“Mask Off” is the perfect Future song: drowsy, textural storytelling over slyly menacing production, this time featuring, of all things, a baroque flute sample. It’s Gomez’s deft use of her relatively thin voice that’s the revelation here-an alluring murmur that hints at a slightly more left-of-center pop career than one might expect from a former Disney star. It’s a verse that gleams with the ice-cold passivity that only Rihanna can make pass for elation.Īn unexpectedly quirky single, “Bad Liar” marries the bassline of the Talking Head’s “Psycho Killer,” conversational vocals that recall Britney’s most adventurous work, and lyrics that equate the sometimes unsettling rumblings of lust and the Battle of Troy. Her scene-stealing features culminated with “Lemon,” where she raps with the best of them about blunts, Bugatti Veyrons, and, inexplicably, the Fonz. Rihanna didn’t release any new music of her own this year, but like most years, she didn’t let that stop her from owning radio anyway. “Our rules, our dreams, we’re blind,” she pants, “Our friends, our drinks, we get inspired.” For the 21-year-old, parties and flings are electrifying and novel but also menaced by an imminent emptiness usually registered by revelers well beyond her years.ĭJ Khaled’s “Wild Thoughts,” Future’s “Selfish,” Kendrick Lamar’s “Loyalty,” and N.E.R.D.’s “Lemon,” all featuring Rihanna This clattering cacophony also captures both the adventure and impending regret of night out with a new lover as only Lorde, pop’s ultimate millennial savant, can. The wide-eyed debauchery of “Homemade Dynamite” serves not only as a thematic centerpiece of Lorde’s superb second album, Melodrama. This was evident on his very good hit single “Attention,” but it’s the self-produced “How Long”-a devilishly slinky slice of blue-eyed funk-that solidifies Puth as a true contender and is, simply put, the best Maroon 5 song of the decade. In what may have been 2017’s most unsuspecting about-face, Charlie Puth charged from guy-whose-name-no-one-can-pronounce-and-sung-the-hook-on-that-Paul-Walker-in-memoriam-song-and-also-some-other-stuff right to the head of the overcrowded male pop starlets pack. Sampha’s spare ode to the powers of family and music as salvation suggests that the simplest experience-returning to your childhood home and picking up the instrument through which you first expressed your feelings-can pack a gut-wrenching punch. Sampha’s “No One Knows Me (Like the Piano)” “Lucky for you” blares the chorus, “I’ve got all these daddy issues!” That the track does psychodrama atop triumphant synthetic horns, shimmering major-key melodies and palpable delight at one’s shortcomings makes what could have been a maudlin overshare feel ebullient instead. That changed this year on her sixth album, the excellent Tell Me You Love Me, and its crowning achievement, “Daddy Issues.” “Issues” obliterates the very concept of lyrical subtly as Demi explores the cross-section of her challenging relationship with her father and her destructive romantic choices. This year in pop can ultimately be boiled down to one emblematic moment, when a stripper-turned-Instagram-star-turned-reality-star-turned-hip-hop princess dethroned the biggest major label superstar of her generation at No.1, with nothing but a freestyle rap and a whole bunch of streaming clicks.ĭemi Lovato always seemed like a workhorse pop star, diligent but never quite expanding past middle management. And with Spotify and YouTube further entrenched at the center of music consumption, the year’s best and biggest songs underscored a new kind of egalitarianism, allowing the public to directly drive the conversation and charts, and giving the artists room to take risks. An almost entirely Spanish language reggaeton track by two relative unknowns was the year’s biggest hit. Genres melded and sometimes combusted completely.
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In 2017, pop established a true counter-narrative: cross-pollinating, democratic, and often as buoyantly unbothered as it has ever has been. Joy was elusive in 2017, in everything from politics to Hollywood to the isolated cultural bubbles where most Americans now look for shelter.