Review Summary: Flat Summer
In lieu of going off about Hilton’s tenuous claim to fame or typing out Merriam-Webster’s definition of ‘masochism’, I’ll start with something positive: ‘Stars Are Blind’ is a good song. The lead single from Hilton’s 2006 debut album (in which she again failed to provide any convincing rationale for her status) was cheesy, upbeat and catchy, and if nothing else raised some pop enthusiasts’ hopes that she wasn’t just a beautifully made-up face. True, it was the best track on the LP by a long chalk, but it was still a better effort than most able-minded individuals dared hope for. This record feels far more in-keeping with Hilton’s personal trajectory than its precursor, and for that alone it wins a meagre victory in the integrity stakes. Unfortunately, there is not an instance on
Infinite Icon of anything even approaching that modest level of memorability. Where
Paris showcased an ‘artist’ attempting to justify her existence within pop culture,
Infinite Icon parrots every major mainstream trend it can with far too much confidence, and still manages to feel completely irrelevant. Heavily inspired by Paris’ ‘career’ as a ‘DJ’, the content is predominantly an electronic/ dance music venture with some cursory balladry sprinkled in, and it demonstrates every shortcoming that can be heard during her ‘live’ sets. It feels infinite for sure, but the day this is viewed as ‘iconic’ is the day we hit the point of no return as a species.
In terms of content, none of the material, be it the lyricism or the music itself, has any resonance or leaves a lasting impression. This is in spite of the record’s echoing of such artists as Charli, Slayyyter, and even Tay-Tay, in ways both overt and passive. The album is rife with sickly-sweet, violently twee lyrics and music that feels somehow underbaked yet overpolished; a gloopy mixture of distractions where nothing takes wing and everything has a sense of flatness despite the undeniable vibrancy. ‘I’m Free’, for example, a monstrous rework of ‘Free’ by Ultra Naté, somehow downplays the iconic hook through an oversaturated yet minimalist orchestration that highlights the trite nature of both the new lyrics and the blandly retouched tune in a single stroke. It does display some admittedly pleasant filter house musicality, but the foreground animates with such irritating shadowplay the effect of this is all but wasted. Megan Thee Stallion feature ‘BBA’ (that’s an acronym for ‘Bad Bitch Academy’, which presumably appears on the institution’s letterheads and tax invoices) displays a similar disregard for good taste with an invasive, thumping beat and repetitive hook, mildly reminiscent of Kim Petras in her
Slut Pop era. A play-by-play on how to act like an archetypical bad bitch (
Step one: shake ass/ post a video, make your ex boo mad…), Megan’s fingerprints are all over this grubby little number. Frustratingly, if not for the constant slew of face-scrunchingly stupid lyrics, this would be one of the album’s better moments. It has a big room component and a string-led undercurrent that manages to add life to the banal rhythm base, but the distracting vocals and ho-hum structure of the affair are just too much to ignore.
With Sia in the executive producer’s chair (and being instrumental in ensuring this album came to fruition at all), it’s understandable if Paris’ marketing team were expecting a product with some measure of quality to eventually emerge from the glittery recesses of her brain. It certainly dunks its expertly manicured fingers into more pies than is healthy in a single sitting, mashing together all manner of synthy pop tropes with Hilton’s contributions and expecting the clay/ iron mixture to somehow adhere. Sadly, coherency is not Sia’s strong suit, and there are glaring issues at play within the songwriting and beyond. Tracks like ‘Legacy’ and ‘Stay Young’ demonstrate a bizarre discordancy between vocal track and the music itself, feeling smashed together in a manner that results in both songs sounding amateur in execution. This shortcoming is evident in the slower cuts too, with closer ‘Adored’ being particularly off-putting with its grating convergence of disparate elements. It glitches and ascends to the point of near-atonality, and having Hilton’s syrupy tones overhead really just hammers the final nails in. The inclusion of ‘Fame Won’t Love You’ with Sia, a somewhat cynical attempt to pad out the record further, adds to the inconsistency with the track standing out like a white filling in a mouthful of yellowed teeth. Not that the cut is particularly good- it’s still obviously a filling- but it demonstrates a great deal more character than the rest of this soulless mess. Conversely, however, ‘If The Earth Is Spinning’, which also features Sia, is an album standout, with an interesting, twinkly texture and undeniably catchy rhythm.
Paris Hilton’s sophomore record tries to do a lot during its half hour run, but none of it feels even slightly original or particularly entertaining, even as a passing pop fancy. Every second showcases underwritten hooks, production that doesn’t fit the aesthetic, surreal mixing and Hilton’s often unbearably corny vocals. It’s also lathered in a spit-shine production style that seeps a palpable sense of effort from every beat, but there’s only so much the standard of the finish can do if the product itself is little more than a tepid washout. The fact that
Infinite Icon steals so many solid ideas yet isn’t able to convincingly develop them or implement them in ways that are at least vaguely interesting hoists red flags so high above those in control of this insipid release they’re visible from space. Not having a unique artistic voice is a debilitating handicap for a pop record but not necessarily a killer, should the quality of the individual facets be solid in practice. As far as this album is concerned, though, so tonedeaf is the content to current trends, attitude and style that the release becomes fascinating to experience. It’s borderline painful in its blandness, but also near-functional without *quite* getting over even that speedbump. This makes
Infinite Icon something of a marvel. It doesn’t do anything especially well, but there’s a heart beating faintly somewhere at its core, and that has to count for something. In a line; twee dance music for entrepreneurial soccer moms. Flat Summer’s here baby!
