Before the screening of the new Harmony Korine film Spring Breakers, the publicist announced that it was “like a dream; just go with it.” (I tend to “just go with” most films, as that’s how they are generally meant to be watched.)
In pop music, “perfection” measures pleasure. Calling an album or song “perfect” is usually a sign that music has resulted in a system shock, whether because it landed directly on one’s soul, jolted a person’s nervous system, or caused the body to physically react.
This issue is Maura Magazine’s 10th, and it looks at Big Things: American pop idolatry, country radio in New York City, the idea of the “perfect” song, and movies that fall in on themselves because of way too much self-referentiality.
New York’s history with country radio stretches as far back as the era before the genre was even called country.
If American Idol—not to mention its intranetwork rival X Factor, and even to an extent its blind-taste-test copycat The Voice—were truly a singing competition, of course, matters of styling and “marketability” would be taboo subjects, and the contestants would only focus on getting as much vocal rest time and tea as they could before their 90 seconds were up. (No taping of extraneous commercials for Ford for these kids). But of course it isn’t