Jack Antonoff (a linchpin of Bleachers and fun., and a producer for Lorde, Lana Del Rey and others) — play through the album’s 17 songs at Dessner’s Long Pond Studio, a rural haven in Hudson, N.Y. Conversations between the collaborators introduce each song; birds and insects chirp.“Folklore” was released in July, and the documentary, out now on the Disney+ streaming service, was shot in September. Swift, Dessner and Antonoff perform as a trio on guitars, piano and a handful of other instruments, stripping away some of the fussy intricacies of the album’s studio versions in a way that heightens the songs’ sense of pristine contemplation. Often the music is just a rippling piano pattern and a modestly strummed guitar or two, each note precious. “The Long Pond Sessions” is a small-scale, casual-looking production; Swift is credited as the makeup artist. Mostly it’s just three musicians in a room, wearing everyday clothes and headphones, analyzing and performing songs they’re proud of.The big twist is that the September sessions were the first time that Swift, Antonoff and Dessner were together in the same place. During the pandemic, they had each recorded in their own studios, collaborating long-distance. In a nighttime conversation on a deck at the studio, Swift says that playing the songs in real time will “make me realize it’s a real album. Seems like a big mirage.” Musicians deeply miss performing live; with any other album, she would have gone to tour arenas.Swift got her start bringing teen-pop scenarios — breakups, crushes, insecurities — to country music. Then she moved decisively into the pop mainstream, trading banjo for synthesizers. “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is not the first time she has made clear that she’s the songwriter and not just the singer. The deluxe edition of her 2014 blockbuster “1989,” which was made with the Swedish pop mastermind Max Martin, included her own demos of some songs, demonstrating her authorship. And last year, alongside her album “Lover,” she released an extensive archive of journal and diary entries, including song drafts.“Folklore” backs off slightly from the bold-outline, clear-cut arena-pop songwriting of albums like “1989” and “Red.” In quarantine, Swift chose a more introspective approach — but also, as she points out when talking about “Illicit Affairs,” a choice to be less autobiographical than her past songwriting. For many of the songs, Dessner — one of the main composers behind the National’s somber, reflective rock — sent instrumental tracks to Swift; then Swift came up with words and melodies. In the documentary, Swift says she was nervous about telling her label, “I know there’s not like a big single, and I’m not doing like a big pop thing.”But her songwriting remains self-conscious and meticulous. Swift and her collaborators detail the ways that songs on the album overlap with and echo one another; three of them — “Cardigan,” “August” and “Betty” — tell the same story from different characters’ perspectives. She explains “Mirrorball” to Antonoff as a cascade of interlocking images: “We have mirrorballs in the middle of a dance floor because they reflect light. They are broken a million times and that’s what makes them so shiny. We have people like that in society too — they hang there and every time they break, it entertains us. And when you shine a light on them, it’s this glittering fantastic thing.”Swift has written and sung — particularly on her 2017 album, “Reputation” — about the pressures of celebrity. On “Folklore,” she sings about them more subtly in “Mirrorball,” “Hoax” and “Peace,” coming to terms with her place in the information economy. But she also knows how to feed tabloids. A big reveal from “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is that the pseudonymous, no-profile songwriting collaborator on two key songs, “Exile” and “Betty,” is her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn. She got her headlines.For “Exile” — a cathartic post-breakup ballad that’s a duet with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver — Vernon appears remotely, from his own recording setup in Wisconsin. His face is almost entirely concealed behind a bandanna and a baseball cap, but the emotion in his voice rises to meet hers as the song spills over in recriminations.While “The Long Pond Studio Sessions” is a positioning statement like her recent Netflix documentary, “Miss Americana” — which revealed her longtime struggle to declare herself as a left-leaning thinker amid the conservative assumptions of country music — it’s also, more important, a musical experience. Songwriting — mysterious, telegraphic, crafty and personal as well as potentially lucrative — is Taylor Swift’s mission. “Folklore,” made under singular circumstances and challenging old reflexes, is likely to be just one step in her trajectory. More