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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=90TT0596>
<title>
Mar. 05, 1990: Two Scoops Of Vanilli
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Mar. 05, 1990 Gossip
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
MUSIC, Page 69
Two Scoops of Vanilli
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Chart busting with a pair of pretty guys from Europop
</p>
<p>By Jay Cocks--With reporting by Denise Worrell/Los Angeles
</p>
<p> Unheard of. Milli Vanilli, a dance-music duo that sounds
like Alvin and the Chipmunks and speaks English like the two
Teutonic muscleheads on Saturday Night Live, has done something
boggling. The group, scorned by critics and adored by clubgoers
and devotees of MTV, has scored three No. 1 singles off its
debut album, Girl You Know It's True. It has also sold 10
million copies worldwide (7 million in the U.S.), put together
a video compilation of its greatest hits that sold 100,000
copies in a month, and copped three American Music Awards in
January. Last week the Millis strutted their stuff on the
Grammys and boogied off with the Best New Artist award. But
it's those singles, those best-selling singles. The current
entry, All or Nothing, is soaring high too. Unheard of.
</p>
<p> Alas, Milli Vanilli is also heard from. "Musically, we are
more talented than any Bob Dylan," announces Robert Pilatus,
24, with very little prodding. "Musically, we are more talented
than Paul McCartney. Mick Jagger, his lines are not clear. He
don't know how he should produce a sound. I'm the new modern
rock 'n' roll. I'm the new Elvis." His (often silent) partner,
Fabrice Morvan, 23, has his own key to success: "Rhythm, you
know."
</p>
<p> Thanks, boys. Perhaps some of that abrasiveness comes from
youth. But more of it may be a way of combatting the pasting
that Milli Vanilli has received from such precincts of rock
traditionalism as Rolling Stone (Worst Album and Worst Band--1989 Critics' Picks Poll). Rockers, of course, hardly mess at
all with dance music, which is all right with the Millis. "We
have only gotten bigger and bigger," says Pilatus about all the
flak. "It just makes me more aggressive, and if I get
aggressive, I get better. If I get better, it's worse for you."
</p>
<p> How much worse than the Millis can things get? Their
lighter-than-airhead lyrics and freeze-dried hip-hop rhythms
combine pop and pap in tunes for instant consumption and rapid
oblivion. Pilatus, the son of a German striptease dancer and
an American soldier, was raised in Munich by an adoptive
family. Morvan was born in Paris ("My father installed the air
conditioning; my mother was a chemical biologist"). They hooked
up in 1985, when both were in Los Angeles.
</p>
<p> The two are products of the slick tradition of Europop that
combines street sounds (usually American, like rap and house
music) with disco glitz. The result is a kind of musical
fashion show in which the look is as seminal as the sound, the
moves more decisive than meaning. The Millis appear in their
videos snazzily dressed, or half-dressed ("Our clothes style
is to go for fashion"), whirling like cotton candy around a
spool, executing dance maneuvers that fall a bit short of def.
They are musical mannequins, modeling, selling and finally
buying their own line.
</p>
<p> Milli Vanilli is, as Pilatus says, "just a fantasy name,"
and their whole success is a kind of fairy tale, a musical
fable for this uncertain transitional time in rock. The Millis
go down easy, and easy, for the moment, looks like enough. This
is not to suggest, however, that the Millis are unaware of
their social impact. "Like a friend of mine went to Africa,"
Pilatus reports. "And there was no soap and no Coke. But there
was Milli Vanilli."
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>