After the sleaze and frenzy of the "Erotic" album /"Sex" book, Madonna managed to wrangle her angry vagina back into her skirt and released the mediocre and safe "I'll Remember" in what appeared to be an attempt to wipe the debacle from the bottom of her shoe. "I'll Remember" quickly jumped up to #2 on the big chart, behind the even more forgettable "I Swear" by All 4 One, and all seemed to be righted, yet kinda dull, in Madonnaland.
Hearing of an upcoming album release, I couldn't help but imagine amusingly awful scenarios; one favorite involved a disastrous attempt at heavy metal with an overblown video where she would bite Ozzy Osbourne's head off while being ridden by a mule.
And I call myself a fan...
Little did I know that she'd head off of the dance floor with two of the better (i.e. real) items from "Erotic", "Bad Girl" and "Rain", and make an album that not only melted in your mouth but didn't require a bottle of Quell and fine tooth comb to enjoy. "Bedtime Story" tossed aside the cold and sterile fetishism of "Erotic"/"Sex" and pumped blood into an organ that many feared Madonna had misplaced amongst her condoms and poppers. Warm and embracing, with heart as well as brains, you're invited into a bedroom but it's only for some decent conversation, honest reflection, and maybe a little cuddling: a grown up slumber party for folks who have some sorting-out to do. A friend once described it as "creamy" and that's the closest anyone's been able to get to an apt description of how it sounds to me.
Other than the heavenly "Take A Bow" - which we will leave for another time , "Inside Of Me" is the highlight of the album. Without so much as a glance at the possible double entrendre of the title, "Inside of Me" contemplates the lingering effect of loss and the simple comforts that can be found in remembering the smallest detail of what is no longer there. With a smooth jeep groove that periodically stutters like a strong shake of the head one sometimes needs to keep self pitying thoughts at bay, "Inside Of Me" places you inside the struggle to find a new you in being alone. It could be about a former lover, a best friend, or even a pet, and it's that ambiguity that made me fall in love with Madonna all over again. By refraining from telling us to get hard or to mourn the untimely death of an AIDS victim, and/or to become intellectualized by - but not intimate with - the nether regions of a woman we'd never even met, those that still cared to listen could get closer to an artist without the constraint of artful and angry posturing.
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