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Cover of the single "Vamos a Marte": Helene Fischer with duet partner Luis Fonsi separated by a frosted glass pane
Photo:
- / dpa
In terms of content, this song tells of a vacation flirt in the south, which leads to the desired destination after just 45 seconds.
And this goal, the most beautiful thing in the world, is then euphorically celebrated for three minutes.
Man and woman, united in heat and a hard rhythm, planetary imagery, everything very physical, plus sobbed evocations of the common cause.
All pleasure wants eternity, wants deep, deep eternity.
Of course, Helene Fischer's new song, her first in a few years, will be a hit.
Schlager is just the German word for it, and the protagonist doesn’t dwell on its mendacious longing.
The story begins when she sees him, already flattered by a Hispanic guitar.
They look at each other, "a little too long", and his gaze says "vamos a bailar, bebé", come dance, little one!
Does he really mean dancing by dancing, the glowy-eyed man?
This suspicion is quickly dispelled: "I can see what you mean in your eyes!"
She comes to him in a romantic timidity with the moon, still hesitant to appear, but the guy wants more, wants to go to Mars.
He even speaks it out, but in Spanish: “Let's do it my way!
And if you only knew what I want to do with you! "
The guy is none other than Luis Fonsi, whose "Despacito" 2017 was
the
summer hit.
And that, according to the will of Helene Fischer, her copywriters, composers, producers, the record company and RTL, should also be »Vamos a Marte«, namely, as the press text says, »the biggest and most beautiful summer hit we have«.
In the coming weeks and months we will hear him in a loop on Hitradio and in the supermarket, hummed in the queue at the check-in counter to Mallorca - and very soon in our nightmares too.
Which is because we don't just "own" this hit.
As it should be for the introduction of a product of international standing, it will be knocked on our ears according to all the rules of PR art.
The video premiered on Friday almost simultaneously on RTL, Vox, RTLplus, Super RTL and, because it's just news, on NTV.
Such coverage is usually only known from military invasions.
Violà, that's one.
Today, pop only finds its audience on a grand scale when it is staged as an event. With countdown, artificial scarcity and an associated story. In the case of Helene Fischer, the situation is that she has "reinvented" herself over the past few years - which is not true. She has diversified, brooded over expansion plans and perfected a concept that could already be seen at her concerts or the "Helene Fischer Show".
By then, Fischer was no longer just a fisherman. She is the master of ceremonies of her own variety shows, part “Cirque du Solei”, part fitness studio, part musical version of Parship - with guests from Howard Carpendale to Mark Forster, from Nick Carter to a Lebanese dance group to, of course, Luis Fonsi from Puerto Rico . Robbie Williams was always announced, but never came. That should change now.
The lively bang music of "Vamos a Marte" is designed as an entrée - one could also say: crowbar - for the global market.
Fischer effortlessly elevates the secret brand essence of the German hit, the sweaty and dizzying encirclement of the sexual, to an international level.
And suddenly it sounds like the soundtrack to a hen party that could not only take place in Bottrop, but also in Seoul or Cape Town.
However, no "merger" with Luis Fonsi and no bilingualism are sufficient for such an effect.
The product has to be right.
And it does.
The single sounds like everything that is successful everywhere.
After 45 seconds, this stomping and hopping starts early enough, as you know it from the dance floor.
Often enough, the sufficiently watered down chorus is hammered into the synapses with this beat.
The voices cheer each other professionally enough with urgency suitable for ESC.
Neoliberal flawlessness, seasoned with a slightly exotic but easily digestible pinch of Latin Pop.
The video initially shows Fischer in futuristic spaceship solitude, Fonsi in a cheerful beach bar.
First separated by a pane of frosted glass ("Only millimeters between us, I have no choice, I follow your signal, oh!"), They then come together for the said dance: "You love my body, no words ... can." Describe what I feel about you! «.
It is even old-fashioned enough, here heterosexual desire is staged by mutual consent - with the "exotic" lover being responsible for the ornate languor, the German "tourist" vocalizing the triumphant athleticism.
In the end, it is she who transforms his language, not the other way around.
She does it her way anyway, not his.