In praise of extravagance

Musicians who traffic in excess are having a moment.

View this email online August 4, 2024 by Ann Powers The world feels overwhelming. As it turns out, artists whose music distills the intensity of the moment offer particular rewards. Credit: Photo: Elizabeth Gillis/NPR Hello fancy dancers,   Maybe you can tell from the giant rhinestone star choker adorning my neck (in my dreams) — this week I’m in the mood for a little extravagance. It’s not that life is dull, lately; between the political and Olympic arenas, it’s quite the opposite.  Bipolarity defines the cultural mood as (to quote the obvious vintage Wide World of Sports slogan) the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat pulls at people on every side of our culture’s many divides. Simone Biles leaps 12 feet in the air on one window open on my laptop while a candidate I won’t name sinks far below the line of good taste on another. A summer storm knocked a mighty oak tree down on my corner Tuesday — startling, but less than you might think, because it was the third such storm in two months. After causing small mobs and huge amounts of FOMO by dropping his solo album only at his Third Man Stores a couple of weeks ago, Jack White healed all wounds by widely releasing No Name yesterday. A Really Important Thing seems to happen every three hours or so; but there’s no order, it’s an ongoing avalanche that melts upon impact. In the past such chaotic periods had me craving the quiet of semi-ambient vibes. Right now though, I find myself longing for more from my music — a quality that demands my attention with flash and attitude, standing apart from the deluge. There’s a word for that more, more, more energy: extravagance.    I don’t mean I want artists to be messy. I like the definition of extravagance that the writer Brian Dillon developed, thinking about his favorite essayists, like Wayne Koestenbaum or Elizabeth Hardwick — it’s enthusiasm executed with exactitude, what Dillon calls “an ethics of style.” It emerges through careful cultivation and training; it’s impeccably designed and lovingly packaged. Think of drag at its most elevated. Or the Olympic opening ceremony performance by the French heavy metal band Gojira, which blended guitar (and literal) pyrotechnics with Le Grand Siècle costuming, a headless singer straight out a Tim Burton movie and mezzo-soprano Marina Viotti adding classical flair from a boat. Gojira’s rendition of the 18th-century contradance “Ah! Ça Ira” was, in the words of Gojira’s leader Joe Duplantier, “French charm … beheaded people, red wine and blood all over the place.” His Gallic sardonicism belied the way in which Gojira’s turn recalled French rococo art, which can look explosive to modern viewers but whose intricate curlicues and gilding actually called for serious technical skill. That’s the thing about extravagance — it’s all about deployment.   This is why, beyond the palaces of kings and other obscenely wealthy people, extravagance has long been a weapon of the culturally marginalized or dispossessed. The Black dandies who claimed American space since before the Civil War and who today wear gold grills and gleaming sneakers in Kehinde Wiley’s rococo-inspired paintings brought the intricate and bright costumery of working-class African men to America and kept its dignity alive through the worst circumstances. Elaborate Lunar New Year feasts and quinceañera parties don’t simply preserve immigrant traditions; they generate status through pleasure and, in doing so, exact a kind of revenge. Queer communities have made extravagance central throughout the long quest for visibility, and it’s the stern look on the face of the vogue dancer or the stone butch that shows these glorious human beings mean business.  I see that spirit now in the summer’s biggest emerging star, Chappell Roan. When, in her most touching anthem, she defiantly revels in the pole moves she’s mastered at the “Pink Pony Club,” Roan sings for everyone who wasn’t seen by the normies of their origin spaces but burst into recognition (self-recognition, too) when they could, with the leaping force of Simone Biles.   Roan is the embodiment of extravagance in 2024, in her crazy costumes and teased red mane. She’s a top-notch singer, as Hazel Cills wrote in her clarifying essay last week, whose brash but considered humor and charisma has made her “bigger than her songs.” I’m thankful that Roan’s breakthrough seems to have heralded a step away from whispery vibes toward more Starburst-tangy music propelled by personality. Roan has an Americana twin in Sierra Ferrell, who meticulously builds on bluegrass, New Orleans blues and country to shape her own sound while wearing outfits that blend Daisy Mae Southernness with Marie Antoinette wig powder. Both could easily share a stage with Moses Sumney, who’s returned with a tantalizing new EP, and whose grandeur onstage brings back memories of the great funk group Labelle.   Sumney’s new songs prove that extravagance isn’t just about costume; their intense grooveful humidity locates it in emotion, modulating desire and longing until it reaches a nearly unbearable pitch. It does so by relying on complex sonic layering and keeping the rhythm simmering, never too aggressive. “Gold Coast” is a pinnacle of the current vogue for florid but deeply crafted R&B that has other champions in Omar Apollo and Lava LaRue.  The song I’m loving now that fits best within Sumney’s sensual terrarium came out in April, but suits summer perfectly; it’s by the Nigerian vocalist, producer and songwriter Tems. “Love Me Je Je” interpolates and refocuses the 1997 hit by Nigerian-American crooner Seyi Sodimo, shifting the song’s perspective just enough to fully amplify its sense of craving another person. While Sodimo’s song puts the listener in the moment of tender affection and sex, Tems begins more coyly: “Tell me when to say, ‘Love me Je Je.’ ” Riding the current of tender longing that her lyrics name as it builds to a wave, Tems transforms a tale of gentle conquest into a gorgeous expression of need. The extravagance of this song is not showy; it’s fully located in a body moving closer to another inch by inch.   Musical extravagance only sometimes telegraphs desire — we could go back to Chappell Roan, who employs it in service of pride, hope, revenge, righteousness, really the whole panoply of emotions. “Angel of My Dreams” by former Little Mix member Jade exudes a wild extravagance as she goes from pop-gospel grandeur into streamlined house music athleticism, wailing to an elusive lover — who’s really her own ambition. That song is more chaotic than most I’ve included in this little survey, but it fits my definition through Jade’s sheer determination to nail every element of its shiny mosaic mix. Something similar happens on “Miénteme,” a duet between Orville Peck and Mexican-American singer-songwriter Bu Cuaron on Peck’s features-strewn new album, Stampede. The masked queer country heartthrob does his best Raul Malo tribute in this song of passion in the face of betrayal; in the middle, Cuaron counters his declarations to the handclaps of the folk style of son jarocho, bringing this kitschy Tex-Mex pop song into a stronger, more daring place.   Musical extravagance can also invoke a spiritual, even religious, journey. This is where its flash and glory meet insight, even confession. Two ballads I’m playing on repeat fit this model. India Ramey’s “The Mountain” tells of her emergence from cyclical trauma with the grand sweep of Roy Orbison; by the song’s end, she is the mountain she’s climbing at first. And “Wanna Be Loved,” the breakthrough song from Alabama rockers Red Clay Strays, mutates over the course of its three-and-a-half minutes from a loping expression of loneliness into a cry for the protection of the divine. Though the whole band is fully committed and skilled, it’s singer Brandon Coleman who makes the song bleed gold. He’s got a voice as big as his longing. As this song completes my extravagance playlist, I feel grounded: All this reaching reminds me that no matter what troubles the world brings, we all have the strength to leap beyond the fray in our hearts and our legs. Newsletter continues after sponsor message More stories from NPR Music this week: Friday was the centennial of James Baldwin, and you can find plenty of celebrations of his writing and life at NPR. Over on this week’s New Music Friday from All Songs Considered, Daoud Tyler-Ameen and Sheldon Pearce got deep into No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin, a new album by Meshell Ndegeocello (who also performed some of that album’s songs at a recent Tiny Desk concert). Since she burst onto the scene — just about exactly two years ago, with her hit “Munch” — Ice Spice has carried an undeniable star quality into the rap scene that was stoked by high-profile collaborations. She released her full-length debut album about a week ago, and Sheldon wrote about why the music feels out of step with the high expectations that have surrounded the artist. Over the last couple of years, Tom Huizenga, our team’s classical music expert, has embarked on a crucial project to record the thoughts of women composers. He’s spoken with Julia Wolfe, Angélica Negrón and Kaija Saariaho and many others, but one name he’s been chasing since the start of the project is Meredith Monk, a true titan of modern music and one of my personal heroes. This week he published his interview with Monk, and it lives up to the anticipation.  The genius kora player Toumani Diabate died last month at the age of 58. If you want to get a sense of why so many mourned his death — and celebrated his music — Aaron Cohen has a remembrance on NPR’s Goats and Soda blog. Here are some things that will satisfy your need for more this week: I mentioned Brian Dillon above; he’s one of my favorite writers when it comes to understanding the work and pleasure of writing. Check out Essayism, his ode to and dissection of the form, which includes his thoughts on literary extravagance. This is so basic, but House of the Dragon is really good this season!! The women characters thrill, lead actor Emma D’Arcy deserves all the Emmys, the intrigue is far more manageable than in Game of Thrones, and the beasts themselves are CGI wonders. Go ahead, binge that fire.  Singer and songwriter Berwyn is a Trinidad-born Londoner with a sultry tone, an eclectic R&B sound and a lot to say. His debut album takes on racism, religious questing, intergenerational trauma and the plight of immigrants, all within a dirty-sweet musical palette grounded in his vulnerable, versatile voice. I found the best savory pastry in America. It’s in Bothell, where my brother lives (hi Pat and Cindy!), at T55 Patisserie. It is a crab scone with the flavor profile of Thai Tom Yum soup. Unexpected and delicious. I also found the best pudding in North America! (You can tell what kind of tourism draws me in.) It’s at punk club-turned-bistro Ten Foot Henry in Calgary, Alberta: a butterscotch puddle that’s insanely toffee-rich, adorned with little pieces of sea foam, which was my mother’s favorite candy. If you can’t make it up to the Canadian plains (though you should, Calgary is fascinating), the CBC has kindly reproduced the recipe. NPR Classical Nothing says "festive" like a Germanic-leaning, 19th century French composer! Introducing NPR Music+, a new way to support what you love and explore new music and conversations sponsor-free. NPR Music+ includes two podcasts with one convenient subscription: All Songs Considered and Alt.Latino, both sponsor-free. 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