Smokey Robinson is a symptom of a wider sickness affecting soft-pop artists. Light entertainment offers a necessary escapism from the desperate real world and taxing experimental work. We turn to the likes of Tom Jones or Billy Joel not for deeper readings on the world around us, but for welcomingly catchy, albeit shallow moments. Not every song or album must have the depths of the Atlantic to win us over. But they must still offer more than a puddle of mud to drink from. What the World Needs Now offers the turgid, discomforting puddle for all to slurp from, including those who are surprised Robinson is still an active artist. At eighty-five and with nothing to say or do, what the world needs now is for Robinson to stop wasting space on the infinite storage annals of Spotify. Light entertainment at its worst is what he offers.
At its best, What the World Needs Now is a chance to revisit the many songs Robinson claims to have written. Lighter than light funk and soul adaptations are what he brings to a listener. A crumb brushed from the table up high. In trying to connect with the real world, Robinson has revealed he lives in a broken-down empire of TV antennas and Cadillac convertibles. Idle references to wealth and fame, but forty years out of date. Robinson lives in a mansion untouched by the modern world. He may not have seen Falling Down, the Michael Douglas-starring feature about an office worker who finally snaps at the world around him. Perhaps Robinson would find a passionate hate for the modern day had he not been encased in some 1980s vortex opened in his kitchen. What the World Needs Now is a very lazy listen, a collection of songs which call for us to be thankful for what we have.
That is a solid practice, though it is difficult advice to take from a man who likely has, because of his decades of work, more money than some countries. A horrid cover of What a Wonderful World shares just how out of touch Robinson is. His voice has survived decades, and yet its use is ugly. Peace and unity are placeholders for Robinson, not an emotive or achievable goal. They are just pieces of furniture, to be shuffled as he sees fit in this contemptible conquest for inspiring the light entertainment listener. An eighty-five-year-old performer perhaps gets a free pass to be out of touch with the experiences of those who still listen in, which, judging by streaming numbers, is not that many, but this collection of covers is a damnable experience. Three Little Birds has never sounded so lifeless. Robinson claims to have a message for us, but read between the lines and he seems to hold scorn for those he sings to.
While not expecting some call to arms and revolutionary step from Robinson, it would have been at least socially acceptable to hear him consider the world around him. What the World Needs Now is, in fact, what Robinson needs now. New cutlery or a fresh coat of paint on his car, is what he wants. Beyond the desperately mundane instrumentals is an ever-flat and unfortunate set of songs. Far too light to hold the attention of even the blissfully ignorant. “We must let our thoughts be free,” Robinson sings on Everything is Beautiful. A shame he has none of his own. His struggles are not our struggles. Our cares are not his cares, and it makes the whole project a poisonous experience where Robinson looks down on listeners. His removal from the real world makes it impossible for these covers to continue the sincerity they were first written with. That is the error.
