No, she will likely never reap a credibility boost like Ryan Adams covering an entire album (as he did with Taylor Swift’s 1989); Perry is too broad, too kooky, too loveable. But for all the doe-eyed press shots and wacky costumery, she is a grown-ass woman, a real boss lady. Extroverted, flashy, idealistic: The Santa-Barbara-born singer is everything contemporary indie rock is not. For that, we must thank her.
Unlike her ex-friend T. Swift, Perry never enjoyed the ironic embrace of hipsters.
Remember that bombastic video for “Bad Blood”? In it, undercover mean girl Swift assembled her celebrity squad to ice Perry out for the alleged offense of stealing backup dancers. But if living well is the best revenge, Katy Perry won the long game by painting with the boldest colors on the biggest canvases. From playing halftime at the Super Bowl to penning the 2016 Olympic theme, Perry somehow makes careerism and commercialism look charming, innocent even.
Unimaginable as it seems, Katy Perry was once an unknown commodity. Raised in a restrictive Pentecostal home, she completed her GED at age 15. No wonder she performs those self-help sing-a-longs with such absolute conviction. Like fellow religious escapees Kings Of Leon, the stage became her sanctuary. Between record deals, she played The Hotel Café, Hollywood venue of choice for legions of aspiring singer/songwriters. She took her lumps with the other upstarts, but poise and pipes soon separated Perry from the pack.
The Day-Glo blast of Teenage Dream and its accompanying tour may have killed any chance at establishing Katy as a grassroots artist, but the album stands up as a front to back hook-filled delight. Unconcerned with subtlety, nearly every number was an arena-pop lighter anthem. And even a deep cut like “Peacock” was a hell of a lot more memorable than anything Foals or Sleigh Bells put out that year.
