Just listened to Madonna’s new CD, “Confessions On a Dance Floor.” At least I think I did. It may have been the same 15 songs with different spoken intros, they all kind of ran together.
The overwhelming impression I had was that this woman turned on her Casio keyboard and started reading her diary, along with one essay from her Comparative Religions class. The feeling is especially strong in the first song, “Hung Up,” where she is also playing with the fader knobs and volume control. However, I suspect that I am not the targeted audience. You see, I don’t dance.
Listening to the CD on the way to work is probably not the optimum setting for this. Were I in a club and any of these songs were pounding out of the speakers I would more than likely smile and bob in a more or less rhythmic fashion and hum the thing for the next few hours. There are quite a lot of songs that I’ve disliked or ignored until I heard them surrounded by dozens of sweaty people all buzzed on overpriced drinks where they filled my mind and drove my feet (the songs, not the sweaty people).
I like a lot of Madonna’s songs and I’m a huge admirer of her business sense, if not her acting obsession. I can see the skill that went into crafting a blend of old disco beats and new trance music with thoughtful lyrics and adult themes. But tooling down the highway in my Tercel, it didn’t work for me.
Except for the last song, “Like It or Not,” which is to me perfect Madonna. The message — as it has been for her entire career — is this who she is, deal with it. She’ll change to please herself and does, often, but not for anybody else. Gotta love the attitude.
If not the beat. The constant, Casio beat.