Here’s a pop quiz:
Which of these lyrics makes you want to scream in pain?
a)“Tiny European cars are dropping from the sky
Their wonderfully efficient engines fueled by Spanish wine...”
b)“A hundred thousand naked women running on the beach
In such a state of wild abandon they ignore my speech...”
c)“Oh the smoke seems sweet to me Must be a perfume factory
Just one of many ancient travesties, we’re all descendants of the Pharisees...”
d)“And if you’ve never seen a bullfight, guess who always wins?
To grab it by the horns, this life-like censored porn...”
e)“Did you know they sing “Ring Around the Rosy” when you die?”
The answers, at least in this reviewer’s opinion, are (c) and (d). But here’s the problem: all of these lyrics are part of the same song (in this case, “Tiny European Cars,” the fifth track on Clem Snide’s new album End of Love).
The problem with End of Love is certainly not the music. The band members – all 14 of them – are competent players, and they wear influences like R.E.M. and The dB’s on their sleeves. I don’t even mind Eef Barzelay’s voice, which is reminiscent of Chris Stamey’s. If you listened to this album and didn’t pay attention to the lyrics, you’d be fine.
Unfortunately, as is true with most emo these days, the lyrics are supposed to take a front seat. (Somehow, this is not true for Polyphonic Spree; they live in their own special world of maple syrup rivers and sugar-coated trees.) The problem is that Barzelay’s lyrics are so wonderful one second and so...well, so aaaaargh! the next.
Consider the title track, a jangle-pop masterpiece. The song begins all right:
“You’re so sophisticated, your mind’s been liberated
You’re the first to know when a movement’s come and gone...”
But then the next couplet...aaaaaaaargh!
“But just as the curtain closes, I strike authentic poses
Now that we know all the words to history’s sad song...”
As far as I know, the last person to strike a pose in a song was Madonna, and I doubt that Barzelay is going for a Vogue motif on his indie rock record.
But wait. It gets better:
“So don’t be apocalyptic
There’s still time to get your last licks
But very soon the glory will make shameful what is true...”
Huh? Lyrics like these don’t make one apocalyptic. Apoplectic, perhaps, but not apocalyptic.
If Barzelay could get his lyrical act together, he’d make a wonderful record indeed. As is, End of Love is simply so-so. No, scratch that: it’s frustrating. I want to love this band – really, I do – but with questionable lyrics like these, I can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe that’s apocalyptic of me, but I am what I am. |