33 rebellions per minute
"An image of love, you were Sinatra in some ways"
1995
Scarlet, NAKED
I tend to think of my musical listening as being about 2/3 pop songs, but every once in a while I _am_ reminded that I'm kidding myself. This past February I designed an mixtape for my 14-year-old e-niece Gabrielle, who, as a recently recovered Backstreet Boys fan (and current Shania/ Garth lover), needed to be treated carefully, I figured. The mix was made entirely out of what seemed to me like the most accessible, catchy songs I'd discovered recently. Gabby might like the tape eventually, but her immediate reaction was, essentially, "what the blazes is this?!?!". Well, it's 90 minutes of lilting and bouncing melodies, but still, she had a point. Anton Barbeau has a thin, nasal voice and sings about trays and hunchbacks; Tullycraft sound like 8-year-olds, drunken ones; Spot 1019 rant evangelically about the spirits of dead clowns and about "scarred and blistered retinas"; Martha and the Muffins used to stick fairly strange saxophone solos into even their bubblegum moments; Stump and Grandaddy and the Delgados follow non-standard concepts of pacing without even a hint of self-awareness about it. I complied a lyric sheet for the mixtape, and then I added a glossary in case she didn't instantly recognize the meanings of "skookum", "Catfish Hunter", "Johnny Bench", "La Brea tar pits", "Francis Gary Powers", "Osiris", "Eva Braun", "the Lucentania", "Sivvie Plath", "Diane Arbus", and "Christie's" (the auction house). This is pop, yeah yeah yeah?
Scarlet play pop. Roxette's "Fading Like A Flower" is the comparison that comes immediately to mind. There should be more. "Independent Love Song" starts the album in minor key with Cheryl Parker's gently melodic vocals and some hesitant 2nd-year piano, like the verses of an Elton John ballad. The chorus, flipping to major key, involves twelve violinists and four violists and four cellists, sounding pretty and _large_, and Cheryl unleashes her voice and outshines all of them. The minor-key bridge gets more of a sawing motion from the strings and some throaty tension from Cheryl, who is by all means a natural singer: like Paula Cole (whom I support) but with perfect pitch, flawless breath control, and either a bit more restraint in her mannerisms, or simply enough skill to make them seem natural. "I Wanna Be Free (To Be With Him)" makes like Tom Petty in the comfortably blocky electric guitar and drums, but the synthesizers glow and soar like Roxette. "Virgin" relies on Parker's vocals to lend professionalism to the unaccompanied, behind-the-beat vibrations of its guitar at first, but soon the synth, kick drums, tambourine, and bass crash in, firmly accenting every midtempo beat.
"Love Hangover" is mushy, somewhere between Faith Hill's glossiest country-pop radio crossover and the ballads Queen got addicted in the mid-'80's; "Naked" is ominous, nagged by twittering Dr. Who-ish synths, muttered vocal asides, and a guitar tone suggesting Echo and the Bunnymen trying to rework "Killing Moon" as trip-hop. "Sirens of Silence" proceeds gently with simple piano and elegant late-night brass section. "Man In A Cage" is crossover country-rock, bringing the big choruses back; as does the slow waltz "Shine", although it bluffs longer, using strangely static washes of what might be synthesizer or might just be processed vocals. "I Really Like The Idea" -- the only song here strummed casually enough that the muttered "2,3,4" timekeeping of the opening would seem natural and charming, as it does -- launches into a glistening climax of syn-bass arpeggios, syncopated piano chords, cowbell, and Parker's voice at its strongest (plus a few near-whistled "whoo-hoooo!"s that sound exactly like Tanya Donnelly). "Moonstruck" closes the album solemnly, an elastic melody supported mostly by the synth and pedal-steel basics.
There is, I realize more clearly every time I scan my CD shelves restlessly until alighting (with a gleam of surprised satisfaction) on NAKED, nothing odd about me liking this. The singing is beautiful and fluid and articulate and emotive. The melodies are conventional in the sense of never being jarring, but are ambitious and perfectionist. The pacing and instrumentation are both nicely varied. The verses and chorus are each given careful attention, as are the bridges. This is talent, and this is craft.
Furthermore, the lyrics are intelligent. Man/woman relationship stuff, all of it, but the thoughts are unusally aware. "Free..." asks the boyfriend permission to carry on an outside affair, all the while making it clear that she isn't actually planning to do this but wants to be trusted enough to be able to discuss such feelings. "Sirens..." grants the boyfriend that same permission of honesty and begs him, worriedly, to use it, since he isn't hiding worse than she's capable of imagining. "Virgin" admits to being "angry that you had a life before me" while freely acknowledging that she'd be much unhappier teaching some total newcomer. "Man With A Cage" interrogates a man on whether his adulterous affair was worth it: "was she like your wife? Did she scream with delight? Did she shout it from the rooftops?". "I Really Like The Idea" finishes the sentence "of being in this for love", viewing her falling-in-love as a process, questioningly; "Shine" treats a feeling of absolute romantic happiness with the respect, the conscious of-the-moment enjoyment, it deserves. Even "Moonstruck", the same scenario as "You Oughtta Know", filters its outrage through an awareness of being outraged, and a deliberate decision to feel justified. Know what? It hits the target harder that way.
If the Loud Family wanted to make an album like this, they could, you know (obviously Alison Faith Levy would be taking the vocal leads). XTC could hire a true singer and pull it off; Julia Darling could be given five times her budget and absolute freedom from indie cred. Roxette could drop the dance imperative, Queen could dig Freddie Mercury up and shake his hand, Rush could use "Time Stand Still" as their new template.
When, exactly, did the smart and talented people get so bothered by the company of Belinda Carlisle's handlers that they ran away to be weird and experimental? When did beauty become something that only made sense to our best and brightest whem played off against ugliness? I mean, obviously, I've followed along. I've come to love twisted logics. I'm not suddenly declaring Scarlet's NAKED my favorite album of all time, or even my favorite album called NAKED (which was, after all, my fave Talking Heads album). But if you know more of similar type _and quality_, do let me know, because I honestly have no clue where to look anymore.
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© 1997 bokonin@hotmail.com
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