I’ve been listening to, and enjoying, the latest record from Lily Allen for about six months now. So why has it taken so long for me to write about it? No good reason whatsoever.
This is a major step forward for her. I thought her debut album had a few nice tunes on it, and she was more than capable of delivering them with the necessary verve, sarcasm, and self-awareness to pull it all off. But if It’s Not Me, It’s You had been a re-tread things would have gotten stale very quickly.
Fortunately, it’s exponentially better. In part, that’s simply because the production quality is substantially higher and the tunes themselves are far more sturdy. The musicianship is solid, the melodies flow freely, and pretty much every track floats with a freedom and sense of purpose. The biting wit remains but has been sharpened to a razor edge. Witness the opening lines of “The Fear”:
I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don’t care about clever I don’t care about funny
I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them
The lyrics are solid throughout, although it’s hard to say whether they might border on trite or collapse into a sort of pseudo-sassiness if they were delivered by someone else. Fortunately, it’s Ms. Allen so there’s no need to worry.
It also helps that there is a whole lot more maturity on display this time around. Not in a boring “I’ve grown up and care about Important Issues” sort of way. But just in a slightly expanded sense of awareness. Effectively, she managed the debut album sense of ridiculousness and wonderment and then skipped immediately over the sophomore slump into a slightly more tempered variation on what made her so appealing in the first place. It cuts where necessary, but there’s also a lot of empathy buried beneath the snark.
To cite one obvious example, it’s not exactly cutting edge for a pop starlet to pen a song about the weirdness of suddenly being famous, or criticizing the cookie-cutter style of the culture industry. And yet she manages to make a song like “The Fear” feel fresh and insightful. Or, along the same vein there’s “22” which could be a disaster or utterly trite but somehow ends up being neither. The lament for the woman on the verge of 30 imagining her life to be virtually over is caustic, but also sympathetic. You’re meant to dismiss the ridiculousness of a culture which churns through its subjects so quickly but you also feel some of the pain of those who end up on the other side. That’s a difficult task: poking fun while also putting an arm around a shoulder, and to combine it with such a great beat (almost reminiscent of what you’d imagine might come from some old timey saloon) is something else.
Then there’s “Fuck You” an ode to George W. which has been universalized to apply to all those who brought us (particularly here in California) the bigotry associated with restrictions on gay marriage. Is it a coincidence that a ridiculously catchy chorus has been juxtaposed with this subject matter? Unlikely.
And that’s the beauty of this record. It’s full of charm while trading in little insights. It’s a far more cerebral slice of pop than you’d ever get from her American equivalents. Even on the least ‘substantial’ songs you get a lot more than you might otherwise expect. “I Could Say” is a perfect example. In one sense it’s nothing more than a slight variation on “Since U Been Gone” (even to the point of starting the chorus with “Since you’ve gone…”). But it’s more than just a brush-off song. There’s an element of sadness, one found more in the tremors of her voice than in the lyrics themselves. And the song is so darn beautiful than you can’t accept it merely as a statement of power. Sure, she’s better off now and he was a jerk. But you can also sense the future echoes woman referenced in “22.” The sense of empowerment from dismissing this jerk – by itself – is great. But the subtext is a general feeling of loss and nostalgia for a time when you could say ‘forever’ and truly mean it.
Sure, it’s cool to be jaded. And we all have to get that way eventually. But maybe, just maybe, this album helps us to remember that there’s something beautiful about being naive, about not realizing just how long ‘forever’ is.
Not to suggest that Lily Allen is the next F. Scott Fitzgerald or anything, but I can’t help but think about this record in relation to one of my favorite lines from The Great Gatsby: “I hope she’ll be a fool – that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
She’s not pitch-perfect on every song – and there’s not really enough musical variation to declare this an absolute triumph – but in all honesty, I’d have a hard time picking a more complete record this year. Lily Allen has a point to make, and she makes it in style. What more can you really ask for?