Adele – 21

Released in 2011, produced by Adele Adkins, Jim Abbiss, Paul Epworth, Rick Rubin, Fraser T Smith, Ryan Tedder, and Dan Wilson

More Adele. It is wild that she was only 21 when she released this album.

Admittedly, I want to move on to the next “A” artist in my collection. There are two additional Adele records to talk about after this one. So, the first question would be why I am so impatient with Adele already. Why do I want to move on? It’s because I’m an impatient person. In that way, I’m thankful for this process. It’s forcing me to slow down a bit. However, it’s also because I’m only half of an Adele fan. She’s massively talented, but this blue-eyed soul music is not something I’m particularly a fan of. I can enjoy it, and I can appreciate it, but there’s nothing attached to it. It’s great party music, it’s a social listen. If I listen to it attentively, it’s because it is similar to a fascinating item in a museum. This genre of music is so rich historically, and to recognize Adele’s place in it, to locate her in the lineage is above my pay grade. My connection to Adele is through my wife Ellen. Her fandom has brought me here, and I’m thankful for it.

All that said, a great song is a great song, and there are great songs on this record. “One and Only” comes to mind. It was co-written with Greg Wells who has worked with everyone from Kid Cudi, to Taylor Swift, John Legend, Pharrell Williams, Weezer, Crash Test Dummies, and a lot more.

(To me, there is something upsetting about people who can excel at the craft of songwriting because I want it to be more than just talent or ability. I want to believe it’s the product of an ephemeral moment that is captured rather than a brainstorming session and 4 re-writes. This need for myth fuels an appreciation for art that, paradoxically, has contributed to both its undervaluing and its bloated value. That is all to say, assigning value to art has very little connection to the “quality” of the art object itself.)

Another standout track – one I mentioned in my last post – is “Set Fire To The Rain.” Such an amazing song. She worked with Fraser T. Smith on this one. Her vocal performance is especially strong. Particularly, at about the 3:40 mark – a very unadorned but powerful vocal expression (similar to Sara Bareilles’s performance on “Saint Honesty“). The human voice can evoke emotion in unexpected moments, and I hate that. Don’t talk to me about transcendence or common threads of humanity. Ugh, gross.

There is something other wordly about music that exists on this level of sonic perfection and broad appeal. This echelon of musician/band/artist rarely impacts me on a deep emotional level. Music meant for everyone (i.e. music marketed via mainstream channels), music that is not insular by virtue of quality or community, rarely develops a strong connection to me. To be sure, I don’t mean that as an implied critique of music that is massively popular.

That’s a lie, but it isn’t untruthful.

Of course strong connections are established between me and popular songs (e.g. Taylor Swift’s “This Is Me Trying”) and of course, artists evolve, and as they grow and become more successful, that “insular” quality dissolves and/or, somehow, expands. It’s a silly thing to be stubborn about – but music fans always are. It is the foundation of our communities, pissing matches, obnoxious claims, and enthusiastic dismissals of other opinions. I’m clearly right, you’re clearly wrong.

Communicating your connection to art always involves some projection of your ego, the idea you have of yourself, or the version you want. It’s a claim on your knowledge and taste, and that is so important for us! I wonder about the artist’s location in this dynamic, this crucial responsibility that is placed on them without their consent – but one that they can understand by virtue of their own fandom; one they have to understand and navigate with delicacy. What the fan wants is rarely, if ever, the same thing the artist wants. The former wants, in so many words, ownership, and the latter requires freedom. (Didn’t Fugazi have a song about this dynamic?) This is all so exhausting, and it is saturated with rationalizations and self-examinations that don’t hold up beyond provocative aphorisms. It’s fun, it’s important, but it’s bullshit. It’s like the term “authenticity.” It can’t be defined and it’s so often used in a way that makes no sense, but the term still has currency and we can still understand it when someone uses it when talking about what they look for in music. Believing an artist does not mean they are authentic, it means they fooled you. The other day I said that “punk rock was right about everything.” That’s silly, punk rock was NOT right about everything, but I’m not retracting the claim, nor will I defend it. “If you know you know.”

I love music writers and I envy their ability to make sense of all this – to eloquently negotiate and validate the individual experience within the universal banality of it all.