i heart pop

There was a point, several years ago, after a series of brief, failed attempts at friendships and relationships that I entered my mid twenties feeling as though I was the only person on Earth with any sanity.  My driving was the best, my choice in music peerless, my wardrobe everything it should be, as well as every other decision I would make in the timespan of a day.  I broke up with someone because he ate all of my food and lived in a dorm.  I stopped hanging out with people who shopped at Old Navy and carefully scrutinized everything about everyone.  I was a judgey judger.

In a way, Lily Allen has this same problem.  Her first album was a thought provoking album of too sharp/too-clever spoken word sing songs with a very skewed and DIY approach to the process of songwriting.  She name checked, swore like a sailor, and gave off this aura of a mouthy street smart Brit brat myspace hobo fairy with a chip on her shoulder.  Granted, I enjoyed the songs at the time, but couldn’t even begin to recite any of the lyrics now.  In fact, her post-debut album celebrity sort of took on a life of it’s own when her tits fell out at every opportune moment, ciggy in hand, debris from last night’s activities still stuck in her hair.  Her celebrity had opinions too.  Every time she opened her mouth, people reeled at the quotes.  Granted, I’m a fan of the informed thinker, but some of her quotes were the verbal equivolent of exiting a limo sans panties!

So now we have the new album, for which I’ll admit, I feel that she’s avoided the sophomore slump, but just barely.  The music is better, exhibiting a plucky blend of synth pop jams.  But it’s the lyrics (yes, those!) that really are out to shock.  In her loose, conversational tone, she casually “sings” about wanting orgasms (“Not Fair”), how everyone’s on drugs (“Everyone’s At It”) and whether or not God has car insurance (“Him”).  While all of this offers a thrilling look into the ruminations of a popstar (will we ever hear Kylie sing about “lying in the wet patch in the middle of the bed”?) it becomes grating and whiney and judgmental half way into the album.   That’s the complication here; just as Allen’s first album was more clever than memorable, the 12 songs on this cd, don’t really re-cast Allen as anything new.  With her celebrity persona in the driver’s seat for most of the album, frankly, I’d be shocked if she didn’t allude to giving head or build a song around telling someone to F*** Off.

In fact, it’s in the tender, quieter moments that the disc really shines.  Songs like “Chinese” and “He Wasn’t There” are perfect little gems because they don’t try to shock.  They exist freely without any hidden motives.  They are vulnerable.  They are sweet.  And they are REAL.

Which is why I really want to like this girl.  She’s thoroughly contemporary, singing about religion in post-9/11 world on “Kabul Shit”.  She can write, she can arrange, she can almost sing, and lord knows she’s got charisma, however, after listening to this album, I’m left wondering if it’s her lack of that creates an illusion (think Joy on My Name is Earl).

There was a point when I had to realize, and I will admit that it took some time, that it wasn’t everyone else.  It was me.  And when that day comes for Lily Allen, while her ego may suffer, her skills as a singer and songwriter will only prosper.