GREAT APES: Locked Out of Heaven 🪽

🥚🐣

In late 2012, Bruno Mars led off his second studio album, Unorthodox Jukebox, with “Locked Out of Heaven,” a song about the euphoria of sexual intercourse whose verses tread squarely, if nimbly, on territory popularized decades prior by The Police and The Romantics, before ascending to a chorus that, at least at the time, sounded like something all its own. If that something now strikes us as a down-the-middle pop confection, that is at least in part because of Bruno Mars's devastatingly effective blitzkrieg campaign, culminating a decade ago, to remake radio in his image. When “Locked Out of Heaven” cracked the top ten of Billboard’s Hot 100, it was the ninth Mars song to do that since his debut two years prior. It became his fourth number one hit; in 2021 he scored his eighth, and in 2015 he captained, under the aegis of Mark Ronson, “Uptown Funk,” a song as culturally pervasive as Pharrell Williams’s “Happy,” minus the dreadful hangover. 

Now, please enjoy “Locked Out of Heaven” without all the bang-bang noisy drums…

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CHRIS: Yowee! That’s baby-makin’ music! Keith, while your voice clearly loves operating in Bruno Mars’s airspace (Wikipedia claims that the vocals on this track range from A3 to C5), I’m modestly surprised — shocked would be too strong a word — by your decision to ape this tune. I believe it could reasonably be called the most “uncool" entry into the G.A. taxonomy, understanding of course that coolness has as complex and fuzzy a relationship to years and dates as does the horoscope. It’s almost certainly the most…er… ardent. Widening the boundaries of our simian sanctuary is doubtless a good thing, but I’m curious, what drew you to “Locked Out of Heaven”?  

KEITH: Well, yeah, you’re not wrong about the fact that Bruno Mars can be a fairly dorky proposition. I very distinctly recall having a conversation with Mark Ronson in maybe 2011 or so in the back bar of Dokebi in Williamsburg where he reported that he was about to go into the studio with Mars. I was pretty soundly unimpressed with that first album — “Grenade,” “Just The Way You Are,” and “Talking To The Moon” continue to ruin any appetite I have when I hear them while grocery shopping. It struck me as a real career misstep for Ronno (reason number like 15 why I should not be Mark Ronson’s manager). Fortunately I kept my bad opinions to myself. Those sessions produced “Locked Out Of Heaven,” and I became a convert. That chorus. That fuckin’ chorus!

Since then, I feel like Bruno Mars has produced music that is occasionally sublime (“Finesse” really works on a guy whose taste in R&B has Bel Biv Devoe as its cornerstone) but is always at the very least professional (I’ve never listened to an actual Bruno Mars album, so this assessment pertains only to his singles; maybe the album tracks are garbage?). You get the sense that he’s a man with immaculate taste and unusually-honed songwriting skill whose primary aim is to get your aunt dancing at weddings. Which, in fact, brings me to the story of how Bruno Mars came to mind in the first place. 

Just this last Sunday, my wife and I were having brunch with a young, fashionable couple from the Brooklyn art world whose upcoming wedding we’re going to be missing because the band has tour conflicts (a booking agent’s primary job is to secretly learn when band members have must-attend events and then find shows that directly conflict with them). The conversation turned to the topic of their wedding DJ, and the bride-to-be mentioned that she had created a spreadsheet of her non-negotiable “Do Not Play” songs. As a man with skin in this game, I demanded a peek. It was full of the usual suspects. No Pharrell, no Ed Sheeran, and — much to my surprise — no Bruno Mars. Now, I totally get the Sheeran and Pharrell embargo; nobody wants to have to pay extra for the post-wedding vomit cleanup. But Bruno Mars? Yeah, the guy is a bit of a cornball, but he’s an effective cornball. I’ve never listened to it of my own volition, but if you play “Uptown Funk” at a wedding, I will  dance to it, and so will children and so will your grandma, if she can dance (if she can’t, she will tap lightly along on the table with a blissed-out expression on her face).  I kind of feel like a wedding without a Bruno Mars song is like a We Are Scientists show without “After Hours.” Yeah, it’s an obviously choice, but people spent money to be there; give them the real show!

CHRIS: Unbelievable. I recoil from the hubris. To think that you can get married, throw a party, and not play a Bruno Mars song… that sounds very dangerous to me. Greek myth is replete with lessons on the folly of pride. Phaethon, Arachne, Niobe — your Brooklyn artist friends join an estimable list of those who thought they were too good for Bruno Mars, so to speak. Indeed, their transgression is similar to that of Tantalus, who was much favored by the gods until, dubious of their supposed omniscience, he served a stew made from his own son’s flesh to a banquet hall full of supernaturals that included Zeus — I guess intending to gross-out prank them without their knowing? Anyway, the gods' mounting disgust as they politely spooned to the bottom of their stew bowls will be mirrored by the wedding guests’ swelling anguish as the evening wares on with nary a Bruno Mars track to break the tension. As with Tantalus, your friends' choice to forgo Mars music on their night of nights is an act of perverse self harm on par with killing one's son in service of a jape. 

But hey, it’s their party. 

On the subject of self harm, we should discuss Bruno Mars’s most recent appearance in the news: "Bruno Mars Has Allegedly Racked Up $50 Million In Gambling Debt At MGM.” That’s from a story that appeared two weeks ago on the website Uproxx, which cites a thing called NewsNation. The claim is that Mars, who has a multi-year residency deal with the Las Vegas MGM chain worth roughly $90 million annually, has lost $50 million gambling at the casino. MGM has denied that this is true, but I find that unpersuasive, and am confused that some media outlets’ are gullibly waving it through. For one thing, MGM has no obligation to speak truthfully on the status of gamblers’ accounts — it’s not like asking a drug dealer if they’re a cop. And if Mars does have a gambling problem, MGM is incentivized to lie about it, for several reasons. First, it gives the residency deal an unpleasant air of indentured servitude, which would probably have a devaluing effect on tickets. Second, it reminds people that gambling is bad, because you can end up owing casinos a life-destroying amount of money. 

Exhibit B is this tweet from 2019:

Exhibit C comes from “Locked Out of Heaven”’s music video, which Bruno Mars directed himself. The whole video takes place in a club where Mars and his band are playing live to a bunch of sexy sweaty people, except for a section during the second verse when Bruno and his boys are seen hanging out in the street gambling at dice:

More than a predilection, for Bruno Mars gambling is a consuming passion, one that gives his life shape and meaning. Now that he has the kind of draw that will let him play wherever he wants whenever he wants, I doubt he’ll ever spend much time away from Vegas again. 

Silk Sonic, the band Mars co-headlines with Anderson .Paak, and the only project with which he’s affiliated outside of his solo career, begins a residency at The Park MGM Las Vegas in May that runs all summer. 🤑

KEITH: I think there’s another, more generous way to frame the MGM Grand’s plan to rope Mars into this vicious cycle of “perform for millions/lose millions on gambling/perform for millions/loss millions on gambling.” You’ve noted that Bruno Mars is famed for his, uh, “enthusiasm” for games of chance. He’s been playing for years, can’t stop video shoots when they conflict with alleyway dice games etc. Well, his being down $50M *with MGM alone* suggests more than just a run of bad luck. The guy seems like a lousy gambler. He doesn’t know how to calculate odds, how to quit while he’s ahead — shit, he might not even know the *rules* of some of these games he’s playing. In any case, I’m willing to bet that he’s been leaving hefty IOUs around half the casinos in Vegas. And while some of these more unsympathetic joints like Circus Circus are gonna have unsavory means of promoting settlement (could frequent black eyes be the explanation for Bruno’s unfortunate tendency to wear extravagant sunglasses indoors?), the MGM Grand has given him a much more palatable option: to make the money back doing what he loves most (after gambling). It’s a win/win.

I’m heartened by the news that Silk Sonic is taking the residency over in short order. Surely, that must suggest that Mars is making some good ground on his debt, because that change has got to mean a substantial decrease in his personal earnings — not only does he have to split the net proceeds with Anderson .Paak. (sic), but frankly SilkSonic, despite their multiple Grammys and critical acclaim, ain’t no Bruno Mars. They have the one song, which is a fine and very popular song, with over a billion Spotify streams, but a billion Spotify steams is *standard* for Mars. He has more songs with over a billion plays than he has teeth, sadly. Surely, tickets sales for Silk Sonic’s residency will be lower, prices will be bargain-basement, seats will be given away to anyone who spends $50 at the MGM Grand Starbucks, etc. 

My point is, maybe this Silk Sonic thing is like the groundhog’s shadow: it portends an approaching end to the great Martian financial nightmare.

CHRIS: That’s a charitable read, Keith, but the facts paint a picture decidedly more bleak. It’s not that Bruno Mars has decided to ease himself into the relative comfort of a less hefty residency that his pal Anderson .Paak can help shoulder. No, he has undertaken the less hefty residency in addition to re-upping his contract with MGM for more Bruno Mars shows. Your boy Bruno has a busy summer! After Silk Sonic plays the MGM Park through the whole month of May, Mars assumes solo control of the theater in June. July is empty on the official band calendar, which I take to mean Mars will spend thirty days manically shuttling from private gig to high stakes poker table to private gig. Silk Sonic is back at the Park in August, wrapping up their residency on August 19th — Bruno Mars won’t bother packing up his guitar, though, because he starts his subsequent run of solo shows on August 20th. 

I’m not sure this is a guy relaxing into financial stability. I see “frantic.” I see “how much do you think I can get for this leopard vest on eBay?” 

KEITH: Good god, that’s grim. I’m assuming that Bruno Mars wasn’t referring to the Park Theater at the MGM Grand when he declared in “Locked Out Of Heaven”’s bridge that he longed to “stay here/spend the rest of my days here.”

Speaking of rueful word choice, can we talk about the pre-chorus? The godawful line “your sex takes me to paradise” kinda made me regret having chosen to cover the song, even as I sang it. Who talks like that? Who describes sex with someone as “your sex?” Is that a thing anyone says in real life?  Because knuckleheads are always using that construction in songs. “Your sex is on fire,” Caleb Followill said, with a straight face. Even a songwriter of George Michael’s unimpeachable prowess fell into this verbal tarpit with “I Want Your Sex.” What gives?  It’s simultaneously grotesquely lascivious and prudish. “I heard that Jeff had your sex the other day. You two getting married now, or what?”

Chris, have you, after a night of especially-satisfying coupling, ever turned to your partner and crowed, “Thanks for your sex. It’s was great stuff, your sex was.” Admit it now.

Also I truly loathe that he says that his partner’s sex takes him to paradise “and it shows.” I don’t even wanna know how it’s showing, what part of him is showing it so obviously.

CHRIS: You’re right, that’s a deeply awkward turn of phrase, and its popularity in song is mystifying. The only incitement I see reality offering these songwriters is “the sex,” as in, “That’s great that you two share the same taste in Jack Johnson, but how’s the sex? Surely not great!” 

My personal approach, to answer your question, is to avoid any discussion at all of the/your/that sex. Some things should never be spoken of, Keith! Even in whispers! I find “Locked Out of Heaven,” to be perfectly frank, nauseating at a lyrical level. Yes, okay, sometimes it’s fine to write or sing about sex, but the lack of urbanity on display here kinda makes me wonder if Bruno Mars, when he wrote it, was in the early days of his first sexual relationship. Is that totally improbable? I mean he had been very famous for a little over a year, so you have to imagine he had been subject to numerous overtures, but maybe the guy was shy? Here’s a conversation I imagine happening in the studio when they were working on “Locked Out of Heaven”:

Bruno Mars – Okay, everybody. Check this out… [reads the lyrics to “Locked Out of Heaven” aloud]

One of the 7 other guys who worked on the song – “Oh, so you finally got laid, huh, Bruno?”

Bruno Mars – [hysterical laughter]

Songwriter 4 – “My guy!”

Songwriter 2 – “Let’s gooooo!”

Producer 3 – “Congrats B-Man!”

Bruno Mars – [continues to giggle uncontrollably]

It also just occurred to me that we’re posting this cover on Easter Sunday, which lends the lyrics special repugnance. Or maybe the resulting satirical emphasis is just what this song needs to ratchet its sophistication score past “teenage"? 

KEITH: Well, yeah. I guess in that case, the song is actually perfect for a wedding — to be played just before the bride and groom both have sex for the very first time. 

For you to answer in the Comments…

1. What songs would you (or did you) forbid your wedding DJ to play?

2. Can you think of any top ten hits with lyrics more prurient than “Locked Out of Heaven”’s?

3. How much gambling debt do you figure Bruno Mars is carrying right now? (Include all debts, whether personal or owed to institutions like casinos and bookies.)

May you successfully budge any boulders blocking the entrance to your cave.

💒,

Chris(t) & Ke(nn)ith