A couple of days ago, I was sitting in Hinman Dining Hall talking with a very close friend of mine. Music is a frequent topic of conversation between us, and he asked me if I had seen the Malcolm Todd cover of Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own.”
“Yes, what did you think?” I asked him, mentally preparing to agree with him about the abject awfulness of the cover and how Todd completely missed the mark on what makes the song one of the best pop songs of all time.
“I loved it,” he said. “I thought it was better than the original.”
My jaw dropped. My surprise and shock inspired me to write this very article. If you are the aforementioned friend, with love, you are incredibly wrong.
I, of course, know that music is subjective, that one person’s favorite song is another person’s least favorite. I know that no matter how hard I try, I can never convince someone to hear a song differently. But I hope that this article will at least help others — and maybe my friend — understand what makes Robyn’s song a classic, and what makes Malcolm Todd’s cover fail, at least in my opinion.
Robyn is a Swedish singer and songwriter whose music I particularly enjoy for balancing upbeat melodies with melancholic lyrics. No song of hers, and, in my opinion, no song by anyone, does this balancing act better than “Dancing On My Own.”
“Dancing On My Own” is, at its face, a cathartic disco ballad that follows a woman in a club as she watches the man she loves dance with someone else.
But the song’s true beauty lies in the contrast between the party-like, disco-style music and the devastating lyrics. “Dancing On My Own” features lines like, “It’s a big, black sky over my town,” “I’m all messed up, I’m so outta line” and “I’m right over here/Why can’t you see me?” Hard-hitting lyrics like this are littered throughout this monumental song, but the music doesn’t let the listener get bogged down in the singer’s sadness.
The instrumentation places the listener squarely in Robyn’s headspace: the synths and electropop production transport us to the club, while the lyrics sneak into our psyche, helping us understand the true sadness behind the song. These two aspects never feel in conflict — rather, they are in harmony — the sadness exists regardless of context. Despite this sadness, by the end of the song, an effortless musical build-up flips the key lyric on its head. “I’ll keep dancing on my own” is transformed from a pitiful cry of a scorned woman to an empowering mantra of independence.
Now what does Malcolm Todd fail at? I am a big fan of covers, and I appreciate when an artist takes a different approach to a song. There is a cover of Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” by Iranian singer Leila Forouhar that I think everyone should listen to. But when an artist does a cover, I need them to do either something new and interesting — maybe change the genre in a drastic and interesting way — or stay true to what makes the song special.
Malcolm Todd does neither. His cover is a sad-boy-with-a-guitar “indieslop” version of Robyn’s seminal hit, in the style of Callum Scott’s cover of “Dancing On My Own,” which many people still unfortunately believe is the original. The beauty of the tension between the music and lyrics that makes the original so poignant is completely lost.
The male covers of this song seem to lose what makes “Dancing On My Own” so gorgeous: the triumphant moment of a woman singing about overcoming heartbreak and spinning that deep sadness into freedom.
Additionally, the genre change isn’t interesting or drastic — it just sounds slow and lazy, and Todd does nothing new or interesting with the material he is adapting. I do enjoy Malcolm Todd’s music, and thought his most recent album was wonderful, but I think this cover was a big miss for him.
The worst part, though, is that this was for a Gap advertisement. This cover is peddled to us as part of a “Denim On My Own” campaign. Todd’s cover comes across as a “corporate-slop” version of a classic. What makes Robyn’s song so unique is now repackaged and sold as what a marketing team thought today’s audiences would want to hear. As a result, the artistry is stripped from “Dancing On My Own,” and what is left is a soulless cover used to sell a pair of pants.
No matter the context, I will defend Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own,” and I hope this article convinces some readers — especially my friend who inspired this piece — to listen to it at least one more time. Listen with open ears and try to internalize the beauty, tension and catharsis in Robyn’s original. But even if no one else agrees, I’ll just keep dancing on my own.
Adin Linden is a junior majoring in English.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.