Almost two years ago, Adele released her second album, 21. Coming three years almost to the day after her debut album, 19, it’s a good job the girl’s not relying on her mathematic skills to earn a wage.
Nor her creative, imaginative qualities, come to that.
But somehow I don’t think Adele will care none too much about the continuity errors and can probably afford the odd accountant or two, 21 having now sold over 25,000,000 copies worldwide.
Adele’s 21 #5 on all-time best-selling UK album chart
Much of the album’s success can be attributed to its mammoth stay in the UK’s Top 40 album chart. This weekend’s chart marks the first time the album has not been present since it was released on the 19th January, 2011. Thank feck for that.
Needless to say, 21 occupied the number one position in all of the major European, US and Australasian charts along the way. No wonder, then, that the whole world is so feckin’ miserable these days.
Mind you, it is nestling just outside at 42 and, unlike in the old days of Dave Lee Travis, Mike Read, David ‘Kid’ Jenson and his good friend Jimmy Saville, i.e. when your record was on the way down, it was on the way out no matter what, it wouldn’t surprise me if Adele’s dreary compilation of shite returned gift-wrapped in time for Christmas.
Now that Adele’s in love, let’s hope ‘23‘ will be a bit less maudlin
I’ve absolutely nothing against the girl personally and her voice is genuinely awesome. But it has to be said that the reason, in my opinion, that the album was almost entirely about ‘lost and unrequited love’ had its roots deeply buried in the fact that Adele was a whole lot more of a woman then the one we see before us today.
True, Adele has trimmed a little since the millions flooding her bank account have helped quash the desire for comfort food in lieu of broken hearts. And, it may or may not be a coincidence that, since the zeros have been elongating her balance, unrequited love has been replaced by a long-term fella and subsequent baby boy last month.
Let’s hope the next album, surely entitled 23 (and in three years from now), will be a little less morbid and not everyone’s first choice for “the album most likely to contain a song I’d like played at my funeral.”