How shall we begin to evaluate James Blunt’s ubiquitous Back to Bedlam? Perhaps it would be prudent to start with a “beautiful” count. Let’s see, track 1 – four, track 2 … give me a second… nine... forget it, we’ve got eight tracks to go and I’m out of patience and fingers.
Here in his first LP, former British soldier James Blunt releases ten tracks of whiny, self-indulgent, clichéd tripe. While many will boast the way Blunt’s extensive life experience enriches his songwriting, including the war memoir “No Bravery,” these songs often seem to have trouble moving beyond the level of teen angst. Blunt’s superhit “You’re Beautiful” is an entire song lamenting a hot chick who smiled at him on the subway. While most of us have the perspective to realize that we probably don’t think daily about anyone who smiled at us five years ago, Blunt sings that “we shared a moment that will last ‘til the end.” He will, however, do his best to personally convince you of his experience and worldly wisdom, as he sings in “Cry” - “I have seen peace. I have seen pain…. I have seen birth. I have seen death.” As much as we appreciate James Blunt’s statements of experience, it would be nice if it was reflected in the maturity of his songwriting.
The album is bursting with clichés and phrases otherwise devoid of exceptional insight. In “Goodbye My Lover” - “You touched my heart you touched my soul/ You changed my life and all my goals.” In “So Long Jimmy” – “So long, jimmy, so long/ Sure we're glad for the experience/ We miss you now you've gone.” The list goes on. The vocals are accompanied by uninventive instrumentation, featuring cheesy piano and classical guitar lines and mechanically soulless drum- and basslines.
You may also hear of some controversy over a Parental Advisory stamp on the CD (though have no fear, a “clean” edit is available), and the removal of “the F word” from “You’re Beautiful” for the radio. Well, I agree wholeheartedly that James Blunt is in danger of poisoning the minds of our youth, but it has nothing to do with curse words. While some have said that the song like, totally loses some its raw feeling without it, Blunt’s use of the expletive sounds as forced and awkward as a white guy rapping the word “flippin’” into the radio edit of a Snoop Dogg song. Between this and the drug references in such songs as “High,” Blunt tries to paint himself as the edgy bad boy. It’s not a pretty picture, but, difficult as it is to buy, I suppose it’s reasonable to try to capture the sixteen-year-old girls not already taken in by the angsty romantic pretty boy act. That’s just smart business.
Before even giving us a chance to spin the CD, though, James Blunt seals his fate with myself and any other self-respecting indie rock listener. On the cover packaging is placed a promotional sticker featuring a critic’s comparison of him to Elliott Smith. So here’s what I have to say about that.
It doesn’t take a genius to sing about romance and heartbreak. In fact, that would probably make a genius of every songwriter… ever. And that’s not what set Elliott Smith apart as the greatest songwriter of the last ten years. Elliott Smith could express feelings universal to the human experience in a voice that no one had heard before, conveying utterly powerful images of desolately solitary characters and destructive relationships. He didn’t need to squawk and search for the most dramatic voice-cracking falsettos to get you to listen either, as he could silence a room with no more than a tense whisper. Elliott Smith was the essence of edge in an artist, constantly experimenting with vocal and instrumental arrangements and pushing the boundaries of the power of his lyrics, where Blunt can only retreat into Bryan Adams guitar lines and common pop sentiments.
So sing as much pop as you want, James Blunt. Appear on Oprah again, and broaden your appeal to as many teenage girls as you like. But walk within a British bayonet’s length of a comparison to Elliott Smith again, and your reviews won’t be as generous as this one. |