Hippo Manchester
December 15, 2005


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CD Reviews: Madonna, Confessions On A Dance Floor

Warner Bros., 2005


This winter will be filled with sure-to-be-disastrous releases from pop artists like Lindsey Lohan, Eminem and Jamie Foxx but Madonna was the first to kick off the holiday season with a fiery train wreck called Confessions On A Dance Floor.

It’s obvious that Madonna (aka Esther as of last year) has been frequenting European dance clubs for the last few years thinking that the Euro-Techno is still cool. In reality, it went out with Kylie Minogue’s Fever and any faith held in western Europe’s taste in music. After my third attempt to wade through the flaming wreckage of Confessions On A Dance Floor, it became apparent that aside from Spike Stent’s clean production there are no survivors here.

If you make it past the French speak of “Sorry” and the religious undercurrents of “Future Lover,” surely “I Love New York” will have you thinking that Madonna is actively damaging to society as.  “If you don’t like my attitude then you can F off/ just go to Texas/ isn’t that where they golf?”  What?

At least it’s comforting to know that even Madonna’s husband and British director Guy Ritchie thought it was fit for a toilet. The glory days are gone, Madge Why can’t you confess that on a dance floor?

— Dan Brian