A celebration of the dance floor that incorporates tributes to her earliest days on New York’s club scene, the queen of pop’s new music is engineered to make you move, or indeed, sweat
****
Madonna is the queen of reinvention. Whenever she felt that the mainstream was getting too good at emulating the trends she’d set, she switched. For a time, critics accused her of using these makeovers – the sex symbol, the Material Girl, the spiritual seeker, the cowgirl, the dominatrix – as a distraction from, they claimed, a lack of true talent. Nonsense, obviously: her music has always reflected the thrill of the new, the bold.
Her new album exemplifies this: it is her best since the original Confessions on a Dance Floor came out in 2005, produced again with trusted collaborator Stuart Price. Just as the first Confessions responded to the poor commercial performance of its predecessor, 2003’s American Life, Confessions II – landing in the wake of 2019’s muddled Madame X – feels like a timely reminder of her genius. Younger women in pop have been killing it of late: Chappell Roan, Olivia Rodrigo, Billie Eilish, Sabrina Carpenter and Charli XCX all disproving the tired industry notion that there can only be one on top. Enlisting Carpenter herself for the dazzling house track “Bring Your Love”, Madonna seemingly hits back at misogynist attempts to keep her, or indeed any woman in pop, in a box: “Don’t comment on my ideas/ I don’t want your judgement or your expectations/ Don’t wind me up like a toy/ Your vision of me is a killer of joy.”
Full review available at The Independent