Supermodel
Supermodel
Ecstatic
Is it possible that the ’90s now loom larger in the culture than when the decade was actually happening? Looking at contemporary music and fashion, it sure can feel that way. Even in the supposedly forward-facing world of electronic music, the ’90s—or, more accurately, our collective (and often quite fuzzy) idea of what those years were like—have arguably become the aesthetic fulcrum of the entire ecosystem. Baby tees. Parachute pants. The seemingly neverending revivals of jungle, hardcore, trance and IDM. In fairness, there’s a lot to love about that time, and when you factor in post-Cold War optimism and the technological utopianism that ran through the early days of the internet, it’s not hard to see why those days inspire warm and fuzzy feelings among so many people—even if they’re too young to have experienced the era themselves.
Supermodels, however, are one distinctly ’90s phenomenon that haven’t aged all that well. While it’s true that women like Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, Linda Evangelista and a handful of others were bestowed with a kind of iconic status, one that in many ways persists to this today, their ascension was a byproduct of a time when the powers that be (including the political left) were actively greenlighting the capitalization and corporatization of just about everything. Art and culture were becoming full-fledged products, and the supermodel craze was part of that push. Add in the unattainable beauty standards their fame projected onto women around the world, not to mention the way that deeply misogynistic discussions of their weight, appearance, behavior and sex appeal became completely normalized, and the whole thing starts to look pretty toxic.
That toxicity is at the heart of Supermodel, a mysterious musical endeavor that’s surfaced on the Ecstatic label with an eponymous new album. As the title implies, the LP does embody a certain sense of glamour, but it also reflects the darkness of its namesake era—most directly on “Dressed to Kill,” a song that’s quite literally stuffed with the sound of grunting pigs. Then there’s “Vogue Cover”; one of several interludes on the record, it’s built around a short (and heavily processed) clip of a model sharing her career ambitions—and needs only 45 seconds to make those ambitions sound borderline sociopathic.
At the same time, Supermodel never feels like a finger-wagging or overly didactic exercise, probably because its creator has also populated the album with a spellbinding assortment of sultry, slow-burning chuggers. Marked by blurred edges and blurrier color palettes, many of those chuggers sound like they’ve been salvaged from old VHS tapes of MTV’s House of Style. Borrowing from trip-hop, illbient and Erotica-era Madonna, “Eternity” is an early highlight, and it struts with the confidence of a runway pro. “Giorgio,” on the other hand, employs billowing textures that nod to Tangerine Dream, while “Under the Influence” drapes its disembodied vocalizations over a heady, not-quite-drum & bass rhythm.
Calling out absurdities one minute and reveling in luxury the next, the LP is riddled with contradictions, yet it still manages to chart an immersive—and, at times, quite psychedelic—journey into the recent past. But is it meant to be a send-up or a celebration? Supermodel honestly feels like both, which just might be its most rewarding quality.