Audio By Carbonatix
Advertising Can't Do It Alone
The challenges facing local news organizations are very real. That's why reader support matters more than ever. If you believe independent journalism matters, make a contribution today and help us reach our summer fundraising goal of $25,000 by August 9.
Like another pop pioneer, David Bowie, Madonna has always been a musical chameleon, hopping artfully from trend to trend, leaving bits and pieces of radio-friendly gold in her wake. (Unlike the Thin White Duke, however, the Material Girl was born and raised in Bay City, Michigan, making her recently affected Brit accent a pompous joke.) With Confessions on a Dance Floor, she and co-producer Stuart Price (of Les Rhythmes Digitales fame) venture into the world of nu-disco, abandoning the sociopolitical pretensions of 2003’s American Life for an all-night house party. It is Madonna’s purest, most ambitious techno foray to date, and if you can look past the cringe-inducing lyrics (“I don’t like cities, but I like New York/Other places make me feel like a dork”), there are hypnotic melodies driving the pulsing beats of “How High” and the ambient trance of “Future Lovers.” It’s an uneven mix, though; there’s just too much disposable filler, making for a set of Confessions that’s more a diversion than a revelation.
