I had previously said that I didn't like Bubba, the electronica dance album from Kaytranada, and I consider that the closest Record Club equivalent to Body Talk Pt. 1, so it's worth revisiting my opinion from that. I stated that I didn't like Bubba because it reminded me of a situation in which I'm usually not comfortable in (being in a packed, sweaty club).
It's possible, even probable, that I just wrote a really shitty review for that album, and the whole idea that club music makes me uncomfortable was a fucking bullshit cop-out. Now I have egg on my face, because I'm about to write a positive review for Robyn's 2010 album, and it's more club music. My opinion is not going to be overwhelmingly positive, but it's going to eschew that whole narrative that I leaned on for Bubba, and that's not really fair toward Bubba. The metrics are all out of whack! I warned you not to take me seriously!
I actually think that I do stand by the whole "this reminded me of something I hate and that's why I hate it" aspect of my take on that last album, so then the question I guess becomes, why is this Robyn album different? And the answer speaks to a central conflict that I've discussed ad nauseum in the movie world—does a piece of art have to say something about who you are as a person, or can it stand simply as a good story?
The best part about Body Talk Pt. 1, in my opinion, is that it's a dance pop album about being in the club, as opposed to music that you need to actually play in the club. Going into "slut mode," kissing teens on trains, seeing your crush kissing someone else, lording over a crowd of dancers, these are all things that I cannot really relate to these days, but they act as a good story that I can actually get a grip on. Yes, the songs are also dance songs that you could (and probably have?) heard in a club, but I'm able to overcome my own particular defects because there's that story there, and I can just enjoy it like I would a good book.
Again, that's probably just me talking out of my ass. Maybe this is just a fun album, and there isn't much more to it than that.
Actually, I should clarify that the first half of this album is the fun part, and it's kind of wild how bifurcated this album is. There's the fun intro ("Don't Fucking Tell Me What to Do"), the robotic-sounding dance song that sounds like what Black Eyed Peas would sound like if they weren't a fucking joke ("Fembot"), the all-time classic, as decided by music critics seemingly everywhere ("Dancing on My Own," which I've already written about), and the triumphant cry-at-the-club banger ("Cry When You Get Older"). After that, Body Talk falls off a fucking cliff.
You can tell when I said "having a story gives me the ability to get over my own flaws" that it was fucking pretentious bullshit, because there's plenty of story to be found on the back half here, and yet, I like it far less than I do the front half. "Dance Hall Queen," for example, paints a very vivid picture, but the music itself drains the energy out of the whole endeavor. Let's stop before we get to that concluding snoozer of a song, shall we?
The front half truly is good enough, however, that I could see myself returning to Body Talk Pt. 1 in the future (maybe even checking out Pt. 2 at some point!). The album has its flaws, but it is very-fun forward, and as much as I try to deny it sometimes, those types of albums are always gonna be winners.
GRADE: 3 pukes out of 5
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