When Old Stars Try to Be New Again | bryanpalmernovogen.com

By ERIC FELTEN

The end of March saw two new albums by well-established (which is nicer than saying long-in-the-tooth) pop artists—Madonna’s “MDNA,” and Lionel Richie’s “Tuskegee.” Madonna’s disc of new rave electronica debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard album chart. Mr. Richie’s disc—a collection of his old hits, but now country-fried with Nashville stars—came in at No. 2. Then something remarkable happened. Madonna achieved a notoriety even more embarrassing than her commodified sexuality—her disc took one of the biggest tumbles ever for an album opening at the top. Second-week sales collapsed by more than 86%. And in the weeks since, the decline has only deepened, with “MDNA” now languishing at No. 34 on the chart. Mr. Richie’s record, by contrast, climbed to No. 1, where it has held pride of place for the last two weeks.

Eric Palma

What explains Madonna’s epic fail and Mr. Richie’s surprise success?

It can’t be entirely a matter of promotion. After all, in the lead-up to her disc’s release, Madonna had no less a showcase than the Super Bowl halftime. In a pageant that could have been choreographed by Caligula in collaboration with the Beijing Olympic committee, she featured the lead single from the new album (a song that enjoyed added attention thanks to the obscene gesture delivered by a guest rapper). Think of the show as an informercial for “MDNA”: Given what advertising time costs during the Super Bowl, it’s been estimated that Madonna’s halftime spot was a promotional opportunity worth more than $80 million.

Mr. Richie’s televised promotion was rather modest by comparison—he appeared for an hour on the Home Shopping Network.

Nor does the quality of the music explain it all. Those who go in for Madge’s sort of stuff haven’t been howling that her newest installment of computer-generated thumping isn’t up to snuff. As for Mr. Richie’s collection, though nothing extraordinary, it’s a pleasant reworking of his standard repertoire. (And before you scoff at an aging soul crooner trying twang on for size, keep in mind that the melodic pop Mr. Richie specializes in translates well to the melody-friendly language of country music.)

So what explains the dramatic divergence in the discs’s fortunes? The answer, I think, can be found in the basic question of old vs. new. Mr. Richie found a way to freshen up his “greatest hits.” Madonna is trying to sell new music. Fans of long-established artists may tolerate new works, may even buy them, but rarely do so with the enthusiasm they reserve for the back catalog. Typical is the friend who bragged to me last month she had scored good seats for a coming Bruce Springsteen concert—who then rolled her eyes and said with resignation, “Though, I hear he’s doing lots of material off his new CD….”

Why is it so hard for veteran stars to sell their abundant fans on new music?

Exceptions are rare—Cher scored No. 1 singles more than 33 years apart (“I Got You Babe” in 1965 and “Believe” in 1999). Louis Armstrong managed to keep adding hits to his catalog throughout his long career. Pops was well into his 60s when, in May 1964, he displaced the Beatles from the top of the Billboard singles chart, a spot they had owned for more than three months. Maybe Madonna should cut a cover of “Hello, Dolly.”

Even a songwriting performer of Duke Ellington’s stature and endurance saw his hit-smithing fizzle. When Ellington’s faltering career was revived at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival, it was not because of the new suite he had written for the occasion, but thanks to a rollicking performance of a decades-old standby, “Diminuendo and Crescendo in Blue.”

One would think that legendary artists would have every advantage needed to put across new hits—they are brands, after all, with large and loyal consumer bases. So why do they struggle so with new product lines? Is it that performers lose their knack for good new tunes? Or is the fault with us, the listeners, that as we get older we lose our ability to connect with new music? Maybe learning to like a song is like learning a new language—it gets harder as we age.

I suspect both play a part—the muse gets weary and the audience gets diffident. But there could also be a Catch-22 at work: If the established musician does something really fresh, her audience is unhappy she’s strayed from what they know and like. But if she keeps doing new songs in the same vein as the old, why should the listener bother with the new release, the old favorites being the perfect expression of the old style?

Mr. Richie managed to escape the conundrum by doing the old favorites in a new way. We’ll see if Madonna is ultimately driven to adopt the same strategy—though I shudder to think how “Like a Virgin” will sound with fiddle and steel guitar.

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