3.17.2011

Dapper Dan's Underoos OR a review of Lykke Li's 'Wounded Rhymes'

3.17.11
3:27 pm
 
I honestly did not realize it was St. Patrick's Day until, around 2:45, a bunch of guys wearing huge, fuzzy, green top hats came onto my train and starting talking about bars.
And even then it still took me a minute.
My Irish half must have been sleeping in.
Lucky Mick.
I, on the other hand, am very sleepy and awake and have been running around full bore since 10 this morning.
And again, all you Daylight fucks can blow me.
My waking up at 10 is the equivalent of your waking up at 4.
Do the math, ass bags.
 
Anyway.
So I am tired.
 
In other news, I have spent a few days with the new Lykke Li album, Wounded Rhymes, and it's awesome.
I think this chick is Swedish or Swiss or something along those lines.
But let's not hold that against her.
Her album sounds, at times, like a pagan beach party, shiny keyboards matched with crazy huge drums and chanting, and, at other times, like some sort of ancient tribal rite in which people scrump instead of pray.
There is a sacred feeling to it, due to the droning quality of Li's vocals.
And not droning in a bad way. Her voice pours over everything like ritualistic syrup, oozing into the spaces the usually sparse instrumentation leaves open.
Almost every track has a starkness to it, but it's a weighty starkness.
While listening to Wounded Rhymes, I was reminded of eels ("Youth Knows No Pain", the high energy opener), Joy Division ("Love Out of Lust", a beautiful, sincere song) and Depeche Mode ("I Follow Rivers", a synth line and drum loop that feel oddly 80's amidst the temples to which Li's voice brings the listener), but, at no point did I forget whose album it was.
Lykke Li stands out among the overabundance of "tough" female pop singers because she has a sincerity that others seem to lack.
Yeah, these other singers are tough...until see they see a hot guy with great abs and then it's back to high school.
One gets the impression from her music and lyrics that Lykke Li could totally kick Lady Gaga's ass.
And might enjoy doing so.
The album is full of stand out tracks, so much so that there end up being one or two that simply don't shine as brightly as the others, namely "Unrequited Love", a sort of doo wop track that doesn't really go anywhere, and "Sadness Is A Blessing" which can become repetitive and features the cringe-worthy lyric "Sadness is my boyfriend". Ouch.
But again, these aren't bad songs, just not as great as the rest of them.
"Rich Kids Blues" is infectious; from it you will catch an ass-shaking disease, curable only by, yes, shaking one's ass, "I Know Places" has a steamy, affected innocence that soaks this simple song in sexuality and "Silent My Song" is a dark, powerful closer, making the listener wish there was more to be had.
In fact, aside from those two not-as-great tracks and a penchant for overusing reverb, both on her vocals and on every drum you hear, this might be the best album I've heard this year.
Although, unrequited love? Seriously? This woman is made of smoke and fire and honey, how could ANYONE not requite her love?
This woman is a goddess, more than a goddess; she's the High Priestess of a cult that worships sex and sensuality and flesh and dancing and drums. Watch her aggressively, confrontationally sexy video for "Get Some" if you don't believe me. This video makes men feel like boys and boys enter puberty.
Listen to this album, shake your booty and worship at the Church of the Holy Vagina.

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