Sure, some people will insist that only best-selling music has any real value, and others will insist that anyone leaning so heavily on hooks and beats can’t possibly have any substance. Both views are so often and so easily refuted that I won’t even bother doing so here. As much as any other genre—hip hop, Americana, punk or blues—“pop” can be good or bad. Every genre provides a few masterpieces, a lot of pretty-good efforts and a lot of mediocrity.
The song defines what’s at stake for the rest of the album. Love is often disappointing, but it’s hard to give up on. But how much should you compromise to get it? How much of your independence can you sacrifice to get the affection you crave? This question is especially acute for the young women who are Swift’s core audience, who are still subject to expectations of wifehood, that “1950s shit.”
A good example is “Maroon,” which juxtaposes the best days in a relationship against the worst—“Dancing with you in New York with our shoes off” one day and “Hollow-eyed in the hallway” the next. Tying the highs and lows together—and suggesting how inseparable they really are—is a series of crimson images: a burgundy wine stain on a T-shirt, a blush in the cheekbones, a hickey on the neck, lipstick on a telephone, sunset on the horizon.
This is all irresistible, because Lizzo’s vocals seem so guileless, as if she were your good friend who lacks a filter. Her big soprano has a rubbery joyfulness that invites everyone to join the dance. She comes out of the hip-hop world, but her embrace of melody is whole-hearted, and her borrowings from old-school soul acts such as William Bell and Kool & the Gang give her songs a reach beyond the current moment.
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