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Then there’s “Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored,” whose story line is right in the title. The confessional centerpiece “Ghostin,” all whooshing synths and sad strings, appears to time warp back to her wrenching moment of mourning Miller while trying to stay connected to Davidson. On the top-tier bop “NASA,” which evokes Grande’s sonic godmother Mariah Carey without recycling her, she kindly but firmly asks a lover for a night apart. Rewriting mushy clichés with a wary eye, the singer empathizes with an omnipresent “you” but doesn’t ever give up agency to him. Yet Grande’s personal edge ensures that even the duller portions of the album will leave a mark. Yet it distractingly cops the melody, cadences, and even abject but defiant tone of that Gotye hit from a few years ago, “ Somebody That I Used to Know.” Elsewhere, the swirling R&B of “In My Head” slathers on Grande’s tics-including a glass-shattering vocal run in the chorus-without landing a clean, memorable hook. With Police-like guitars, sludgy trip-hop interludes, and Grande cleverly underplaying her delivery, the Martin-produced “Bad Idea” has the elements of a future-pop breakthrough. But there’s something locked in, by the book, about the underlying tunes. If the instrumentation is distinctive, so are Grande’s vocals, which continue her career-long melding of Broadway-isms, breathiness, and tricky rap imitations.
Thank you next mac#
The poignant opener, “Imagine,” for example, revisits her first flirtations with the now-deceased Mac Miller, using dreamy waltz time, airy whistle tone … and gear-grinding clanks. Again and again, the team alloys Grande’s old tools-toy-box chimes, cutesy background refrains, satiny whispers and yodels-with stainless steel. Which is not to slight the music, created by Grande with the seasoned smash-makers Max Martin, TB Hits, and Pop Wansel, as well as with younger songwriters in her posse, such as Tayla Parx and Victoria Monét. Like with the hip-hop guys she’s jealous of, her new music names names.īoth the strengths and flaws of Thank U, Next stem from a sense that, with just a few months to make an album, a brash attitude and the appearance of honesty are really all that matter. “Thank U, Next” wasn’t musically pioneering, but it packed personality and specifics. So when the chatter around her split from the comedian Pete Davidson began to hijack her image, she quickly cut a song that snatched back control. “It’s just like, ‘Bruh, I just want to fucking talk to my fans and sing and write music and drop it the way these boys do,’ ” she told Billboard, contrasting her cumbersome promotional machine against the single-a-minute flexibility of SoundCloud rap. As important, though, has been her realization about why the imperial-diva business model of the Katy Perry class faltered in recent years. Grande’s post- Sweetener life has been tough, with an ex’s fatal overdose and a kiss-and-break-up saga that could hardly have been more public. But only six months after the confetti-strewn therapy session of Sweetener, a fresh Grande album tends to new wounds while insisting, per one chorus, “Fuck a fake smile.” Thank U, Next, brittle and biting, could be called February: The Album. The starkly beautiful 2018 hit “No Tears Left to Cry” could well have been her last word on trauma. In the singer’s brief but seismically active career-quakes of news, aftershocks of hits-child-star rituals (like discovering sex) and awful realities (like terrorism) have been polished into tales of uplift. Grande’s bubblegum used to peddle true love and triumph, or it offered escape: Unplug your brain, take home a stranger, surrender to the stair machine. Your genome, sir, has been sequenced and found wanting.
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She has determined the desired height and hair-shininess of the future influencers who will call her nonna. Courtesy of Ariana Grande, here’s a new breakup phrase to fear: “Don’t want you in my bloodline.” Yes, the 25-year-old singer has thought ahead to the far-off century when she is but a leaf on.