For the trend-inclined, 2013’s musical landscape has been remarkably and consistently linked by transgression – all our favorite pop stars are, as Drake so lucidly whined, on their “worst behavior.” The musically hip naturally gravitate toward Kanye West’s “Yeezus,” the depressive toward Drake’s “Nothing Was the Same.” But in a rather unexpected turn of events, the trifecta of provocation finds its most sophisticated leg in Miley Cyrus’ coming-of-age rebel yell, “Bangerz.”
That’s not to say that Cyrus has achieved the complexity of, for example, Kanye West’s “New Slaves.” But whereas the other strange and wondrous albums of the year have been, to say the least, off the beaten path, “Bangerz” has a purity of intention that is admirable and, at times, frankly inspirational.
Following in a long line of female pop stars who crashed and burned under the oppression of maturity, from cautionary tale Lindsay Lohan to relative success Britney Spears, Cyrus has the weight of history on her shoulders. Here, she faces the future – perhaps not with the grace and poise society demands, but with a tenacity and force that might make society come around.
As a child star who has, for a large portion of her career, made what is essentially kids’ music, it’s only natural that Cyrus ties sexual maturity and artistic maturity together, appropriating hip-hop as natural rebellion against the country rock glimmer of her past albums.
But what’s most surprising (and most delightful) about the new album is not its grit but its tenderness: self-consciousness without self-loathing, idealism without naivety, an honesty that is almost embarrassing.
In that respect, the two singles are convenient and succinct summations of what the album does. “We Can’t Stop” is the dark underbelly, the revolution. It’s easy to read the lyrics as shallow commands, and the inherent commercialism of the song taints it ever so slightly. Yet it’s hard to mistake it as “nice” party music – contrast Daft Punk’s megahit “Get Lucky,” which largely outlines the same ethos, and one has to confront “We Can’t Stop” as inherently at odds with itself. “La da di da di / We like to party,” Cyrus insistently sings, but the saccharine melody meets a burrowing, Skrillex-soaked bass – freedom doesn’t come easy.
“Wrecking Ball” is the more purely personal mode, a frightfully straightforward emotional account of what one assumes is a fresh wound. One would never accuse Cyrus of being a particularly subtle writer, and the metaphor here is, well, self-descriptive. But the beauty of pop music is that subtlety flies out the window when “you wreck me” is sung with such complex force. Here’s a blend of folly only youth can muster: defiance, hatred, vulnerability, acceptance, denial and even a touch of love.
On the whole, Cyrus fairs better when her emotions drive her rebellion. “SMS (Bangerz),” featuring Britney Spears, is a much better song than “We Can’t Stop,” less cut up by contradiction and more direct. But “Love Money Party,” in the same rebellious vein, gives in to the shallowest urges on the album, clumsily using hip-hop signifiers that ill fit Cyrus’ situation.
“#GETITRIGHT” holds the contradictory distinction of being the most enjoyable and the most out-of-place song. In the context of the album, it’s the only song that doesn’t expose a nerve or two – perhaps it’s a comfortable break before the second half, where almost every track is in the raw, “Wrecking Ball” vein.
It’s not easy to be raw. For a lot of artists it’s not even desirable; it’s unhealthy. But Cyrus translates it all into catharsis – on “Wrecking Ball,” majestic album-opener “Adore You,” kiss-off track “Drive” and the remarkable Adele-imitation song “FU.” There’s a sense that she’s getting it all out of her system. Everything’s at such a passionate volume that it becomes a wonder she continues to endure it all – whatever comes next, it’s only after she deals with all this.
Album-closer “Someone Else” affirms that idea: “I’m hurting myself / I’ve turned into someone else.” These are words that could read like despair against a crooning ballad – but against a propulsive disco beat and a sugary synth melody, they paradoxically become a sort of release, a destruction of boundaries, a declaration of change.
She not only accepts herself, but she also accepts changing herself, which is about as radical as it gets in pop stardom. Good on her for making that loud and clear.