Some Songs Considered - Posts Tagged '2006'

March 1, 2010

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“Your Blood” – Destroyer
(Words/music: Dan Bejar, available on Destroyer’s Rubies, Merge Records 2006)

To those of you who don’t know Dan Bejar’s music, I’ll tell you that this song sounds a lot different than “‘Your Blood’ by Destroyer” might have sounded were I to describe the song based solely on the two names involved. Somehow, I imagine Bejar likes that sort of misdirection; his songs defy typical genre labels, calling for the even less-telling adjectives “quirky” and “eccentric.” Whether composing mini pop-suites complete with MIDI synthesizers or twisting the pure pop of the New Pornographers a couple times each album (and his contributions are always among my favorites), Bejar has a way of making these less-than-likely decisions sound catchy. Against whatever odds one might place on a pop song successfully referencing several of Camus’ works, Bejar succeeds.

“Your Blood” may as well be called “The Freewheeling Dan Bejar,” as it glides across a crisp shuffle with tinkling piano and bluesy guitar fills. I imagine Bejar, complete with his giant poof of hair, walking down the same cold Greenwich Village street captured in that Dylan album, quietly singing along to his companion in that tunefully nasally tone he uses so well on this track. The voice merits a Dylan comparison not because he specifically sounds like Dylan (he doesn’t to me at least) but because it may put some off initially. However, just like Dylan, Bejar knows how to use his vocal capacity – not to sing arias, but rather to open a valve and let his subconscious mind flow freely, tangling itself with these dense melodic threads. Usually, it’s these melodic knots that make Bejar’s songs so interesting, but here all of the threads braid together naturally. Where some of his other songs require some patience, “Your Blood” satisfies immediately. Sure, there are different sounds to appreciate each time (recently it’s the burst of guitar accompanying the “Tabitha takes another stab” line), but few of his songs are both immediately and continually gratifying.

More on Destroyer: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

February 19, 2010

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“Wolf Like Me” – TV on the Radio
(Words/music: Tunde Adebimpe, available on Return to Cookie Mountain, 4AD 2006)

Not being the biggest TV on the Radio devotee (for no specific reason, I just never fell in love with any of their records), I’ll qualify the following as an over-generalization: the band’s most successful tracks create a very specific soundscape. As much as the elastic vocals are exciting, my ears inevitably go back to listening to the instrumentation behind the singing. This probably explains why my appreciation of the band stalls at the “admiration from afar” stage, but my emotional attachment to their music begins and ends with the mood the song crafts.

Taking a step back from that statement for a minute, it’s no wonder why “Wolf Like Me” stands out the most. From the moment that first fuzzy chord joins the pounding drums, “Wolf Like Me” captures the anxiety of pursuit. Whether it’s the tension in the chords, the relentless drums, or the way the vocals overlap at times, the song’s “A” section feels unrelenting and constantly in pursuit. Even a few years later, I haven’t had figured out the slower “B” section – whether it’s a momentary relief from the predator, the part in the nature video where the prey is caught and the camera slips into slo-mo, or just a different hallucination – aside from the way it contrasts the beginning of the song in its intensity. The vocals remain the same yet the rest of the song slows down around it. When the song picks back up for the ending just as it catches its breath, the same anxiety resumes. Appropriately, the lines that stand out to me are the ones that fit in with this sense of anxiety – “my mind’s aflame,” “bloodlust tanks,” “we’re howling forever.” If music often serves to enhance the lyrics, these words feel like the natural extension of the music.

More on TV on the Radio: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: tv on the radio | 2006 | 2000s | 4AD |

February 16, 2010

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“The Crane Wife 3” – The Decemberists
(Words/music: Colin Meloy, available on The Crane Wife, Capitol 2006)

I’ve realized that loving songs shares a lot with romantic love. This probably says more about my own relationship with music than it does about love itself (that sound you’re hearing is the simultaneous nodding of every woman with whom I’ve been involved), but it makes sense given I spent the bulk of my teenage dating years devouring records. My point is that just like meeting someone, songs have their initial obvious charms. In this case, it might be a memorable lyric or a particularly exciting bridge or even just a really catchy melody. However, there are lots of clever lines, stunning bridges, and catchy melodies out there; the songs I end up loving reveal different aspects of itself over time. What was once a catchy song ends up being one with an offbeat chord progression or interesting instrument deep in the mix.

Tonight I was in the right mood to hear one of these tiny discoveries. While “The Crane Wife 3,” a song I love on an album I rarely listen to, played, something nondescript caught my attention right before the third verse. I paused it, grabbed my headphones(which are still on even though I’m not playing any music), and backed up the track. Sure enough, right after the little glockenspiel melody at 2:07, there’s this odd bent guitar note right before Colin Meloy starts singing again. I always loved the way that this song gathered steam, building from that solitary acoustic guitar to a fully augmented band by the end, but never noticed this little tic before. To the best of my knowledge, there isn’t any slide guitar in the rest of the song. Perhaps it’s not played with a slide and just a bent note, but it’s an anomaly in a song I thought I otherwise knew completely well. It’s not the purest form of love deepening itself (more on that another time, I suppose), but it’s the type of serendipitous discovery that makes me wish I had more time to listen to older records on a more frequent basis.

More on The Decemberists: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

November 3, 2009

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“Smiley Faces” – Gnarls Barkley
(Words/music: Brian Burton & Thomas Callaway, available on St. Elsewhere, Atlantic 2006)

In 1976, David Bowie affectionately referred to his Young Americans album as “plastic soul.” It seems that Bowie used the term (originally used as a critique of Mick Jagger singing soul music) somewhat tongue-in-cheek, yet it seems an apt description. If soul often centers itself on the groove, Bowie took it as something pliable. His take stretches parts and bends other to his liking, creating a weirder version of the genre.

Regardless, I wouldn’t call Gnarls Barkley “plastic soul,” but rather “cartoon soul.” It seems almost too obvious of a label with Danger Mouse getting his name from a cartoon, the series of costumes the band wore during promo appearances, and the general Technicolor quality to the band’s albums and videos. Rather, I’m drawn to the larger-than-life qualities of cartoons and the abundance of wonder and imagination. Even “Smiley Faces,” one of the tracks on St. Elsewhere that isn’t crammed to the brim musically, feels elastic. Where some songs use a “walking” bassline, this one feels like the way a cartoon character struts down the street with long, bouncing strides. Cee-Lo’s voice fits this type of track perfectly, as he’s able to manipulate his voice without sacrificing its power or soul. For example, he can hold a note and bend it to his liking. It’s not that these notes feel unnatural nor is Cee-Lo the only vocalist with this skill. In this setting, it feels like a cartoon character fluidly shifting forms. His voice has the same freedom to move unconventionally rather than stay tied down to genre conventions. Even if the end result sounds like a snappy, soul-inspired piece of rock music, parts of it make it feel like it’s hand drawn, inked-over, and colored in to achieve something brighter and snappier than average.

More on Gnarls Barkley: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 20, 2009

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“You Know I’m No Good” – Amy Winehouse
(Words/music: Amy Winehouse, available on Back to Black, Republic 2006)

As marvelous as “Rehab” is, it took “You Know I’m No Good” to have interest in hearing the rest of Back to Black. Perhaps it’s residual feelings from the “single plus filler” era of albums in the late 1990s, or maybe it was the feeling that “Rehab” felt like a bolt of lightning and that a second strike wouldn’t be as electric. Regardless, it took the slightly slower “You Know I’m No Good” to pique my interest in Amy Winehouse’s songs.

Even if it seems easy now after watching Winehouse repeatedly trip over herself in the press, “Rehab” seems a little too cliché at this point. Of course, that’s part of what makes it so compelling - it gave Winehouse a larger-than-life personality to counter her larger-than-life voice. Still, I found myself drawn more to “You Know I’m No Good,” which still addresses her demons with far less caricature. If the intensity in “Rehab” made it urgent, the laid back cool works almost as well here. Mark Ronson’s production feels playful here and Winehouse follows his lead with odd similes and a reference to a Lesser Bond. She practically coos out the title line near the end of the chorus too, making the “you know I’m trouble” practically sound like a come-on rather than a put-off. Even if it’s essentially the same source material as “Rehab,” Winehouse manages to spin a different story out of the same yarn. If nothing else, it gave me reason enough to look a little deeper.

More on Amy Winehouse: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 17, 2009

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“Say It Right” – Nelly Furtado
(Words/music: Nelly Furtado, Nate Hills, and Tim Mosley, available on Loose, Universal 2006)

Cold, damp Saturday nights trigger memories of playing in my high school’s marching band. Every fall for four years revolved around football halftime shows and random competitions around the state. I remember holding my drum sticks with raw hands and piling under blankets with four or five friends as we waited for the awards ceremony at the end of the night. So this time of year in particular, the rhythmic pulse of a marching band immediately grasps my attention. Timbaland and Danja’s production on “Say It Right” replicates the sound of a drumline, complete with multi-pitched toms, tightly wound snare drums, and a deep, booming bass drum. It’s not as busy or intricate as some drum lines, but the moderate tempo and light flourishes (opening cymbals, light glockenspiel) almost makes it sound like the kind of music a band might play either entering the field.

This would make Nelly Furtado the drum major – the leader of her band, and her Loose-era image could command this type of center-stage presence. It’s possible to see Furtado in the middle of the field, both leading the band onto the performance space and then singing with their backup. I’m kind of surprised some college bowl game didn’t try this idea, pairing Furtado with one of the more dynamic marching bands. “Say It Right” would probably be an easy arrangement for most of these bands, as it’s mostly percussion with some longer held notes backing the vocals. It’s probably too laid back for a halftime show – as Timbaland and Danja build the beat and then stay out of Furtado’s way for the most part. Still, I can kind of picture it – Furtado and some backing singers as the center of the field with a drum line and some horn players in motion behind her. Then again, it might just be this weather talking.

More on Nelly Furtado: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 4, 2009

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“Steady, as She Goes” – The Raconteurs
(Words/music: Brendan Benson and Jack White, available on Broken Boy Soldiers, Third Man / V2 Records 2006)

I love watching sports, but I’ve realized that it’s an area where trivia trumps understanding. Sure, there are plenty of excellent minds who analyze and discuss sports both on TV and in print, but far too many spew lists of unrelated facts. For example, while watching football highlights, a former NFL player recapping the game diverted from the action on screen to tell us where the running back went to college. Rather than analyzing the play (which is why these networks hire former players and coaches, not necessarily because they are gifted journalists) or just reading the copy and staying out of the way, he felt compelled to throw out a fact a way of showing off. Sometimes a player’s alma mater matters (when talking about former teammates, the system he played in, a former coach, etc.), but most of the time it’s inconsequential. Rather than furthering discussion by talking about what makes a player exceptional or a team perform poorly, we’re pumped full of facts available within the first couple paragraphs of a Wikipedia search. Simply put, it’s a convenient way to sound knowledgeable without saying anything thoughtful.

This happens with music as well. It’s easy to fall into the trap of listing band member’s former bands or listing every single detail of a band’s biography. I know this because I find myself falling into this trap more often than I care to admit. It seems like some bands elicit this type of fact burp more than others; The Raconteurs, for instance, often get described not by what they sound like but by the members’ other musical projects. Maybe that’s good enough for some people, but knowing where a band comes from doesn’t mean I’ll like a record. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t like “Steady, as She Goes” because the guy from the White Stripes sings on it. I like it because it’s a departure from Jack White’s usual straight-ahead blues assault. There’s depth to the arrangement, both in instrumentation and in song structure. There’s also subtlety beneath the volume, whether Brendan Benson’s backing vocals (hey, have I mentioned that he’s a solo artist?) or the guitar squeal buried in the mix right before the second chorus. It also keeps the same things I like about his White Stripes songs, such as the punchy guitar sound and the snowballing tension that builds up to the chorus. Sure, the band members’ pedigree acts as an advertisement to bring in listeners, but ultimately, people won’t stay exclusively because of their alma mater or hometown. Eventually, these songs have to say something.

More on The Raconteurs: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

October 2, 2009

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“Build Me Up” – Rhymefest f/ Ol’ Dirty Bastard
(Words/music: Michael d’Abo/Tony Macaulay/Mark Ronson/Che Smith, available on Blue Collar, RCA 2006)

Somehow, it’s appropriate that the ODB’s final recording before passing would be a goofy hook based on a classic pop song. Dirt’s legacy lies in his absurdity, and it’s this inherent ridiculousness that makes something this goofy work so well. Even if he’s far more clever than this, “Build Me Up” more or less captures the ODB’s enduring legacy as a partly absurd, partly comedic presence. To laugh at Russell Jones is only to acknowledge the tip of the iceberg – although, to be fair, he doesn’t exactly do himself favors by seeking out opportunities to show off his skill for wordplay.

That being said, it’s Rhymefest’s premise that makes this track a winner. Our narrator has girl problems, so he writes a letter to the ODB – a decision of questionable logic that yields endless comedic results. It also affords Rhymefest, who tries his best to milk the “blue collar” work ethic off of Kanye West’s coattails, the opportunity to cut loose and be ridiculous. Sure, it yield’s some clunkers, but on a track where the hook is a pop song interpreted by a man who once asked to be called Big Baby Jesus, Rhymefest sounds downright clever. In any case, it offers ‘Fest the chance to make a reference to When Harry Met Sally and air out his lady problems in as many creative ways as possible, knowing that the ODB will be there to out-ridiculous him nearly a minute later. It’s a playful side that Rhymefest would later mute, outing himself as a proud homophobe on a later mixtape, but for one fleeting moment it felt like he was having fun at his own expense. Even if he went back to taking himself (too?) seriously, “Build Me Up” makes it impossible to stay stoic when the ODB starts in on the hook.

More on Rhymefest: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 27, 2009

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“Give It” – X-Press 2 with Kurt Wagner
(Words/music: Darren Morris, Kurt Wagner, X-Press 2, available on Makeshift Feelgood, Sony 2006)

Eventually, “Give It” blooms into a lively, pulsing dance with synthesized horns and a choir of backing vocals. At this point in the song, it becomes a digital gospel choir joining Kurt Wagner’s promise to be patient. However, the track must grow into this the same way that Wagner’s narrator must learn to be patient. At the beginning of the song, his narrator contemplates the future, eagerly seeking it out yet fearing the impending change. He realizes that the moment he’s experiencing will pass and has the instinctive impulse to capture this specific moment. It’s not quite that simple, as Wagner goes off in a couple tangents, but ultimately this crisis of “now versus then” comes to the forefront. Alternately put, it’s the decision to focus on enjoying a given moment or think about how the moment fits into the larger picture. In that sense, it’s a self-awareness of immediately recognizing a given moment as important and knowing that this recognition will change the moment in progress.

I’ve discussed and thought about this idea a good amount recently in a few different contexts, eventually leading back to the same conclusion and the same example. I’m way too inside my own head sometimes, and for all the positives that constant self-reflection brings, it makes it very hard to experience something and then “sort it out” later. I then think about the first time I heard this song – earlier this summer at the end of Lambchop’s set at the Merge Records anniversary shows. By this point in the set, Wagner and his dozen backing musicians won over the entire room, and Wagner’s impassioned “Give It / Once in a Lifetime” closing went to the next level. It was a rare moment where I knew what was unfolding – the event’s signature performance – yet I found myself able to silence that part of my brain and be stunned into silence. Soon afterward, I described it as “a surreal moment that ended a memorable set,” and a few months later I’m still thinking about it. Ironically, by not immediately processing this moment, I’ve been able to process it a dozen different ways. I’m still not sure I have a definitive answer, but I’m not sure that’s the point; Wagner’s protagonist turns off his meta-commentary and turns patience into a spiritual revival, and in a way I have too – albeit a series of minor personal revelations. By quieting my thoughts for a few minutes, I sewed seeds for an entire series of ponderings. In many ways, I’ll be chasing down that performance (or similar ones) for the rest of my life, and I’m only starting to realize that sometimes it’s worth letting it get a head start so that I can see where it leads me.

More on X-Press 2: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 23, 2009

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“Harrowdown Hill” – Thom Yorke
(Words/music: Thom Yorke, available on The Eraser, XL Recordings 2006)

In interviews around the time The Eraser came out, Thom Yorke alternately acknowledged, denied, and distanced himself from the inspiration for “Harrowdown Hill.” I’m not as interested in pinning down the subject as I am by Yorke’s statement about the song’s evolution. “It’s one of those really odd things where I wrote half the lyrics before considering what I was writing about. It happened over a long period of time. By osmosis, these things were going on and they ended up in the tune.” I’m not really interested in Yorke acknowledging or distancing himself from David Kelly, a British chemical weapons expert found dead in a mysterious manner, because that’s not what the song is “about.” If Kelly was the inspiration for the song, Yorke moved it beyond a factual report of the situation and tapped into the underlying emotions.

Yorke’s lyrics with Radiohead touched on ideas of paranoia, detachment, and recognition of a dark undercurrent, yet he called “Harrowdown Hill” the “most angry song I’ve ever written in my life.” His anger, in this case, comes from exasperation. The “we think the same things at the same time / we just can’t do anything about it” comes from the same place as the Orwellian visions in Radiohead’s songs, but Yorke seems more focused on the inability to act against these forces rather than the things he detests. If Yorke felt incredulous before at the things he saw in society, he’s rendered speechless by the methods used to perpetuate the cycle. In that sense, it’s no wonder Yorke wants to distance himself from the song’s origins, lest he go back down that rabbit hole of frustration and anger again.

More on Thom Yorke: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

September 20, 2009

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“Even Flow (Live – San Diego 2006)” – Pearl Jam
(Words: Eddie Vedder, Music: Stone Gossard, originally available on Ten, Epic 1991)

Eddie Vedder’s singing style, once dubbed a “yarl,” remains a dealbreaker when discussing Pearl Jam. Fans of the band embrace his gruff baritone and point to his growth as a vocalist over time. Still, some can’t get past Vedder’s voice and how it obscures his lyrics. This, along with an incomplete set of lyrics printed inside Ten, only made it more difficult to understand a song like “Even Flow.” Sure, “Even Flow” has a lot more going for it than just its lyrics, but those who prioritize lyrics that stand up to scrutiny might be frustrated by the song. It’s possible to embrace the ambiguity too – either by making up words, projecting meaning upon the song, or just singing along with the stereo up. Still, if determining meaning on a line-by-line basis is a priority, “Even Flow” won’t be near the top of your list.

However, in the case of “Even Flow,” line-by-line meaning isn’t as important as the song’s meaning shifted over the years. In the live setting, “Even Flow” became a feature for guitarist Mike McCready, offering him one of numerous moments in the spotlight during a concert. On any given tour, “Even Flow” remains one of the most played songs (and easily the most played song from Ten), in part because it’s a feature for McCready, but also because it keeps evolving. Take this 2006 version – the band pushes the tempo, features McCready, and then lets former Soundgarden drummer (and Pearl Jam’s longest tenured drummer) Matt Cameron take a solo. While the song shifted from a three minute yarl to an extended jam, it remains one of the essential moments of a Pearl Jam live show – one of the few expected pleasures in an ever-shifting setlist. Even if Vedder seems to modify the lyrics (which he more sings than “yarls” these days), the crowd waits, ready to sing that final chorus right back at the band. In a song’s meaning goes further than the notes and words in it – it can grow into something bigger. In the case of “Even Flow,” it’s become one of the band’s trademark live songs, for its evolving arrangement, blistering performance, and enthusiastic crowd response.

More on Pearl Jam: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: pearl jam | 2006 | 1991 | 2000s | live recording |

September 11, 2009

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“Dancing in the Dark” – Drew O’Doherty and Ted Leo
(Words/music: Bruce Springsteen, originally available from Bradley’s Almanac, performed August 6, 2006)

Today is Ted Leo’s birthday, and my present is to repost a song I originally found on Bradley’s Almanac a few years ago. Head over there to read Brad’s account of the circumstances behind the show – specifically how “Dancing in the Dark” served as a “handoff” between O’Doherty’s opening set and Leo’s main set. Bradley’s Almanac is a must read, and I got to briefly meet Brad at XX Merge this summer and can confirm first hand that he’s as nice and cool as his blog suggests. Do yourself a favor and go subscribe to it.

Ted Leo also has the misfortune of sharing his birthday with the terrorist attacks in the United States eight years ago. In many ways, this “Dancing in the Dark” performance shares a lot of the qualities of the moments we looked for (and continue to need) in the weeks and months following. Earlier today, as they have for the past few years, McSweeney’s posted John Hodgman’s introduction from a literary reading a few weeks after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In it, Hodgman (a friend of Leo’s, appropriately) shared his struggle to find the role of storytelling in an increasingly absurd world, ultimately suggesting that in a time of crisis, stories help us feel like we aren’t alone. For me, concerts provide the same comforting communal effort, and few create and utilize the temporary community that a live performance assembles the way Ted Leo uses it. His sets frequently mix his own stories (through his songs) with songs that he loves. “Dancing in the Dark,” a song about the desperate, unending quest for inspiration, frequently appears in these sets, often inspiring the audience to join in (at least for the “can’t start a fire” lines). I’ve written about the way Leo’s shows provide this spark for me, and I can’t help but feel like most of the crowd leaves the same way. Even if these moments can’t fix what’s broken inside us, they help to remind us that we’re all fractured in some ways and can help each other put the pieces back together. While 9/11 is a day to consider the ways we’ve started to heal, it’s also a day worth celebrating those who have helped us with that healing, even if it’s just by singing songs.

Happy birthday, Ted. Thanks for everything.

More on Drew O’Doherty: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

More on Ted Leo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

August 14, 2009

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“Loser Crew” – Pablo
(Words/music: Paul Schalda, available on Half the Time, Curb Appeal 2006)

Meeting me now, you would have no idea that I actively swore off caffeine for roughly two and a half years. I did it for a number of self-diagnosed health reasons (not sleeping being the biggest one) and found that little changed when I cut it out of my life. I think that’s why I continued without it – even though I still couldn’t sleep normal hours, I didn’t have the withdrawal headaches or any of the other mild side effects I experienced then. It wasn’t until I had to start getting up at six in the morning that I reintroduced myself to it, and even though I thought I didn’t miss it, I immediately fell right back into my love affair with (non-decaf) coffee. I started to re-experience something I had completely forgotten about – the moment where a couple cups of coffee (or one strong/large coffee) cuts through that groggy feeling and for a few minutes I feel flushed with energy. Sometimes these types of moments turn a bad day around, but others are the brief, fleeting moments of euphoria where optimism reigns and ideas form. These standalone moments tend to happen while I’m in an enclosed space (driving, for example) where I can’t build on this sudden influx of energy. These are elusive moments – no set of caffeine or specific beverage brings them on, but instead it happens when the gears are already starting to turn. When this happens, everything seems a little sharper and a little more exciting.

My only point of reference comes when a song has that moment where everything falls into place. I experienced this earlier today (appropriately while in the car) while listening to “Loser Crew.” From the first few notes he sings, Paul Shalda’s voice lifts in a way that commands attention to the melody; even with a solid set of chords and some strong backing harmonies, Schalda claims the spotlight with those upward moving notes. Still, the song feels established in a mid-tempo, folky mode well into the first chorus. Through this point, it’s a pleasant song with an unconventionally arresting vocal performance. Then, in the final bar of the chorus, Schalda’s band rises to meet his energy. The distorted guitar blankets the verse and the drums punch a little harder, driving Schalda to curse himself even. Then, as quickly as it came, this burst recedes and gives way to a final, quiet chorus. Just like those moments where caffeine and adrenaline mix, this second verse breathes new life into the song, and even if it’s only fleeting, it’s arresting and intoxicating enough to want to go through the entire sequence again, if for no other reason than to recapture that momentary lift in spirits just to see if it leads to something greater.

More on Pablo: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

August 4, 2009

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“Smile” – Lily Allen
(Words/music: Lily Allen, Iyiola Babalola, Darren Lewis, and Jackie Mitoo, available on Alright, Still, Regal Recordings 2006)

In the world of pop music, frankness turns heads. By being blunt and a little vulgar, Lily Allen earned a large audience quickly. “Smile,” her first single, cuts right to the chase by naming the reason for loathing her ex. Where other breakup songs might dance around the act and focus immediately on the narrator’s emotional state, Allen briefly addresses her mood and then, plaintively, cites he ex “fucking that girl next door” as the source of her mental strife. While bluntness usually deprives a song of nuance and subtlety, Allen does it to bring the listener to her side immediately; we know why she’s upset and empathize (if not connect) with her situation. Then, when she comes around to finding joy in her ex’s misery, we feel vindication for her rather than merely seeing her as a sadist. The difference between cheering for the narrator’s victory and seeing her as a psycho ex-girlfriend comes in her opening admission. It also sets the tone for her album (and, to a lesser degree, her career as a pop star) – one where Allen’s unfiltered perspective distinguishes her from her contemporaries.

Of course, none of this matters without the song, and “Smile” serves as a suitable musical vehicle for Allen’s story of heartbreak and redemption. The basic track, a light, reggae-tinged instrumental, stays out of the way, letting Allen tell her story in a very casual voice. She’s not using her speaking voice, but her verses carry the same sort of casual tone and normal conversational cadence. As a result, we feel like we’re hearing the story from a friend rather than an anonymous pop singer. This isn’t to sell her backing track short – there are some nice vocal harmonies and keyboard riffs mixed in there – but it stays a backing track by firmly pushing Allen and her story to the forefront. This makes her successful; other pop stars possess the big personalities that make those bombastic tracks work (think of something like “Crazy in Love” or “Toxic”), but Allen requires a smaller production that lets her quirky personality shine. Even if it’s not as ubiquitous as some of those larger-than-life singles, I’d imagine a song like “Smile” might resonate on a deeper level than some of those mega-hits.

More on Lily Allen: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

August 2, 2009

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“Judy” – The Pipettes
(Words/music: The Pipettes, available on We Are the Pipettes, Memphis Industries 2006)

My basic, reductivist understanding of post-modernism boils down to the phrase “make it new,” so in that sense I saw the group of Pipettes singles from a few years ago as a sort of “post-modern ‘60s girl group.” I’ve grown to detest these sorts of labels usually because they’re usually a strand of buzz words rarely followed with an explanation. Still, this one stuck with me, largely because it fits what I liked about these songs – it took elements from one style and “made it new” by putting their personal spin on it.

Calling a song like “Judy” derivative of the Phil Spector produced girl groups in the 1960s sells it short. Yes, it has the same sort of female harmonies and strings that epitomized Spector’s production, but this isn’t a mere imitation. It seems to look equally towards Spector’s sound as it looks at recent trends in indie pop of sounding melodic with a bit of a point to it. At points, “Judy” sounds like it could be a Belle and Sebastian outtake. Even if the women in the group fashion themselves (or were fashioned by someone else) as a throwback to the style of that era, their attitudes are more in line with the current decade. While “Judy” doesn’t cover the same sort of sexual liberation that some of the other singles carried, it’s not exactly a paeon to love like “My Boyfriend’s Back.” Instead, it’s an ode to being friends with the edgy girl from school, coming around to her prickly demeanor and getting into trouble with her in all hours of the night. It’s this undercurrent of mischief and danger that makes their in-song personalities interesting – this isn’t the same “girl power” marketed so aggressively in the 1990s, but it’s also not the same vision of feminimity in the pop music of the 1960s. Instead, it’s a reminder that girls can have fun too.

More on The Pipettes: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

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