Nicks’ ‘Dreams’ pretends to be pop

(Noise of man searching for wiener dog’s balls.) “As I suspected. In Your Dreams has already been fixed.”

(Sound of man gasping in surprise.) Oh Christ. I didn’t notice you there. Ahem … Oh this, this is nothing. Stevie Nicks’ In Your Dreams and I were just playing a game. We made it up. It’s called, ‘Knifey-Fetchy-Fetch-Knife.’ She loves it. (Sound of man throwing kitchen knife, and knife sticking into grass on the lawn. Then silence.)

(Silence broken by dog snoring through drooling lips – and farting).

Fine. You caught me hating a Stevie Nick’s album. So excuse me if I’m still in shock. Nicks once pumped out top 50 hits faster than a Mormon octo-mom makes babies (at least in theory). This is Nick’s first album of original music released in a decade. The album’s pre-released single, “Secret Love” sounded promising. I was so excited. But –but, (sound of man sobbing uncontrollably), I hate it because I wanted to love it.

In Your Dreams could have been amazing. Songs like “Ghosts Are Gone” open with excruciating promise. You hold faith. But the seconds tick by. Then a minute. Then two. I imagine the disappointment is comparable to a five-minutes deceased Catholic realizing that the Pope was just a straight-up schizophrenic.

Most of the album’s songs move like obese wiener dogs gliding across linoleum for the first time. They experience an instant of paradise. They sail, weightless for a moment. But the linoleum ends. They hit the carpet like brown chode-shaped torpedoes. And paradise dead-stops.

In Your Dreams pretends to be 21st century pop. And it might be … in your nightmares (I had to say it. Don’t boo me). Most of the songs last about six minutes (which is twice the length of your average pop song). They build with so much promise, and then shit the bed. Not just once, not twice, but over and over again.

The album’s genre has more in common with progressive rock than it does with pop. In Your Dreams shares prog-rock’s long song durations and uncommon instrumental transitions. But In Your Dreams’ tunes are slow and rambling, while great progressive rock is fast, sharp and unpredictable.
Nicks just left her album on the burner too long. Her newer inspirations, such as The White Stripes, are still dated. She grips to classic love ballads and grunge minimalism. But she never joins this century.

Put simply, Nicks goes together with current music like hot cocoa and mellow marsh tribe people. The indigenous marsh people would not have a fucking clue what hot cocoa was if you showed it to them. They would experience extreme shock. But they would not react by killing you (marsh people are renowned for their mellow nature). They would simply pretend the cocoa did not exist. Problem solved.

So maybe, Stevie Nicks thinks that In Your Dreams is modern pop. For her, maybe the past ten years never happened. Maybe just … let her be. I offer no mellow-reaction guarantee if you inform her otherwise.

In Your Dreams
Stevie Nicks
Reprise Records, A Worner Music Group Company
Grade: B –