When there’s madness in the air, only the mad survive, oh boy -“Up and Away,” St. Trinian’s 2 soundtrack
If you’re a pop listener, you may have wondered: What accounts for the undeniable popularity (among both consumers and critics) of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”? Arguably the most hyped personality in the Western world, Lady Gaga cavorts in celebration of nightmare, declaring, “I want your loving and I want your revenge/You and me could write a bad romance.” Seconds later, apparently unaware she’s in hell, she chants her own name amidst nonsense syllables, proving that nihilism is the new naivete. The song’s a commentary, we are told, but irony can find no foothold here; pathology and marketing are too smoothly interwoven. (The song could perhaps be salvaged if Pet Shop Boys covered it.) All this, set to the aerobics-class drone provided by producer RedOne.
It’s perplexing. I think the answer can be found in another pop single from 2009, Mariah Carey’s “H.A.T.E.U,” from the album Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel.
The sound of “H.A.T.E.U.” is, pretty much, the sound of Memoirs. Most of the album was written and produced by Carey in collaboration with Terius “The-Dream” Nash and Tricky Stewart, who together were responsible for Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” and Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” among other mega-hits. On Memoirs, Nash and Stewart give Mariah a complex sound composed of starkly contrasting elements: harsh bass-drum beats that almost batter the ear at times, wistful synth or acoustic guitar melodies, jazzy high-hat work, demure handclaps or finger snaps. The always-rhythmic mix reminds listeners that human need and insecurity are often expressed from within postures of toughness. When the heaviest beats slam home in “H.A.T.E.U.,” an uncanny squawk alerts us to the presence of pain.
“H.A.T.E.U.”’s lyrics give us the thoughts and feelings that lie underneath Lady Gaga’s Halloween mask – beneath the façade of anyone who fronts his/her way through bad romance.
We went round for round (beat, squawk) till we knocked love out
We were laying in the ring not making a sound
And if that’s a metaphor of you and I
Why is it so hard to say goodbye?
That last couplet calls to mind Flannery O’Connor’s response when a dinner companion called the Host of Catholic tradition “a great symbol”: “If it’s just a symbol, to hell with it.”
Trapped in a real hell, Mariah longs for the end of sensitivity, where she can slough off her pain onto her tormentor, where she, like Lady Gaga, can exult in her “revenge.”
I can’t wait to hate you make you pain like I do
Still can’t shake you off
I can’t wait to break through these emotional changes
Seems like such a lost cause
She longs for it but can never achieve it. “H.A.T.E.U.” was made by artists perceptive enough to understand the desire for emotional death (the lure of “Bad Romance”) but humane enough to face the pain of living. Mariah closes the chorus by climbing to the very top of her soprano, a perfect, wordless description of her indomitable emotionality. Nash and Stewart caught some flak from critics who objected to their sparing use of Mariah’s upper register throughout the album, but their economical choices in fact restore meaning to her high notes. Instead of a vocal stunt meant to impress, they become virtuosic asides and accents, nearly furtive and sudden, like an expulsion of uncontainable feeling.
Subsequent album tracks build on the revelations of “H.A.T.E.U.” Anger, astonishment, and – the secret weapon – pity collide in “Standing O,” a splendid denunciation of a faithless lover. Mariah calls for a “Round of applause/For the biggest fool in the world,” with the implicit understanding that society routinely rewards those who profane the laws of love. Make no mistake, this is the hard-won knowledge of a 40-year-old woman who has been a pop star for her entire adult life.
Romantic and pop experience become inseparable on “Up Out My Face,” a track of sheer delight and vernacular brilliance. It’s a masterpiece of mouthing off that includes the double entendre, “I should’ve had another mechanic under my hood.” Cue the groaning of the New York Times, which singled out “Up Out My Face” for derision in its mostly negative review of Memoirs. The Times reviewer complained about the “unintentional humor” of lines such as, “Not even a nail technician with a whole lot of gel and acrylic can fix this.” Mariah’s command of vernacular speech so flummoxed the Times guy that he failed to take note of the laughter (The-Dream and Tricky’s?) that can easily be heard on the track. Joke’s on him.
The vernacular emphasis of “Up Out My Face” develops into the pop poetics of “The Impossible,” a love song distinguished by its head-spinning array of cultural references. Mariah catalogues the components of love and finds a pop-culture analogue for each.
Love ya like free money, like a preacher loves Sunday…
Love ya like Kool-Aid, Louis millionaire shades
Love ya like sugar daddies, love ya like a pimp Caddy
The enormous range of the tune’s references means that Mariah leaves almost no dream unembraced. It’s her pop-star’s way of expressing the elation of being in love, of embracing the world and feeling – impossible! – the world in turn embracing you. Though this feeling doesn’t change much with age, “The Impossible” is undoubtedly a mature woman’s vision, evincing a tested faith in the importance and meaning of human experience.
In the mini-Elle magazine that comes with Memoirs, Mariah adds to this faith a witty understanding of how pop media normally packages and sells human experience. The booklet, whose cover promises “VIP access to her sexy love life,” is replete with ads for Mariah-endorsed products. “Because I’ve been interviewed so many times, we thought it’d be fun to turn the tables and create a little book about some of the things I love,” she writes in her introduction to the mini-magazine. The phrase “turn the tables” implies something slyer than corporate synergy. It’s like the slightly lifted eyelid that lets you know someone is not quite asleep. It’s enough to give one hope when “Bad Romance” blares from speakers and headphones all around one.
Here’s to survival.