As VanityFair.com’s lead Beyoncé correspondent Josh Duboff wrote this morning, Mrs. Carter may have pulled off one of the most covert operations in music history by dropping a fully-fleshed surprise album (with accompanying music videos) at the stroke of midnight. Not only was it an unprecedented move for the industry, but especially one for Beyoncé, who has showed no qualms in the past about, say, baiting her fan base with a six-second video clip teaserfor what would turn out to be an extended Pepsi commercial. (And as Mr. Beyoncé showed us earlier this year with Magna Carta Holy Grail’s Samsung distribution deal, the Knowles-Carter household isn’t exactly opposed to weirdly extravagant, multi-platform release strategies either.) So when Beyoncé—the $50 million Pepsi spokeswoman who is not above shilling the world’s lesser cola to her fans—suddenly (and we admit, ingeniously) drops a surprise album and claims that she wants to give fans a gift directly (a gift, that in spite of the description, still costs $15.99), cutting out the middle man, your blogger is a tad suspicious.
Regardless of where you and I fall on the spectrum of Beyoncé appreciation though, we have got to respect the covertness of her latest musical coming-out. After all, we live in an era when our stars can barely send an email or run an errand without being hacked, paparazzi attacked, or sold out by a confidante to the highest tabloid bidder. For once, TMZ did not even manage to scoop this story through its smarmy thug tactics, even though Beyoncé actually included a TMZ employee in one of her videos. (Hat tip to both Bey and Sandra Bullock, with that whole surprise adoption thing, for being perhaps the only two stars to defeat TMZ.)
But just how did camp Beyoncé pull off the epic album release—which reportedly resulted in 80,000 downloads in its first three hours in spite of no promotion whatsoever? Ahead some clues about how the Grammy winner was able to pull off her sneaky album release:
While sadly little else is known about the covert operation, we imagine that disposable cell phones, disguises, secret locations, and code words were used to execute this plan with government-level secrecy. We wonder whether Julian Asssange—hacker extraordinaire—ever attempted to crack Beyoncé’s e-mail system. (Maybe he did, and was so delighted by the idea of a surprise album and the giddy joy that it would give her fanbase that, for once, he opted to play along with the secret.) Whatever it was, and whatever it entailed, we can only do one thing now that the Beyoncé album is a secret no longer: pray that the plot is milked for all of its entertainment potential in a forthcoming HBO documentary.
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