Two Pop Albums: Caroline Polachek's 'Desire'; Laufey's 'Bewitched'
'Desire, I want to turn into you', 2023; 'Bewitched', 2023
N.B. This review, being of two albums, is somewhat longer (about 2,000 words) than typical MR fare. Readers may want to split it into two sittings, although it can also be enjoyed as one ‘long read’.
Today we’ve a change of pace at The Modena Review. Instead of reviewing a book or (what has brilliantly been called) ‘elitist classical music’, I thought I’d look at two interesting pop albums from this year, namely Desire, I Want to Turn into You by Caroline Polachek and Bewitched by Laufey (pronounced “láy-vay”).
I suppose what catches my interest in these two out of all the pop albums which must surely have come out during 2023 is the fact that neither is straightforwardly a pop album. I will go into more detail as I work through the records, but it is striking that both these (really quite popular) albums are both so backward-looking, in their different ways, with Polachek channelling the sounds of the 80s and 90s while Laufey inhabits the harmonic world of the 1940s–60s jazz.
So, without further ado, I shall now relive my A-level essay-writing days by ‘comparing and contrasting’ the two records.
Caroline Polachek, Desire, I Want to Turn into You (pt. 1)
The first thing one notices about Polachek’s record is of course the title. Although Polachek is a patchy lyricist in terms of consistency of quality, the decision here to address the abstract concept of ‘Desire’ as though he-she-it were a person makes her album stand out from the crowd, and it also sums up much of the record’s spirit of playfulness, edginess, and adventurousness, as well as its consistent sense of excess: ‘want’ itself is desired so much as to want to turn into want itself.
The record begins with ‘Welcome to my Island’, a nice Tempest-like (to my mind) introduction. It begins with a wordless vocal solo which quickly turns from elegant to nearly deranged, giving one that sense of the album’s curiously enjoyable over-richness immediately; and one is made aware instantly of the quality of Polachek’s singing voice, which is, all things considered, the chief attraction of the record.
One probably sees this best on the second track, ‘Pretty in Possible’, which Polachek has said in an interview is her favourite on the album (and probably mine too actually), where an unusual motif in Gb major introduces the song, after which follows a verse in recitative style (and in the relative minor) quite low in her range, but which, around the 90-second mark, abruptly goes up by at least an octave (perhaps more) and then, the really impressive thing, back down to normal range with perfect control.
One sees an even better example of these acrobatics in the short acoustic performance she did for NPR, whereas the (very good but very rich) production on the album buries the voice in effects. (And, incredibly, this live performance is even a semitone higher in range, and shows that Polachek’s tricks and techniques, such as imitating autotune, come entirely from her own excellent vocal abilities and not from any auxiliary technology.)
The next three tracks seem fine but nothing especially memorable. Many reviewers have liked the flamenco-esque ‘No Regrets’ but, between musical cliché and insipid lyrics, it strikes me as a somewhat ‘underdone’ track.
Halfway through the album comes ‘I Believe’, another highlight, the use of musical clichés this time being brought off with a successful irony against the really quite earnest-sounding vocal work. Here, everything works together—the simple but quite touching lyric (“I believe | We’ll get another day together”), the vocal fireworks being used for expressive purposes, and the strong chordal movement (mainly around the circle of fifths).
As we’re at Polachek’s halfway point, let’s pause and take a look at Laufey.
Laufey, Bewitched
Laufey is achingly young, talented, and successful. Singer, pianist, guitarist, and cellist, trained in classical and jazz by upbringing and the famous Berklee College, this cute, diminutive, half-Chinese, half-Icelandic girl of only twenty-five is a sort of musical Behemoth! Again, where Polachek is making what has been described as art-pop or even anti-pop, Laufey is making a peculiar brand of jazz–infused ‘bedroom pop’ (so I’ve heard it called), without being a bona fide, improvising and swinging jazz musician.
Like Polachek, Laufey’s album begins with a vocal intro, but in a totally different style. Rather than the deranged manner of Polachek’s Desire…, Laufey evokes the close, harmonised barbershop singing of the 1940s—something incredibly controlled, even very artificial. The nostalgic vibe continues in nearly every feature of nearly every track on the album. Sometimes it may be more 60s (bossa nova) or more 40s, as in the barbershop intro, but nostalgia is always at the forefront of the album in its production, orchestration, expression, and so on.
I fundamentally like Laufey, if in a somewhat qualified way. The first few tracks on the album all have something good in them—crystalline vocal work, utterly perfect production, flawlessly clean playing from the session musicians. But all this perfection does seem like so much surface-level glamour which serves ultimately to reveal a central void in a lot of the writing.
However, at the halfway point the album really picks up. The first really great song is ‘California and Me’. (I was amused while checking out other reviews to see this was the least favourite track of a seasoned and respected reviewer; no accounting for taste…) The Philharmonic Orchestra accompany Laufey on this track, lifting the song through their expressive playing of a really fine arrangement. But we also get Laufey’s loveliest melody in the chorus, where both she and the orchestral players highlight tensions, suspensions, and extensions in the harmony. It really feels here like the pop, jazz, and classical elements all cohere not just convincingly but beautifully. (I admit, it is one of the less jazzy tracks.)
This then segues into the lovely little solo piano ‘Nocturne’, built on the same basic musical idea (I, I#5, vi) as ‘California and Me’, though a tone lower. If track 9, ‘Promise’, seems a bit of a bland let down, it’s all better by 10, ‘From the Start’, the justly-loved single, complete with flawless singing, a scat solo, bossa nova rhythms, really fine restrained playing from the band, and the lovely, playful lyric in the second verse:
Oh, the burning pain,
Hearing you harp on about
Some new soulmate,
“She’s so perfect,”
Blah, blah, blah.
On paper they seem a tad juvenile and sarcastic; but the delivery is sufficiently bright that it doesn’t leave a sour note.
This leads into another high point, Laufey’s rendition of the jazz standard ‘Misty’, which perhaps has the most beautiful melody in all of the jazz repertoire. The only problem is that the chasm between Laufey’s writing and the sophistication of this masterpiece is painfully obvious. How her voice soars with better writing! I do hope she does an album of standards one day. (Incidentally, I have seen a review criticising Laufey’s vocal range; but here she covers at least a tenth, which I believe is considered a fairly good or at least typical range among singers.)
There is a bit of a come down in the last three of the album’s tracks, though 12, ‘Serendipity’, has some good moments. 13, ‘Letter to my Thirteen-Year-Old Self’ is tragic, but not, in my view, for the same reason as Laufey thinks: it is the pinnacle of teenage self-importance. 14 and final, ‘Bewitched’, sees the return of the wonderful Philharmonic Orchestra; it makes a pleasant conclusion, even if there is little terribly special in the writing.
I have some more general comments to make about Laufey, but let’s look at the second half of Polachek’s album.
Polachek, pt. 2
I haven’t much to say about tracks 6–8. It’s passingly interesting that Grimes and Dido offer vocals on track 6, ‘Fly to You’, even if the song’s not much to write home about. Likewise, number 7, ‘Blood and Butter’, impresses with good percussion and a lovely bagpipe solo(!), as well as some nice layered descending figures towards the end, but offers little beyond this superficial froth.
Nine, the imaginatively titled ‘Hopedrunk Everasking’, sparks more interest. It strikes a welcome contemplative note with its slower tempo, and the impressive vocals are at the service of the music (most of the time) rather than at that of the ego. It’s a good track, rising almost at times to the heights of Baroque lament music.
This makes a nice intro to the last three tracks or last quarter of the album. Ten, ‘Butterfly Net’, has some of Polachek’s better lyrics (interesting without trying too hard), modal harmony, and nice instrumentation, including the fretless bass, for which I have a soft spot; indeed, at times, this track recalls (in instrumentation if not harmonic and melodic range) Joni Mitchell’s collaboration with Jaco Pastorius, Pat Metheny, et al.
Track eleven, ‘Smoke’, cleverly re-uses material from other songs (a sign of Polachek’s classical training), if not always with total success. It brings us back into the album’s ‘big’ sound for a big finish. But track 12, ‘Billions’, is really the one with the brilliance to recall the album’s best moments and to finish things off well. The lyrics are extremely cheeky but the melody and delivery will win over even sterner listeners. About halfway through the modal song, a slightly odd new melody comes in. It is abandoned for another verse, but is used again at the very end as the song and album outro in counterpoint with other melodic material—and all sung by a children’s choir!
This wonderfully playful moment sums up and wonderfully encapsulates the spirit of the album and is the ideal material with which to fade out into silence.
The only problem is the music video, which is mildly irritating if not potentially offensive to some, and which anyway bears almost no relation to the content of the music. I won’t go into it here; readers can look it up easily themselves if interested.
Conclusion
I find much to like in both these albums, if both have rather too much ‘filler’. Wouldn’t both have been better just as EPs with the very best tracks featured only, or as albums that had spent longer in the works and were filled only with the very best?
I mentioned Pat Metheny earlier; I recall him saying in an interview that his classic debut album Bright Size Life (1975) was so good precisely because someone advised him not to hurry and put out an album filled with mediocre tracks, but rather to wait until there was enough excellent material to keep the quality level consistently high.
1975 had its problems, but we could probably learn from that time’s slower approach. There is so much pressure to do everything fast, and to compromise on quality as a result. One sees it everywhere—in lazy books, hasty articles, ill-thought-out comments, and so on. Laufey is only twenty-five but she already has three full-length albums, one with the Iceland Symphony Orchestra, and not a few EPs. (In fact, all her songs are about frustrated loves and rejection; but I wonder how—or whether—this workaholic multi-instrumentalist really makes time for such dalliances!)
I would encourage both Laufey and Polachek to abandon the active life for the contemplative and see what comes out of that. I think they would lose the weaker parts both of their musical and of their lyric writing.
Well, I hope I have ratified my argument that it would be interesting to compare these two very modern but backward-looking, highly-skilled but also at times slightly disappointing female singer-songwriters. I suppose, taken together, they say something about ‘where we are’ as a culture. Curmudgeonly articles about doom and the death of culture get read, viewed, and shared; but really I am quite gratified to see singers who can sing, who have some history and culture behind them, doing so well. It is much better than the diet of boybands and girlbands, misogynistic rap, and creepy metal music that was all the rage when I was a nipper in the 90s and 2000s.
Both these albums and artists are worth a listen; but I will be glad to get back to my usual classical and jazz recordings after my sojourn in the pop world.
C. R. A. Eager
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An incredible review. I listened to several tracks on YouTube and couldn't agree more with your assessment. You are the first reviewer of a pop album I have ever read who informs the reader of the key of the piece!