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Album Review: Fifth Harmony: Fifth Harmony

Imagine Dragons Music Review: Evolve

Album Review: Harry Styles: “Harry Styles”

Album Review: Lorde: Green Light

Album Review: The Chainsmokers: Collage

Fifth HarmonyAlbum Review: Fifth Harmony: Fifth Harmony

Pluggedin.com

What do Fifth Harmony and the Big Ten Conference have in common? Both names include numbers that no longer correspond to the groups they represent.

Last December, Fifth Harmony member Camila Cabello decided to part ways with the group. In an interview with Girls' Lena Dunham, Cabello said one of the reasons she left was because she wasn't comfortable with the band's increasingly sexualized image. "Unfortunately, sex sells," she said. "There's definitely been times where there's stuff that I have not been comfortable with and I've had to put my foot down."

Cabello did just that when she metaphorically stomped out of the group. And in her absence, well, not much has changed—besides the number of singers in the group.

Pro-social Content

"Bridges" is the only song on the band's third album that doesn't focus on sexual or romantic relationships. Instead, it delivers a plea for unity in our politically polarized times. "We build bridges/Oh, we build bridges/No, we won't separate/We know love can conquer hate." We also hear, "All I pray is we break our chains/Because love's worth fighting for."

On "Lonely Night," a woman demonstrates self-respect by telling her guy, "If you don't treat ya' mama right, bye-bye, bye-bye." "Don't Say You Love Me" calls out a smooth-talking cad for the gap between his big promises and his inability to deliver on them ("So don't say you miss me when you don't call/ … Don't say you love me unless you do"). "Messy" challenges a beau to accept her as she is, because she's not going to pretend to be something she's not: "I'll tell you straight how I feel with no filter/ … Yeah, I can be messy, yeah, I admit it/No secrets here."

Objectionable Content

Album opener "Down" (featuring rapper Gucci Mane) is a deeply problematic song. On it, the four remaining members of Fifth Harmony minimize being attracted to bad boy who, they admit, has a terrible reputation. "Nothin' that a little love can't fix." Later, lyrics tell us that he's the kind of guy they'd break the law to protect: "There ain't no kind of situation/Where I wouldn't cross a line for you/FBI interrogation/I would get up there and lie for you." And the song's chorus equates love with being held down, a phrase that's never explained clearly: "Long as you're holding me down, down, down/I'm gon' keep lovin' you down, down, down." Later in the track, Gucci Mane objectifies a woman even more when he raps, "You make a man feel like you won a trophy."

"He Like That" is all about sex: "Pumps and a bump, pumps and a bump/He like the girls with the pumps and a bump/ … He like that bang, bang, bang." The song compares sex to drug use ("I'm like that drug, drug, drug/He trip when he on it, one taste and he want it") and implies that a guy has a penchant for prostitutes ("He got a thing for them girls that make their money overnighting"). Still, the infatuation with yet another shady character is irresistible: "I know he bad for my health, but I still wanna try it."

"Sauced Up" celebrates getting drunk and dismisses any concern about consequences: "We can get sauced up/Forever we're young, we'll never get old/ … I be like, 'So what?'" The song also dismisses the idea that regret might come with the sunrise: "Blame it on drunk love/We can explain it all tomorrow." More references to drinking and gambling ("Put your cards on the table/Keep it a hundred, baby, show me what you're made of") turn up in the last verse.

"Make You Mad" finds a woman wanting to make a lasting impression, sexually speaking ("I'm gonna make sure I'm the best you ever had") and alludes to a booty call ("It's in the night, I hear you call in the midnight hour/That's when I come alive").

"Deliver" embraces more self-objectification: "I can overnight this body if that's what you need/ … Yeah, my baby knows that I deliver/ … I'll give you something that you wanna unpack." "Angel" brags about not being one of those heavenly beings. There's a vague reference to being in "handcuffs" (and it's unclear whether it's an S&M allusion or a reference to being arrested). Other lyrics allude to dancing like a stripper, and we hear four f-words as well.

On "Lonely Night," a woman tells a guy, "get ya' s--- together" four times.

Summary Advisory

Back in 2016, I described Fifth Harmony's second album, 7/27, as one that "veers wildly between healthy, empowering messages and sexualizing, self-objectifying ones."

The only difference this time around is that empowering messages here are fewer while the sexualizing, self-objectifying kind are more frequent. The band also glorifies reckless behavior while laughing off the suggestion that unwise choices might lead to unwanted consequences later on.

In the end, this album's isolated upbeat moments hardly serve as an effective antidote to the toxic ones that lace the majority of the tracks on Fifth Harmony—especially for young fans of this influential band.

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Imagine DragonsImagine Dragons Music Review: Evolve

Pluggedin.com

Life. Death. Love. Loss. Hope. Despair. Joy. Depression.

Pop. Rock. Electronica. Rap. Alternative.

All these paradoxically colliding words and descriptors can only mean one thing: a new Imagine Dragons album.

Critics are skeptical whether this Las Vegas-based quartet's third studio album, Evolve, really represents much of an evolution for these talented musical chameleons. There's so much going on that some have questioned whether the band's emotion-drenched altrocktronirappop approach actually succeeds at anything.

But a look at the charts—Evolve debuted at No. 1, the single "Thunder" is currently at No. 6 and climbing—demonstrates that Imagine Dragons is one of precious few pseudo-rock acts today with substantial mainstream appeal. Clearly the band's fans don't care much what critics say: Imagine Dragons' achingly earnst exercises in angst continue to connect with its legion of listeners.

Pro-social Content

Much of Evolve addresses the struggle to keep love kindled amid the gales of life.

"Walking the Wire" expresses confidence and determination to stay faithful to a loved one: "We're walking the wire, love/ … And we'll take what comes, take what comes." Frontman Dan Reynolds also vows faithfulness in these tough times ("And I'll hold you close, I'll stay the course/I promise you from up above/That we'll take what comes"). Coldplay-esque "I'll Make It Up to You" tries to atone for past failures ("I'm far from a perfect man/ … I'll make it up to you").

"I Don't Know Why" seems to lament a once-vibrant relationship that's buckling under pressure and deceit ("Trading the truth in for a lie/We were the essence of desire"). Later, though, Reynolds practically begs for renewal as he plaintively and repeatedly sings, "Tell me that you love me." Similarly, "Start Over" asks over and over again for a second chance: "Can we start over?"

"Whatever It Takes" contrasts an adrenaline-fueled achiever's drive to succeed no matter what ("I was born to run, I was born for this/ … 'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins") with an almost apocalyptic world of struggle, failure and criticism ("Everybody circling, it's vulturous/ … Everybody waiting for the fall of man/Everybody praying for the end of times"). As the song continues, it deals further with themes of insecurity and pride as well as the fact that we are all "half-diseased" and yet a "masterpiece" at the same time. The song concludes with a vague spiritual reference that hints at the soul's life after death ("At least I go down to the grave and die happily/Leave the body of my soul to be a part of me").

"Believer" wrestles with yet another paradox, how the pain we experience in life can result in faith (though what, exactly, the object of that belief might be doesn't ever get spelled out amid opaque references to prayer and a "spirit up above").

"Yesterday" deals with moving forward from the past's mistakes ("Here's to my future/Goodbye to yesterday") and finally establishing a health identity ("All these years I've been searching/For who I'm supposed to be/ … I was right in front of me"). We hear more self-awareness as Reynolds admits, "'Cause I'm a hostage to my pride/By my own volition/I've been a saint, I've been the truth, I've been the lie."

Still more confessions of character flaws fill "Mouth of the River," which seems to hint at baptism. "I'm self-destructive/And self-important/And I'm anxious/Oh, I'm self-assured/I'm nervous/ … With the hands of a sinner/Oh, the mouth of the river/ … And I am going under." Elsewhere on the track Reynolds sings, "I want to live a life like that/Live the life of the faithful one/Wanna bow to the floor."

"Rise Up" lurches back and forth between hope and despair (which I'll say more about below). One verse admits that a struggling man realizes he hasn't been fully present for much of his life ("I was there, but I was always leaving/I've been living, but I was never breathing"). We also hear another passing reference to prayer: "Like a prayer that only needs a reason/Like hunter waiting for the season."

"Thunder" rumbles with ambition and independence as the band puts naysayers in their place, albeit…

Objectionable Content

… perhaps a bit arrogantly: "Now I'm smiling from the stage while/You're clapping in the nose bleeds."

One could interpret these lines in "Believer"—"Don't you tell me what you think that I could be/I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea"—as either expressing healthy self-confidence or unhealthy independence and arrogance.

A confession of sorts in "Rise Up" admits to finding solace in the wrong things: "The more I stray, the less I fear/And the more I reach, the more I fade away." And it seems the allure of darkness is strong in this track, too: "The darkness is right in front of me/Oh it's calling out, and I won't walk away."

Lines on "I'll Make It up to You" are mildly suggestive when we hear about a man trying to solve relationship problems ("You're crying inside your bedroom/Baby, I know it's not fair") with a night of physical intimacy: "Lay with me for one more night/I promise you, I'll make it right."

Summary Advisory

One gets the feeling that Imagine Dragons lead singer Dan Reynolds might not be the easiest guy to work with or be married to. And a series of recent tweets from him confirms that his artistic path has been cratered by deep struggles with darkness and depression.

To his wife, he wrote, "I wear my heart on my sleeve. for better or worse. but d--n. my heart actually felt happy this year. thank you @RealAjaVolkman . you stuck with me throwing through years of dark depression. thank you baby. thanks for putting up with my angsty teenage self."

And to Imagine Dragons' fans he wrote, "thanks to the fans. thanks for hearing my voice and understanding it. I know some people will hear it as over exaggerated. it's not. it's me. I just. I just live hard. I love hard. I cry hard. I laugh hard. I want my life to be an explosion."

In many ways, Imagine Dragons' music is exactly that.

Some critics suggest that Reynolds' "explosive" lyrics are too much: too earnest, too personal, too self-absorbed, too melodramatically conflicted. By Reynolds' own admission, there's a lot of drama here. But despite the struggles chronicled on Evolve, most of the time Reynolds and his band emerge from their emotional fog facing in the right direction.

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Harry StylesAlbum Review: Harry Styles: “Harry Styles”

Pluggedin.com

Do fame and fortune lead to happiness? Perhaps sometimes. But if the songs on former One Direction singer Harry Styles' eponymous debut are even remotely autobiographical, happiness has proven elusive for him. At least, romantically speaking.

The 23-year-old Brit is almost as famous for his famous exes—Taylor Swift and Kendall Jenner among them—as he is for his former band's chart-topping tracks and albums. But whether Styles is crooning about those romantic misfires or more anonymous ones, what's indisputable is that Harry Styles focuses almost completely on failed love affairs.

Pro-social Content

On album opener "Meet Me in the Hallway," Styles longs for a floundering relationship to be in a better place ("Hoping you'll come around/ … Maybe we'll work it out") even as he recognizes he needs to get to a healthier place, too ("I gotta get better, gotta get better"). A bad breakup on "Ever Since New York" prompts prayer: "And I've been praying, I never did before/ … I've been praying ever since New York."

"Sweet Creature" is one of the album's few emotional bright spots as Styles thanks a loving partner for how she pulls him out of hard places: "Sweet creature, sweet creature/When I run out of rope, you bring me home."

Ethereal lead single "Sign of the Times" might be about another struggling relationship. "We don't talk enough," Styles tells someone close to him. "We should open up." But it also has an apocalyptic feel to it that perhaps implies a heavenly reunion after the end of the world ("Just stop your crying/Have the time of your life/Breaking through the atmosphere/And things are pretty good from here/ … We can meet again somewhere/Somewhere far away from here").

Objectionable Content

Several songs include allusions to sexual activity. Sometimes it's fairly subtle. Elsewhere, Styles' references to sex are about as plain as they could be: "It turns out she's a devil between the sheets" ("Only Angel"). And album closer "From the Dining Table" finds him singing about masturbation and awakening in bed with a woman who resembles another he still pines for ("Woke up the girl who looked just like you/I almost said your name"). "Two Ghosts" describes two split-up lovers who are now emotionally hollowed-out shells of their former selves ("We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me/Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat").

On "Kiwi," a hard-living ex-lover ("She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes/Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect") tells the song's narrator that she's pregnant with his child, but she's unwilling to give him in any say regarding what happens next ("Oh, I think she said, 'I'm having your baby, it's none of your business'"). "Carolina," meanwhile, tells the story of another young woman who "gets into parties without invitations" and apparently knows her way around alcohol pretty well ("There's not a drink that I think could sink her"). When Styles repeatedly says, "She's a good girl/She's such a good girl," it's pretty clear that his description is tinged with ironic sarcasm.

Summary Advisory

Harry Styles' debut is as melancholy and muted as his former band's love songs were, at times, earnest and enthusiastic. Freed from the formulaic constraints of the boy band template, Styles has chosen to tell tales of haunting failed romances instead of happily, sappily flourishing ones. Indeed, Styles has swapped out One Direction's sweetness and saccharine for nicotine and morphine in his attempt to dull the ache of emo emptiness, a dispirited vibe that pervades most of the tracks here. "Just take the pain away," he pleads on "Meet Me in the Hallway."

As One Direction's career progressed, the band increasingly indulged naughty double entendres and sensual suggestiveness. There's sexual content here, too. But Styles seems more matter-of-fact about it. In that sense, Harry Styles seems more "adult," perhaps reinforcing the assumption that romance always involves sex, too—a message that's differently harmful than the hedonistic, consequence-free ones One Direction frequently peddled.

That said, Harry Styles' main problem arguably isn't just its sensual allusions. It's also the glum, hopeless feeling that pervades the album as whole. For a guy who would seem to have the world by tail, Mr. Styles doesn't seem very happy with his life at all.

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Lorde: Green LightAlbum Review: Lorde: Green Light

pitchfork.com

At the outset of Lorde’s comeback breakup jam “Green Light,” she threatens an ex: “I know about what you did and I wanna scream the truth,” she sings, her droll voice flaring with rage. But she doesn’t scream—she doesn’t need to. Instead, she reckons with her power as a writer and a protagonist in her own story, dialing back the complex imagery of debut Pure Heroine to flex in a new way. That record explored the anxious teenage mindset that files experiences into memory while they're happening in real time. Here, she understands that songwriting for the masses is now part of her emotional processing (“I whisper things, the city sings ‘em back to you”) but wields her trademark nuance to bury this guy, betraying intimacy in every line. “She thinks you love the beach—you’re such a damn liar,” she snarls, spotlighting how tiny pretensions can feel as treacherous as full-blown betrayal, then multiplies her voice into a skittish falsetto chorus that mocks her ex’s fear of intensity: “Did it frighten you/How we kissed when we danced on the light-up floor?”

The fear is not one she shares; instead, this rupture only enhances Lorde’s openness to possibility. “I hear sounds in my mind/Brand new sounds in my mind,” she sings coolly, as rapturous house piano soundtracks her search for the green light that’ll help her get over this relationship. To Lorde, raging synesthete, green equals transcendence. (She once explained that her early single “Tennis Court” was initially “the worst textured tan color” until a shift made it change to “all these incredible greens overnight!!!”) Different hues ripple through her catalog, but the euphoria of “Green Light” is a new look for this 20-year-old who first appeared as a shadowy teenaged mystic. She doles it out carefully, true to her inability to find closure. But when it hits, she’s radiant.

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The Chainsmokers: CollageAlbum Review: The Chainsmokers: Collage

The massive lite-EDM duo the Chainsmokers portray themselves as hilariously repugnant caricatures, and on Collage, they paint a photorealist portrait of their manspread over the charts.

Bret Easton Ellis recently said if he were to rewrite American Psycho for modern times, he’d change the setting from late-’80s New York to today’s Silicon Valley, and his psychotic anti-hero Patrick Bateman would haunt the offices of a startup. In this updated version, Bateman probably spends his weekends cruising through Northern California in his Tesla Roadster for getaways to Napa, and presumably makes regular trips to Burning Man. As he drives his sports car with wanton abandon, the speakers rumbling with bass, I like to imagine he’s listening to the lite-EDM duo the Chainsmokers. On some balmy day somewhere in the Valley, he has perhaps downloaded their latest release, Collage EP, onto his smartphone to enjoy at his leisure. And he is listening to them not only because everyone in the country is (they’ve dominated the Billboard chart this year with three songs in the top 10, each for multiple weeks on end), but because the DJs Drew Taggart and Alex Pall, on a fundamental level, would be his people: bros in the prime of life, and caricatures of society’s most reviled.

If charts are the most reliable reflection of who the most powerful artists in the country are, the Chainsmokers are without a doubt kings of the hill. Yet, unlike any of their peers, even in the world of festival-ready EDM, Pall and Taggart have lent their full-throated support to the tech-bro lifestyle and all its connotations. They speak in the garbled lingo of “iterating” and “disrupting” culture. They preview bits and pieces of songs on Snapchat, and use Hype Machine as a market research tool to hone in on an audience. They wonder aloud about the “return-on-investment” and “reach” their relationship with the press warrants. When networking with Calvin Harris, they say they “basically brain-raped him” with their inquiries and curiosity.

Yet, they don’t want you to forget they are red-blooded males.

All of this is to say, they have painted themselves as hilariously repugnant and horribly fascinating all at once. Moral turpitude and coarse language withstanding, they are still massively popular, and they themselves are not on trial—the music they make is. With Collage, they paint a photorealist portrait of their manspread over the charts.

Collage conveniently collects the group’s biggest from the year, and each of these songs works on a finely tuned algorithm. The recipe for a Chainsmokers song is basically two parts airy hook, one part lilting female vocal, and a few dashes of saccharine melancholy and sugary synths. Aesthetically they are close cousins to Calvin Harris’ poptronica and Kygo’s soporific trop-house, but their song structure borrows from forebears like Deadmau5 and Avicii. They’ll still use drops, but they have softened the edge of that serotonin spike by highlighting choruses and melody in pastel color. It makes their music instantly familiar and malleable, and thus radio-friendly.

Take “Closer,” for example, their biggest song and a duet between Drew Taggart and the alt-pop singer Halsey. The song derives its power from a sleek and simple chord progression that mirrors the song’s chorus (“We ain’t never getting older”), and borrows heavily from the Fray’s mid-2000s soft-banger “Over My Head.” The chord progression reinforces the chorus, as if it were humming behind Taggart in unison. The song’s narrative is relatable and anthemic but intimate-sounding: A man meets an ex at a party, hooks up, but then remembers why he hated her in the first place. The millennial populism of the lyrics (“Stay and play that Blink-182 song/That we beat to death in Tucson, okay”) make the track feel manically personal. Add in a little bit of sneering class resentment and conspicuous consumption (“So, baby, pull me closer/In the backseat of your Rover/That I know you can’t afford”) and you’ve got a giant hit on your hands. It’s undeniable—powerfully catchy and easy to whistle, with a light veneer of sad-boy sweetness covering EDM’s biting aggression.

Elsewhere they are more faceless, feeding off of the energy that a series of female vocalists gives to their tracks. Alex Pall has said that his main function in the group is as A&R, booking guests for individual songs and tailoring each one to fit a different demographic. With Daya, they crudely masquerade as the xx in “Don’t Let Me Down,” and (in their parlance) put forward “LMFAO with better clothes” in “Inside Out” (featuring Charlee). In each case, they find a different route to the reptilian brain, stripping back the McMansion architecture of an EDM song and redecorating with items procured from Anthropologie.

Perhaps, what is most interesting about the Chainsmokers is the cynicism of their approach. Their music is essentially an accretion of trends, a packet of market research. EDM’s boom-and-bust cycle has come to an end, and they’ve weathered the drought, presenting themselves as part of a lovably hateable lifestyle brand that grips the nation’s young and powerful. One thing about cynics is they tend to survive, and Chainsmokers seem engineered above all for survival.

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