headlessparrot's Full Review: Places by Georgie James
Georgie James came on the recommendation of former Epinioner cryptosicko who described their 2007 album Places as “the pop record that Rilo Kiley should have made, instead of Under the Blacklight.” This, I must say, is an elegant and delightfully accurate explanation. Maybe it’s the shared male-female vocals, maybe it’s the ever-so-slight country flourishes, or maybe it’s just the band-named-for-a-person-who-isn’t-in-the-band (or even real, at all) convention, but there are clearly similarities to be drawn between the two. And this, in spite of the fact that the boy-girl indie pop duo (though I guess they’d technically be described as a band, it’s hard to think of Georgie James as anything other than a duo) would normally conjure images of, say, Mates of State (or… actually, Mates of State is the only one that comes to mind). But more importantly, Places is the sound of a pop album – gorgeous and altogether perfectly nice – that truly reflects an appreciation for and understanding of (unlike Under the Blacklight) what makes pop worthwhile. While also sounding – and this will sound unusual, and I’ll get to it later – completely indistinct.
The duo’s brand of radio-ready 70s power-pop is nothing if not convincing. And there’s an interesting corollary here too, regarding the intersection of pop and indie: because, in crafting Places, an album of ‘pop-done-right,’ Georgie James has unleashed a record that sounds suspiciously like a synthesis of the New Pornographers and the aforementioned Rilo Kiley. And not vaguely, either – it’s a dead-on facsimile of what I would imagine the result of a Carl Newman-Neko Case-Jenny Lewis-Blake Sennett quadratic love-in to sound like. In fact, John Davis (formerly of dance-punk group Q and Not U) has an A.C. Newman-ish voice, while Laura Burhenn’s is a smoky, warbling cross between Neko Case and Jenny Lewis. And this, for all of the minor qualms that I do have with Places, means that it is certainly still one of the most glowingly infectious records I’ve heard since, well, the last good New Pornographers release (2005’s Twin Cinema, in the humble opinion of this reviewer).
Places is, as I’ve said, on the whole perfectly nice. There are few standouts, but there are even fewer missteps – so it all balances out. Make no mistake, this isn’t the life-changing record you’ve been waiting years to hear (assuming you’ve been waiting for one); but it is a pretty great pop record that adequately fills the void left by Rilo Kiley’s newfound shallowness and the New Pornographers’ (bless their hearts) descent into hooklessness. And actually, what’s really interesting about Places is its defining revelation, that there’s not a huge difference between a good pop album and one that’s simply mediocre; it is in many respects a parallel to the observation made by Raymond Chandler in 1944 about the subtle difference between good and middling detective fiction (for more on Chandler’s essay, "The Simple Art of Murder," see my review of John Le Carre’s The Spy Who Came In From The Cold). To co-opt the thrust of his argument, if not exact words: “the strange thing about this average, more than middling dull piece of utterly unreal and mechanical [music] is really not very different from what are called the masterpieces of the art. It drags on a little more slowly, the [sound] is a shade grayer, the cardboard out of which the [lyrics] are cut is a shade thinner, and the cheating is a little more obvious. But it is the same kind of [product].” It is, more or less, the difference between Under the Blacklight and Places (though even Places’ claim on the title of masterpiece is debatable at best).
Moreover, what really startles me – though I wonder now whether it should – is how in recording an album that tilts to the good side of the ‘pop’ scale, Georgie James manages to sound, if only for a moment here or a millisecond there, like virtually every pop-friendly indie/alternative act that I can think of. Not just the oft-mentioned Rilo Kiley and New Pornographers (though this is clearly where their greatest debt lies), but shades of Band of Horses, OK Go, the Strokes (this one’s iffy, save for a single guitar lick), Kings of Convenience, the Go! Team, Feist, Peter Bjorn and John, and dozens of others that I’m just barely on the cusp of being able to articulate. On the surface, this sounds mostly like an admission that Places is not particularly unique or innovative. But considering that Georgie James exists primarily as a listener-friendly tribute to radio-ready 70s pop, this is hardly a pressing concern. More relevant, and far more fascinating, however – and only tangentially related to Places, for what it’s worth – is that this reflected amount of influence strongly hints that that the very best pop is being made, at least today, by a decidedly un-poppy niche of (semi-)obscure indie rock acts. Granted, this is hardly an unbiased observation coming from one who worships at the altar of hipster-dom such as myself, but it’s one worth a closer examination, nonetheless.
Like many pop albums, though – and I suspect that this is why Places is ‘perfectly nice’ as opposed to ‘perfectly brilliant’ – Places’ biggest problem is its disposability. The songs are all (to return to that phrase) perfectly nice, but they’re perfectly nice in such a way that they’re content to not outlast their creators, or even the physical disc to which they’ve been pressed. This is not strictly a bad thing – lasting appeal, given that we all lack psychic powers, is a rather silly way to judge music in the here and now – but it is also perhaps the only thing that keeps Places from circulating constantly through and between my ears. I’m in love with Places while I’m listening to it, for example, but as soon as its forty minutes have passed, I find myself – despite its muscular hooks and catchy choruses – almost completely unable to recall what I’ve heard, or even hum a few bars. It is as if I have been struck dumb and deaf, even though we all know that only the former is a legitimate criticism of myself. I find this utterly and completely mystifying – a paradox: an infinitely catchy pop record that can’t be caught, like King Pellinore’s Questing Beast (if we’re in the mood for obscure literary allusions).
I’ve often thought of Interpol’s first two records (Turn On The Bright Lights and Antics) as two sides of the same coin. Both seem, on the surface, to pass by in a flash; the difference is that the former does so unless you pay careful attention, while the latter does so regardless of how closely you’re following the action. Places is a similar experience, but wholly different in that it encompasses both of these realities simultaneously (and is completely unaware that doing so is – or certainly should be – a physical impossibility). If you don’t listen carefully, you’ll miss Places. If you do, you’ll be rewarded – but only so long as the album is playing. The moment it ends, it is rendered completely anonymous, congealing into a gelatinous mass of nothing that simply melts into your brain tissue. I suppose that the upside of this is that Places always sounds new. But it also never sounds memorable, which is arguably one of the marks of real greatness. As you can imagine, all of this conspires to make Places a rather difficult album to review. Needless to say, I’m forced to listen while I write, and it’s remarkable the way in which words flow freely while the songs do, and dry up as soon as they fade out. And this is more or less my justification for the fact that so much of this review can hardly be described as a review at all.
The lyrics are mostly an afterthought, as suggested by the extended “ba ba ba”’s of early tracks “Look Me Up” (which is otherwise a cleverly bouncing number that belies an obvious New Wave influence) and “Need Your Needs” (All Music Guide wisely suggests, “just don’t read the lyric sheet”), which are both infinitely infectious songs regardless. But a pleasant exception is “Cake Parade,” a Burhenn-sung jaunt – a wonderfully scathing lyrical allegory of the Iraq War that’s almost lost under the sheen of the song’s peppy, ambling rhythm, and which, upon further reflection, rather vividly recalls Rilo Kiley’s 2004 single “It’s A Hit” (albeit in a considerably less confrontational manner, though the dry tone remains). “Comfortable Headphones” is probably Places’ highlight, a brilliant, inward-looking power-pop number that relies on wood block percussion and Burhenn’s high harmonies in a wonderful fusion of the New Pornographers and OK Go.
Even the title track relishes its New Pornographers aestheticism, fuelled by rapid-fire, stop-start guitar licks and Davis’ made-for-radio voice. “Long Week” is meanwhile Places’ most obvious nod to Rilo Kiley, with Burhenn’s sultry vocal performance, and her appropriately Kiley-ian chorus, “So cry your eyes out, pretty baby.” “More Lights” bounces from rhythm to rhythm, melody to melody, and voice to voice without ever sounding anything less than perfectly, beautifully familiar.
And maybe it’s just the rapid-fire strummed acoustic guitar, but “Hard Feelings” almost knowingly murmurs Kings of Convenience, while “You Can Have It” sounds, musically, like a Band of Horses redux, complete with its slow-burn guitar part and rustic instrumentation. My only problem with it is that there are times when even Band of Horses can’t get away with being Band of Horses, and so “You Can Have It” has almost no chance right off the bat. Yet for some baffling reason, it almost works.
Places is certainly not an album that only Georgie James could have made. It echoes the same hook-filled sensibility of bands like the New Pornographers, who I’ll readily admit (even in spite of the monumentally disappointing Challengers) are generally better at pulling it off. There are several things that I could imagine making Places a better album than it is: the hooks are there, but the lyrics are maybe lacking, and I have no explanation at all for the album’s post-listen anonymity. And yet, while you’re listening at least, it’s still pretty damn good.
Of those few critical outlets that actually touched Places, almost every major reviewer assigned it roughly the same score (approximately 7-to-7.5 out of 10). I chalk this up to the perplexing absence of… anything, really, once the album has ended. That I’m following suit, in any case, is pretty predictable. But this is simply, I think, the near universal effect that Places would have if blasted over loudspeakers in major North American population centers. Extrapolating even further, this anonymity probably also explains why nothing short of a complete major-label marketing blitz could make Georgie James stars: perfectly nice songs aside, it’s otherwise just too easy to forget about them. Which is, on the whole, a shame.
Because yes, it’s been done. But yes, it’s still fun.
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