On paper, Rick Astley’s voice should make us feel as warm and cozy as a night by the campfire with a playlist of Christmas songs, Maroon 5 and the laughter of youths (or DMX if you draw serenity from intensity).
Unfortunately, after a generation of cyber trolls “Rickrolling” unassuming internet users by placing Astley’s 1987 No. 1 hit “Never Gonna Give You Up” in place of a video that the viewer intended to watch (like anything by Beyoncé or Weird Al or all the other members of music’s Mt. Rushmore), the sound of Astley’s voice and appearance of his cherubic mug is now the internet equivalent of having a tooth yanked sans the anesthesia.
Apple music is aware of this fact, mainly because the streaming service is run by employees who have all been alive during some point of the 21st Century. So, in the “iTunes Review” section for the brand new United States and Canada release of Astley’s eighth studio album, 50, the project description seeks to assuage the rightfully skeptical and/or paranoid listener.
“No trendy gimmicks, no clickbait, just Rick’s unique voice pouring forth,” states the review in an effective counter to anti-Astley preconceived heresy.
With my apprehension alleviated, I took the plunge into Rick’s 12-track pool of audial rejuvenation as Saturday afternoon gloom had raindrops slapping my apartment’s living room window like Paul Rudd does the bass.
It took just one track, the album’s “Keep Singing” opener, for me to forget that Rick is the source of at least one million fist-through-laptop-screen tragedies and instead appreciate him as a beacon of unrelenting soul-aid.
“Keep singing, woah, I keep singing,” belted Astley as a determination-fueled smile crept its way onto my jovial face. “Praising to the heavens with my voice ringing.”
Astley fails to let momentum fade, remembering those who make life worth it on “Angels on My Side” before reminding the cynical listener to “Wish Away” and take advantage of a star-filled universe. Stepping away from the ballad and flexing his versatility, Astley’s “This Old House” feels cool enough to warrant a performance fueled by fog machines and Rick’s rocking expensive Ray-Bans indoors.
And if for some reason any sort of worry, stress or anxiety remains lodged in your brain by the album’s sixth song, “Dance” offers advice on par with the nation’s most elite therapists.
“All you gotta do is dance, pick your feet up,” instructs Astley in a display of medical prowess. “All you gotta do is dance, feel the beat, love.”
Honestly, it’s impossible not to feel the beat of the album, which stays heart-warming all the way through to its “Let It Be Tonight” closer. All humor-based takes aside, 50 is a perennially pleasant listen that provides an ideal soundtrack for weekend chores and antidote to the poorest of moods. While Astley will most likely never be able to shake the piercing claws of viral meme-ery, 50 is a validation of the singer’s musical chops.
But what if this album doesn’t exist and you’ve been the subject of the first Rickroll in journalism hist—
I’ll stop now.
2.5/4 Shells
