Been There, Sung That
Confessions from a Dancefloor by Madonna
Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone Ritchie is the patron saint of dance music. She arrived in New York City from Michigan at the height of the anything-goes dance music era. The early Eighties were a time where the dance kids mingled with the funk kids, the new wave kids, the punk rock kids, and the hip-hop kids. Those who have proclaimed "disco is dead" obviously haven't noticed that Madge has carried the torch at times by herself for almost a quarter century. All of these facts should make Madonna's "return to dance" album, Confessions On A Dancefloor a no-brainer.
Lord knows she needed a no-brainer after the travesty that was 2003's American Life. Over the years, Madonna's music had gradually lost the soul that defined it, and she washed it out in a flood of dry, cold Euro-danceisms. American Life was the bottom of that particular barrel. Madonna ditched the party-queen image, and armed with an acoustic guitar and French producer Mirwais, unleashed the most boring album of her career. The combination of soulless Euro production and Madonna's schoolmarm-ish lyrics resulted in the worst-selling (and least satisfying) album of Madonna's entire career.
Confessions is definitely warmer than American Life, although considering I don't think there's one acoustic instrument on this album, that ain't sayin' a whole lot. Many of the songs do recall disco as opposed to "electronica" or "techno". The tracks even segue into one another like a DJ mixtape or a set at a club. However, at times it feels like a rehash as opposed to Madonna trying anything fresh and new.
With that said, the album gets off to a dizzying start. The first three tracks are certified dancefloor scorchers. Hung Up gets by on a classic Madonna chorus and an irresistible sample of ABBA's Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight). It's the rare current dance single that lodges itself in your head without just being mindless repetition of the same phrase over and over. The next track, Get Together is the best song on the album. The druggy, dubby groove is insinuating, and Madonna even references her formative club-queen days by referencing The S.O.S. Band's disco classic Take Your Time (Do It Right) during the song.
Sorry and Future Lovers both have the icy-electro cool that marked Sylvester and Donna Summer's best work. Lyrically, none of the songs amount to much, but who's paying attention to lyrics when songs are these danceable? And when has anyone ever listened to Madonna songs for the lyrics, anyway?
The album then descends into a whole lot of generic soundalike stuff. Madonna also decides to revert slightly back to her American Life persona and takes the opportunity to wag her fingers at us. Let It Will Be finds her pontificating on the rigors of celebrity, while Isaac is this album's Kaballah lesson, complete with vocal samples of a Yiddish singer and a bit of a sermon at the end of the song. Isaac actually turns out to not be as bad as I expected, although she DOES slide into the "mmmm hmmmmmmm"'s that she's used in place of lyrics on several singles (although Frozen is the only one I can remember off the top of my head).
The album ends with two almost-ballads. Push has a very loud (possibly sampled) hip-hop percussion track and is a letter of thanks for someone who provided her with the kick in the butt to keep on going. Songs like this and How High prove that Madonna still has the chops to create tasty hooks even when the songs are somewhat flimsy. Like It Or Not ends the album on a high note, although the backing track is very reminiscent of Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode. However, by the time this track closes the album, you realize that the last five tracks have featured Madonna talking about herself, her career, or her religion and you wonder...does this woman have anything else to talk about? Danceable grooves can only do so much to cover up.
Ultimately, that's where Confessions On A Dancefloor falls short. The Madonna I love knows how to create great pop songs without being self-righteous or moralistic. Into The Groove, Holiday and Like A Virgin were great, fun songs, and even when Madonna did focus inward on songs like Papa Don't Preach and Oh, Father, there wasn't this sense of "I am poor, persecuted celebrity. Listen to the wisdom I bestow on you". While this album is better than American Life, Confessions On A Dance Floor is Madonna's third consecutive almost-mediocre album, and it makes you wonder if the Queen of Pop's best days aren't firmly behind her.
