Lily Allen
It’s Not Me, It’s You
We couldn’t help but love such gems as “LDN” and “Smile” when Lily Allen burst onto the scene with her first album, Alright, Still, with her big-mouthed, sassed-out personality and ball gowns to match. Laced with candy apple barbs about the life of a city girl, the few clunkers (and the nauseating “Alfie”) on the album were happily outshone by her Streets’ like rapping on “Knock ‘Em Out”.
Unfortunately, the former Lily barely pops by for a visit on her new album, It’s not Me, It’s You. This time, the record label not only took the girl out of the city (it was recorded in L.A. rather than London), they took the city out of the girl. Much for shame – Lily’s voice doesn’t stand up to much, and without her funky beats and nasty quips, we’re left with an album that is forgettable and downright dumb.
Her album does start off right with “The Fear”, a satirical ode to the shameless push for money and celebrity (“I am a weapon of massive consumption/it’s not my fault it’s how I’m programmed to function”) put to the sounds of easy, breezy stadium pop.
While Lily’s not at her best advising policy makers on “Everyone’s At It” (“from politicians/to young adolescents/prescribing themselves anti-depressents”) the verses offer some bracing jabs about getting high and getting depressed.
It’s as we move further into the album that the ‘special features’ button on her electric keyboard gets a little over-excited, peppering a range of tunes with false drum beats, electronic blips and misplaced violins.
In “Not Fair,” she tells the tale of a kind man who’s bad in bed set to the tune of a western romp, but chirping about “giving head” over enthusiastic banjo-picking emerges decidedly weird. And the Yiddish-style accordion jam on “Never Gonna Happen” is especially jarring as she breaks into a sugared chorus about doling out rejection.
A series of forgettable domestic relationship songs chronicle Lily eating Chinese food, watching television and waiting for a kiss. The bizarre “Fuck You” draws a laugh as she sneers and jeers in a lollipop falsetto, but it’s little more than a novelty song that quickly becomes irritating. “Him” asks if God ever evades his taxes, and feels like her take on “What if God Was One of Us” . . . a bad enough song to begin with.
“22” offers a little relief early in the album, with a jangly piano chorus, but it’s the last track, “He Wasn’t There,” that shows a glimpse of what she can be. It’s tinkly, retro and feels wonderfully stripped down and effortless after a strained and disappointing album.
It’s hard to believe that bratty, clever Lily couldn’t put out an album with just as much sass as Alright, Still. Her lyrics haven’t evolved, and even after learning about pop stardom first hand through a series of embarrassing and tragic tabloid debacles, her observations pack less of a punch than before.
After several high profile duets, including the heart tugging “Drivin’ Me Wild” with Common, and the sexy funk cover of “Oh My God” with Mark Ronson, surely she only needs the right partners in crime. After this disappointing, over-produced effort, let’s hope she chooses more wisely next time.