#decade-hits

#decade-hits

"'The Life of a Showgirl' was really inspired by the energy that I felt like looking into crowds and seeing you guys every single night. This album probably also feels very happy and confident and free because that's the way that I get to feel every single day of my life because of my fiancé, who's here tonight."

'We had a few songs that we were like, 'These are really good, these are genius, and we are the Spice Girls slash Destiny's Child,' said singer Ayden Mayeri in the documentary, on which she served as director.

House of Balloons is made up of juxtaposing elements that seem as though they would collide in anyone else's hands, but in The Weeknd's, they blend so seamlessly you would think they were always meant to be together. The Toronto artist born Abel Tesfaye was well aware that sex and drugs usually make a good team with rock 'n' roll. With House of Balloons, The Weeknd essentially said hold the rock 'n' roll - allow me to fold R&B into the mix.

R&B in the 21st century has been in a constant state of flux, tugged between safe traditionalism and blurry attempts at progression. For the last decade-plus that "progression" has seen R&B music become more indebted to trap records and the moody atmospherics of alternative bands like Radiohead, Coldplay, or My Bloody Valentine.

For free, you could play on the Disney website (now miraculously semi-intact here) and take a virtual tour through Lizzie McGuire's closet. Much like Lizzie herself, you too could build a wardrobe of the most radioactively insane outfits. Floral-print midi skirt and leopard-print top. Pink tank top with a tie-dye heart and a teeny denim skirt with a brown fringe belt. Spiky half-updo with a purple headband. A red purse with a photo of a bunch of dogs on it. (Lizzie did not have a dog.)

I do not turn to celebrities for trenchant political takes or honestly really expect them to know what's actually going on in the news. However, I also think that most good art engages with the world in which it's being created, and now that we're in good-art-naming season (aka awards season), ignoring that world is privileged at best and evil at worst.

The only song here that really matters. Written just hours after the murder of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis and released a few days later, Springsteen names names (looking at you, Stephen Miller and Kristi Noem) and speaks bold, specific truth. With a title that recalls his own impactful Streets of Philadelphia, a melody reminiscent of Bob Dylan, and an urgency not felt since Neil Young's Ohio, it may not be groundbreaking musically, but Streets of Minneapolis is exactly what we need right now.

The song reflects on two contrasting visions. In the first verse, he looks back on his childhood growing up female and compares it to living in a dream. Then, after a stirring bridge, he revisits the same reflective structure and ponders his childhood growing up as a boy: "When I was a little boy I wanted to be real/ I wanted to feel all of the things my body wanted me to feel," he sings.

I remember adults coming up to me and saying, 'Ohhh, Medeiros! Like Glenn Medeiros, the guy who sang that love song!' And then they start singing it in front of me," Lyric tells TODAY.com. "Older women would come up to me and say, 'Oh, he was a heartthrob!'