I started listening to Pink sometime in the late 2000s, when her latest album Funhouse was charting well and receiving a lot of critical acclaim.
I also enjoyed her next album, 2012’s The Truth About Love, but after that I stopped keeping up with her releases. She has dropped two studio albums since then that struggled to find an audience. Last year’s Hurts 2B Human hasn’t even cracked 100,000 U.S. sales, while most of her earlier releases were in the millions.
During my final week looking at 1970, I’ll feature albums and bands with which I have very little familiarity. I’ve heard the names, but I’ve pretty much never heard the music.
First up are The Stooges, whose sophomore album Funhouse served as a loud, obnoxious rebuttal to the melodic pop of the 60s.
This past week I dedicated a lot of time to the crop of pop divas who dominate the charts. But I’d trade every one of them for Pink, who doesn’t sell as many records but produces much more resonant music.
I’ve been meaning to buy (do I have to say “download” these days?) Pink’s early albums because I’m a huge fan of her most recent releases, Funhouse and The Truth About Love. Usually when I latch on to somebody’s new material I start digging back into their earlier work but I haven’t gotten around to that with Pink. Gotta do that.
This is an appropriate random selection for the middle of my musical genome project.
I like Pink. I like her songs, I like her voice, I like her attitude. And I really like the one album of hers I own, 2008’s Funhouse, from which this SOTD is pulled.
And yet, I have never considered buying Pink’s earlier albums, nor would I rush out to buy whatever she puts out next.
Yesterday’s post on Marah touched on a favorite topic of mine: the impact of expectations. But it was also a good illustration of another phenomenon I’ve encountered over my years of music listening: the second impression.
Sometimes an album just doesn’t hit me during my first listen, or even my first few listens, but weeks, months or even years later I’ll pick it up again and find that it really gets to me.
One of the best examples is Lucinda Williams’ Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, which went from a shoulder-shrugger to one of my all-time favorite albums after a long break.
Meet Me In Montauk 