Pop is the final frontier of musical appreciation. Although the driving force for youth culture for almost seventy years, it remains to be the thorn of any “serious” audiophile, forever elusive with its shameless will to drive the most primal and most sensual emotions inside of us to their ultimate peaks. Constantly going on about love, heartbreak, and desire also seems cheap when one could be going on about social justice, peace, and the existentialism of the human condition. But aren’t those feelings just as important to us as the thirst for global change? Aren’t we, at our core, people who want to be adored and feel miserable when we are not? If anything, Pop is the aural embodiment of all simplicity in the human psyche – the pleasurable subconscious sneaking up on us and making itself proudly known.
Yet even with such importance, its abilities to change and transform, relate and reveal, comfort and secure us are forever denied. The frivolity and spectacle of it all constantly negates its true worth in the grand scheme of art. But wasn’t jazz once known as “devil’s music” before it became what is arguably the most classical form of all American music? And even rock – Pop’s angrier, tougher, more intense half-sibling – was once seen as the height of vulgarity before being awashed with critical fanfare. Pop has had its moments – and is sometimes rightfully pushed into a zone in which gives it the massive credibility and respect it deserves. But it’s that lack of continual seriousness that denies non-believers the opportunity of witnessing something incredible and potentially revolutionary.
Because Pop has such a fluffy exterior, its massive reach has always been its biggest asset. The biggest pop stars who create experimental, genre-bending albums are the ones who are truly moving the culture, truly changing lives – not exactly the silent innovators who make their art in the underground. Whether such things are fair or not are in the eye of the beholder, but such things should be applauded and appreciated when they occur. And such is the case of Miley Cyrus’s millennial landmark album, Miley Cyrus and Her Dead Petz. Dripping in a mind-boggling combination of electronica, indie, blues, hip hop, r&b, psychedelia, country, and pure pop, this sprawling 23-track album feels as if a breath of fresh air pummeling through the monotony of radio fare. The girl who only a couple years ago seemed destined to be another pop ne’er-do-well has used all of her mainstream appeal to fuck up the culture.
Starting with the Trojan Horse mania of “Dooo It!,” one might think we are in for some weirdo bass-driven acid pop. But as soon as the willowy “Karen Don’t Be Sad” chimes through, we are privy to such a radical change that one almost has to check to see if they’re listening to the same artist. Throughout the wildly innovative album, Miley finds comfort mostly in the melodic raspiness of her fragile drawl, channeling her roots through a radically modern lens. It’s the reason how she can go from the poignant “Space Boots” to the dorky stream-of-consciousness of “BB Talk” to the majestic underworld beauty of “Milky Milky Milk” to the stark nakedness of “I Get So Scared” to the uber-contemporary “1 Sun” without losing her signature homestyle touch. With the assistance of Wayne Coyne, trippy rock icon, and Mike Will Made It, the effortless wunderkind producer, Miley comes off genuine and unique, realistic and fantastical, charming and embarrassing, real and unbelievable.
And yet still, Dead Petz seems to have dismayed and turned many musical critics totally off. To them, Miley is simply playing the role that many normal college students live once staying in their dorms and indulging in sex and drugs. And some of that may have some accuracy to it. But such things only cheapen the progression and innovations lurking amongst such a vast album. Is Miley’s dabbling in meditation, peace, and activism simply a fashion statement? Could someone with such money and such fame truly be as open-minded and free-thinking as she? Clearly, this is really the work of The Flaming Lips with Miley playing the typical pop vessel. Clearly, this couldn’t come from a 22-year-old girl born into wealth. Clearly, this must be a ploy to make her seem truthful, to seem “authentic.” But that is where all the mistakes come in. Because what, in fact, is “authenticity,” especially in the world of Pop?
We often forget that some of the greatest “rock” groups were considered far more pop in their own day. The Beatles and The Beach Boys made simple songs about love and girls before they got into drugs and began writing more socially and psychologically driven fare. Many of them got heavily into meditation, peace, and activism, using their newly-formed minds to create fascinating works of art that would help expand the minds of their masses of fans. Using their fame for good, they became some of the most appreciated artists of their times simply because they were the most visible. Does this not sound familiar? What is the difference between a former child star wanting to make pensively tripped-out music for her Instagram followers who may have never dived so deeply into such waters on their own? Shouldn’t we be praising her for throwing us such a brilliant collection of songs with immediacy, clarity, and freedom? Did she not capture the times earnestly and greater than any other Pop artist with its D.I.Y. production, Soundcloud release, genre-bending, pansexuality, emoji-winking, dead-animal worshiping, vulgar imagery, emotional outpouring, and desire for tranquil hedonism?
It’s been almost two weeks since Dead Petz was released but it seems to have garnered a critical reputation at this point of being another case of “try-hard” art, in which the point has been noticed but dutifully ignored. It’s quite easy to laugh at Miley and her assertions of loving pot and wanting the world to change – because most of us have been there. But instead of crushing her spirit, we should bask in it and try to gain it back for ourselves, try to relive those moments and become more open-minded as she. Sgt. Pepper and Pet Sounds are often placed highly as beacons of all music, but don’t people love those albums for the same reason – so they can conjure up the optimism and the emotional weariness of the era? To hope for a time in which humanity has found some sort of respectability for itself?
Miley is just another child hoping for love and peace to save the cruelties of the world, of believing the mashing and mixing of genres will break barriers and bring forth something better. With Dead Petz, she reveals herself to be someone just as self-obsessed, scared, starry-eyed, sensual, and silly as we all are – showing us that she doesn’t have all the answers and will never claim to. She is taking all of her sponged-up inspirations and influences and squirting them out into the world, pushing the culture forward in ways that even her chart-hopping contemporaries seem clueless nor interested in pursing. With this new album, she is transforming Pop’s ultimate potential. And there could honestly be nothing more authentic than that.
PARAPHERNALIA 