Charles Hughes writes:

Recently, Jay Sean’s “Down” (feat. Lil Wayne) knocked the Black-Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling” from the top slot on the Billboard Hot 100, after it had spent 14 weeks at #1.  “I Gotta Feeling” itself replaced “Boom Boom Pow,” also by the Black-Eyed Peas, which was the number-one single for 12 weeks.  All told, then, the Peas spent 26 straight weeks atop the Hot 100, a record-setting feat that further cemented the prominence of the quartet—Will.I.Am., Fergie, apl.de.ap and Taboo—in the ever-splintering world of American popular music.   The album from which these two singles emerged, The E.N.D. (The Energy Never Dies), also debuted at #1, and quickly went platinum.

What might be lost in this steamroller of success is that The E.N.D. is surprisingly ambitious, blending hip-hop, electro and pop rhythms into a symphony of digitally-constructed tracks.  Across this layered soundscape, the Black-Eyed Peas stretch a thematic tendon, unifying many of the album’s disparate tracks together under a general motif of futurism.  More specifically, the group suggests that facing the future, particularly at a moment of obvious transition, requires a process of both destruction and reinvention. Even the album’s title, explained in an introduction at the beginning by an electronically-distorted voice, illustrates this duality, noting both the closing of one chapter and the continuation of a stronger, longer “energy” which lives on through any moment of rupture.  Fittingly, I suppose, the group presents themselves as on the vanguard in this transition, particularly as it relates to music.  In a line from the suitably explosive “Boom Boom Pow,” which follows the spoken introduction and serves as the album’s sonic and lyrical manifesto, they declare that they’re here to rock “digital spit/Next-level visual shit” even as their competitors are “stuck on super-8 shit/That lo-fi stupid 8-bit.”  Such references are sprinkled throughout The E.N.D., sometimes tinged with a consideration of not just the music, but the music industry.  They declare, for example, that they’ll continue to “rock the beat” even though there is “no longer a physical record store,” and, in interviews surrounding the album’s release, Will.I.Am—the group’s primary producer and spokesman—has been open about the degree to which he assembled individual cuts, with their hollowed-out arrangements and rhythmic patchworks, in order to appeal to the cut-and-paste listening styles of DJs, remix producers and iTunes customers. “There is no album any more,” he told Billboard, and he links this change in music’s consumption to the reformulation of the “energy” which he and his group are intent on harnessing on The E.N.D.  It’s a concept that screams pretentiousness, and they don’t fully pull it off, but, in nearly every important aspect, it’s difficult to listen to The E.N.D. without sensing the Peas working towards their central project of creating music that, as Fergie rhymes in “Boom Boom Pow,” could truly sound “so 3008.”

But there’s something else going on here, too.  While the most insightful reviews I’ve seen (Ann Powers’ and Jody Rosen’s come to mind) have touched on the level of complexity within The E.N.D., I’ve yet to read one review that even begins to capture what I hear as the darkness and uncertainty that lie at its heart.  (Most, in fact, don’t acknowledge any darkness and uncertainty at all.)  To my ears, and perhaps only to my ears, The E.N.D. comes off sounding like a meditation on the post-economic collapse United States, and the record’s focus on destruction-and-reinvention suggests something that extends beyond the music business.  Given our recent history, where systems failed and promises revealed themselves to be lies, the Peas’ determination to break down and rebuild strikes me as both relevant and admirable.  Beyond the programmatic concern, though, I find this album to contain moments of serious reflection.  In this record’s cold, synth-driven grooves and surprisingly ambivalent lyrics, I hear the current kings (and queen) of party R&B/pop/hip-hop trying to figure out how to keep the party going as the world outside falls apart.  Sometimes, they even seem to be asking if it’s worth partying in the first place.

In short, their escapism is anything but lighthearted.  Instead, like late-period disco, the music on The E.N.D. sounds cautionary and almost desperate, warning listeners that—whether they know it or not—the party is over.  Titles like “Party All The Time” might signal a carefree blow-out, but the track’s hook—“If we could party all night and sleep all day and throw all of my problems away, my life would be easy”—doesn’t sound all that careless to me, especially when sung by the Peas in a subdued, even defeated-sounding wail.  Thanks to that, “Party All The Time” reminds me of Joan Morgan’s insight about gangsta rap, namely that its focus on short-term pleasures—partying, drinking, casual sex—often masks a larger disillusionment, and even depression, about the protagonists’ lack of belief in a workable future for themselves.  While no one should mistake the Black-Eyed Peas for N.W.A., I hear this same disaffected spirit throughout The E.N.D., where even the most pleasurable activities are presented only as brief respites from a larger and more painful world.

Of course, even that doesn’t sound like all that much fun. “Out Of My Head,” for example, is ostensibly just another anthem to losing oneself through a night of clubbing, but it’s driven by a bracing, even pissed-off Fergie vocal which turns her description of her plans for the evening, from getting dressed up to getting picked up, into something less like a hedonistic party plan and something more like a desperate attempt to enjoy oneself in spite of it all.  (“I’m sick and tired of all those motherfuckers,” she spits, “I don’t give a fuck what you think.”)  Fergie’s vocal—like the chorus on “Party All The Time” and several other spots on The E.N.D.—turns the party from a communal event into a solitary quest, suggesting a kind of alienation that sounds quite lonely in its execution. Fergie’s section then transitions into a fascinating, mid-1970s-Marvin Gaye-style coda, where Will.I.Am, sounding woozy and distant, evocatively repeats “Let’s go…disco” over swirling synths and a driving backbeat, before abruptly ending.

Speaking of satisfaction, there’s “Ring-a-Ling,” an ode to late-night booty calls which is bathed in restless keyboard riffs and a minor-key vocal hook that makes what initially sounds like a casual-sex anthem into something more ambiguous.  In fact, by the end, it’s unclear whether or not the protagonist gets any sex at all (“You don’t want to have sex with me?/Then why you keep texting me/Alright, I’m-a hit you back later”), and the claim in the chorus—“if you’re callin’ at 2 in the morning, it only means one thing”—is neither affirmed nor denied by the open-ended question of the potential hook-up.  This mystery is compounded by the skittering arrangement, which bubbles under the vocals like Morse code.  At the beginning, the quivering arpeggios are pregnant with anticipation and excitement, but by the end they just sound like frayed nerves.  It’s an unsettling experience, regardless of whether or not the union was consummated.  (And, on some level, does it really matter if it was?)

These tracks both demonstrate that the reflective, uneasy tone I hear in The E.N.D. is really a product of the production and vocal performances.  There isn’t as much in the way of direct lyrical reference to current societal turmoil, although the spoken introduction—and the overall theme of destruction-and-reinvention—takes on a new relevance in the Great Recession than they would have, say, six years ago.  That’s when the Peas dropped their most directly political hit, “Where Is The Love?,” which countered the bleakness of Bushworld with a blast of gospel soul.  Nothing here is that direct, but there are moments when individual references burst through.  On the deconstructed drone of “Imma Be,” for example, Will refers to a woman who he plans on picking up despite the fact that she’s “in debt, bouncing them checks.”  There are some Obama shout-outs, and a milquetoast, though agreeable, call to worldwide harmony in “One Tribe.”
The only time that the group tries to openly address today’s society comes with “Now Generation.”  This intriguing track begins with a spoken prelude, where the distorted voice from the introduction returns, provocatively asserting that “the most powerful force on the planet is the energy of the youth.  One can stimulate the economy, but when this powerful youth is activated and stimulated and collectively decides not to buy things, what will happen to the economy?”  These are the only mentions of the word “economy” in The E.N.D., but they are noteworthy.  The first time “economy” is spoken,” the voice stutters over it, stopping the flow and forcing listeners to give it greater attention.  At the end of the speech, “economy” is repeated three times and further distorted, before moving without pause into brooding alt-rock chords.  These chords then explode into a Who-style strut, and “Now Generation” begins in earnest.  Driven by Fergie’s wailing chorus and Will.I.Am’s snarling, sarcastic verses, “Now Generation” is a strongly-worded critique of today’s youth, many of whom, of course, are the Peas’ target audience.  A full-blast rip on entitlement culture, “Now Generation” attacks their greed (shouts of “I want money!” repeatedly between the verses), their reliance on material things (Will.I.Am’s sneering protagonist celebrates his Wi-Fi, HD and iPod), and even their impatience (“I just can’t wait/I want it immediately”). Within this, though, they subtly—for the Black-Eyed Peas, at least—suggest that this gimme-gimme-now-now culture, promoted by an over-reliance on digital-age technology, contributes to the kind of short-term lapses that lead to long-term crises. “I want money, I want cold hard cash/I’ll take your dollar and your Euro and go have a blast,” Fergie shouts near the song’s climax, “so take your day and your credit and stick it up your ass and do it now!”  This stuff might not be revolutionary, and it’s definitely not very nuanced, but I find it pretty remarkable nonetheless, especially given that the Peas are directly attacking, and even mocking, the very people and process through which downloaded sales of “Boom Boom Pow” and “I Gotta Feeling” skyrocketed. 

It’s even more remarkable given that, generally, lyrics have never been the Peas’ strong suit.  In fact, particularly since the addition of Fergie helped propel them into superstardom, their work has possessed one of the most consistent levels of stupidity in pop music.  They even welcome this association.  This is the group, after all, that called on their listeners to “get stupid” in the celebratory “Let’s Get Retarded” (later re-titled to the inoffensive “Let’s Get It Started” after an NBA tie-in helped launch the single into the stratosphere).   I don’t mind the mindlessness, of course, especially since much of the Peas’ most infectious material is glibly, happily goofy.  Still, there’s also plenty of plain old dunderheadedness sprinkled throughout the Peas’ catalog, including their mega-hit “My Humps,” which no amount of club-bangin’ beats or Fergiliciousness could turn into anything other than a pedestrian nursery-rhyme.  “My Humps” is just the most egregious example of how easily the Peas’ formula drifts into a deconstructed, cynical-sounding manipulation of pop cliché.  There’s plenty of that on The E.N.D., and it mars even the most effective tracks.  “Alive,” for example, scores with a soaring, moaning Will.I.Am chorus and pulsating early-80s rhythm track, before Fergie and apl.de.ap deliver rhymes that rank with the group’s absolute worst.  (I would be miffed if either one of them used a line using the phrase “you were my best friend and boy/girlfriend, now it seems like you’re my worst friend,” but, for God’s sake, did both of them have to say it?)  The mega-hit “I Gotta Feeling,” a guitar-driven club jam, is the group at its most effective and the album at its most hopeful.  (The footage of 20,000 people dancing along to a live Chicago performance on Oprah was pretty compelling stuff.)  Unfortunately, “I Gotta Feeling” also contains random shouts of “Mazel tov!” and “l’chaim!” which sound forced and out of place.

These weaknesses, and the presence of a few straight-up clunker tracks, mean that The E.N.D. is probably not going to make it very high on my Best of 2009 list.  When I’m thinking about what pop music I’ll remember in ten years, though, and look back to as a snapshot of the world as it was in 2009, I have a feeling that I’ll return to The E.N.D.   It’s one of the only major releases I’ve heard this year that attempts to so fully engage with the past, present and future, and to draw out the connections between the music we hear and the world we hear it in.  It asks me questions to which I haven’t figured out answers, while also offering me potential avenues through which to understand them.  In that way, I consider it a major accomplishment.

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