Welcome to a work that's really taking it out of me xD I still love it, though.
And a brand new Relationship tag as well, lookie there!
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Rammstein
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Jonas Åkerlund
Characters: Richard Kruspe, Till Lindemann, Oliver Riedel, Christian Lorenz | Flake, Christoph Schneider | Doom, Paul Landers, Jonas Åkerlund
Additional Tags: Behind the Scenes, Making Ofs, Music Videos - Freeform, Modeling, photoshoot, Risque photography
Summary:
Over the course of five years, Jonas Åkerlund has produced some of the finest and most controversial music videos for Rammstein. Richard Kruspe has been there for all of it-- from Mann Gegen Mann to Mein Land-- and has developed a special fondness for the soft-spoken director.
10 notes
·
View notes
The Carter Trilogy, part two of five
Lemonade: Ten times out of nine I know you’re lying, but nine times out of ten I know you’re trying
When I last reviewed a Beyonce album it was 2011s 4 (reviewed here ) , which I then lamented as unfocused, seemingly sequenced by committee, and utterly dependent on production as opposed to proper song-craft. I concluded then that the limping hodge-podge of an album was going to be Beyonce’s last okay album, and from there on it was going to be a calculated subsuming into a digital and anonymous cloak of modern production, leaving true emotion and song-craft parched, attritioned and abandoned with each subsequent release. Now, with the album 4 I believe I was proven correct, as the album has aged badly, and other than “Love On Top,” left no indelible mark on the pop landscape. But that conclusion on her future? Man listen, I was way off base.
Turns out this black woman from Houston, Texas got on her grind. She still is observant of all prominent trends in black culture and production, but over the last two albums and their accompanying visual films, Beyonce begun to establish the major themes of who she is and, thanks to directors like Jonas Ackerlund and Khalil Joseph and writer Warsen Shire, has concretely fused herself and her struggles into the larger narrative of black women in America.
And so Lemonade, her second best album, along with the emotional Lemonade(Film), present her as an American wife, defiant against the current rigors of her country, and a past that mutilates and morphs the men in her life. This well-crafted view of her though, is a fabrication, one that many stars have tried to present to the public. It feels digestible and true coming from Beyonce though, given that this album roll out was predicated on a very public (and very real) fight involving her sister Solange and her husband Jay Z.
What this gave the project was a narrative flow and imbued a sense of rage, disappointment or sorrow to the songs set. Those feelings were sometimes derived not from the song itself, but from the news details and gossip that filled in between the lines, or hovered over the whole album. But when the lights turn off and the band packs up, how well did the songs themselves transmit this idea of Beyonce?
The guitar lays a base for the song in curt chucks, not scratchy and acerbic, but warm and echoed, like the lazy, beautiful guitar throughout Bob Marley and the Wailers “Stir it Up.” The bassline curls and growls around the verdant pylons of drum kicks like an affectionate panther, while Beyonce holds a call and response with a choral of Beys, skanking and in love in the middle of this kinky reggae of “All Night.” “I’ve seen your scars and kissed your crime,” she says in a bold voice and melody, then later on she decides “give you some time to prove that I can trust you again,” before she relaxes into the joyous chorus. Her voice here on the hook is clear and strong yet delicate and floating, like Misty Copeland’s legs, or Beres Hammond’s voice on 90s reggae classic “Come Back Home.”
The album gets more interesting and tender like this as it goes along, like with the anthemic thump of “Freedom (featuring Kendrick Lamar),” a song with positive messages of black consciousness and self-determination that gets its blood pumping from the engaging drums, bass, Kendrick’s dexterous flows and the grooving organ.
Similar sturm und drang is found on first half highlight “Hurt Yourself (featuring Jack White)” where the drums and organ synth are agitated and staccato, while the guitars rage on unrestrained like white water rapids. “Who the fuck do you think I is? I smell that fragrance on your Louis V boy,” she demands, the static filter on her voice heightening the tension in her marital threats, and accosting the song.
Elsewhere, “Forward” with James Blake is a moody interlude, the voices and atmospherics setting the tone for the fog of emotional stasis that follows a crisis in relationships and the tentative steps out of it. It is mysterious and melodic, reminiscent of some of those dense songs on the first half of her best album, 2013s Beyonce.
These songs give true dimension to the album, and provide a strong enough thematic base for Lemonade to resolve itself with the Black pomp and majestic boom of lead single “Formation.” That balance between strong lyrics and engaging music in service of those themes is not an easy one to get right on such a varied album, and the whole storyline of the tarnished marriage papers over its mis-steps at some points.
Take “Sandcastles” for instance, a somber ballad with great piano and vocal harmonies throughout, while Beyonce reveals the fragility of love. Ballads like these usually accomplish this theme with a delicate poetry, but here the lyrics are wanting, hiding behind the singer’s dramatic rendering, at points wrenching the words out her throat. And on “Sorry,” the buzzed-about insults and vulgarity obfuscate the hollow production, which even now already sounds dated.
“6 inch” finds Beyonce in her f- me pumps, the woman undone, with The Weeknd narrating this lost weekend of bacchanalia with usual surface-level observations. A booming, strutting song built around an Isaac Hayes sample, the synth work around it though is a bit too overproduced and showy, and the words and the weak chorus don’t truly match the unwieldy production. At points in the song, while her harmonies descend with the grand, arranged music like Cinderella at the ball, none of this matters, but, in the clear light of the day after, the drawbacks remain.
Another factor that softens any drawbacks to the songs are their inclusion in her Lemonade(Film), released the same day as the album. The images, directed by Khalil Joseph and Beyonce are arresting at points, dreamlike at others, emphasizing the connection between the Carter’s marriage and those of the Black community at large.
Here, the image of Beyonce drowning in a room feels like an image any anguished woman might describe to you, and the images of older women in their chairs, the dancers popping and locking to “Formation” all seem like permutations of the same woman finding her way through a yet-to-be-broken cycle.
Many images, film shots and techniques here accompany the songs well, but some feel too weighty and derivative, reminding me too much of the works of Terrance Malick, the illusive director of classics like 1979s Days of Heaven starring Richard Gere, 1998s The Thin Red Line, starring Sean Penn, and 2005s The New World, an exploration of the Pocohontas story. Beyonce’s off-camera narration is very similar to the narration of The New World, down to her prayers to the moon and her dearest mother, shit even the font used for the chapter headings look the same. By the end, the film feels self-important, a spectacle of anguish, as opposed to an exploration of the self or the characters involved.
And it is that self-exploration that usually led to the more nuanced lines and confessions in divorce albums of the past, while on a lot of Lemonade it’s either all invective or adoration.
On Marvin Gaye’s 1979 album Here My Dear, he tells his ex-wife on “Anna’s Song” “Annas here's your song, the one that i promised you all along/ I knew all the time that I’d find the rhyme/ Never have a fear, here it is my dear,” his voice a soft reveal, showing the tragedy of finally figuring out what to tell a woman when she’s on her way out the door. And Lindsay Buckingham tells us on Fleetwood Mac’s “Never Going Back Again,” from Rumours, “she broke down and let me in/ made me see where I’ve been.” Shading in a portrait of a relationship with parts of oneself can lead to illuminating results, and this is seen in one of Beyonce’s best songs, “Love Drought.”
A slinky midnight love song that set up the conflicts and desires of this super-star marriage without being subsumed by the tabloid hurricane around them. “Ten times out of nine I know you’re lying, and nine times out of ten I know you’re trying,” she observes, resonant 808 booms and curling synth notes in the background. The personal life of the singer provides some context, but the songwriting and melodies are strong enough to exist without it, telling a universal story of modern love.
“I always paid attention, been devoted, tell me, what did I do wrong?” she confidently pleads, the film curiously overlaying her words with scenes from a baptism, Beyonce among the apostles of women wading into a body of water, raising their hands, yearning to be cleansed anew by the same tormenting earth.
4 notes
·
View notes