An anti-pop princess, still
By Jerilyn Covert
In the three years that have elapsed since Lily Allen was e-catapulted into the world of pop stardom, it appears that success hasn’t softened her stormy personality, but it hasn’t stopped her from growing up a little, either. Her debut album, Alright, Still, was all about super-fun, super-catchy tunes (who knew the offbeat rhythms of reggae/ska could actually be fused into something so . . . well, good?) and easy-to-learn, candid lyrics that openly addressed all kinds of taboos, from drug use to urban crime to the unusually small endowment of an ex-boyfriend. Now 23, Allen proves that she’s still the same provocateur she was back then, but her sophomore effort, It’s Not Me, It’s You, also broadens the subject matter and, thanks to producer Greg Kurstin, who composed all the music for the album, trades the reggae/ska in for 80’s synth pop.
In some ways, Lily Allen’s status as a pop princess is as unlikely as Britney Spears qualifying for Mensa. She’s not the traditional vapid, blonde Barbie doll; she’s not the wholesome, virginal, girl-next-door. She’s the opposite. Media reports have portrayed her as an angry brawler and an advocate for drug experimentation. Yet, her new single, “The Fear,” has already topped the charts in Britain, and she’s become increasingly popular in the United States. She’s sort of the answer to the pop star stereotype which emerged in the late 90’s. She’s bubble-gum pop’s rebellious younger sister, paving the way for other talented acts like Amy Winehouse and Duffy. And if, as a recent Newsweek article declares, TV characters Tony Soprano and Jack Bauer represent the rise in today’s culture of the antihero, then Allen et al represent the rise in the music industry of the anti-pop princess.
What’s really interesting, though, is the way that Allen plays into her role as pop princess even while rebelling against it. She has a blithe disregard for other people’s opinions of her, and yet she’s very conscious and even critical about her appearance. The song “Back to the Start” is a heartfelt apology to her more attractive older sister for years of jealousy-driven abuse. And as suggested, in a satirical way, by “The Fear,” she does want expensive clothes, and she does wish to be thinner. Such are the unfortunate side effects of belonging to a culture in which you can never be rich enough or pretty enough. As an anti-pop princess from another era might say, she’s got one hand on her American Express, and the other is flipping the bird.
Take “Everyone’s At It,” the opening track to her new album, a song in which she challenges the hypocrisy of a culture that condemns illegal-drug use, even while everyone “from grown politicians to young adolescents” seems to be on some kind of pharmaceutical. The song sends a he-who-casts-the-first-stone kind of message, while Allen’s sharp wit keeps it playful and entertaining: “See you’ve got a prescription and that makes it legal/ Now I find the excuses overwhelmingly feeble/ You go to the doctor you need pills for sleeping/ Well if you can convince him then I guess that’s not cheating.” In the aforementioned “The Fear,” Allen assumes the role of an exaggerated Paris Hilton, engaging in acts of mass consumption and moral depravity: “I want to be rich and I want lots of money/ I don’t care about clever I don’t care about funny/ I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds/ I heard people die while they’re trying to find them.”
Allen is still singing about ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers of varying degrees of sexual proficiency. In “Not Fair,” a bouncy, quick-paced ditty laced with twangy guitar riffs, banjo pickin’, and galloping drums, Allen sings about a boyfriend who’s perfect in every way–except one. The Lone Ranger-esque tune melts into soft melody and a catchy chorus that easily gets stuck inside your head. In “Never Gonna Happen,” Allen breaks it to an ex that her unexpected booty call doesn’t mean they’re getting back together; she just hadn’t been laid in a while is all. That Allen–she sure doesn’t beat around the bush. And speaking of Bush, our former commander in chief was supposedly the inspiration behind the next track, the aptly titled “Fuck You.”
But not everything that Allen sings about is colored by anger or cynicism, especially as this album belies a softer, more vulnerable side. In the aforementioned “Back to the Start,” she’s sincere and remorseful. She’s sorry for her behavior, takes full blame, and vows to make amends. In “Him,” Allen ponders the existence of a god and what he’d be like if he were–your cue, Joan Osborne–one of us. In the song, Allen doesn’t shy away from touchy subjects like 9/11 but still manages to include such great, funny lines as “Do you think he’d drive in his car without insurance/ Now is he interesting or do you think he’d bore us/ Do you think his favourite type of human is Caucasion/ Do you reckon he’s ever been done for tax evasion.”
Allen’s lyrics are such an important part of her music; they’re clever and witty and fun to sing along with. But composer Kurstin deserves credit, too. Kurstin, who also produced and recorded the album, successfully weaves in surprising sounds that reflect Allen’s own originality and somehow fit perfectly with the album’s overall feel, while encompassing many vastly different genres. Take, for example, the French, accordion-laced melody in “Never Gonna Happen”, or the sampling of the Carpenters’ “Close to You” in “Fuck You”.
“He Wasn’t There” has an old-time jazz feel to it, and the track is distressed to sound like an old 78 record. The song is about Allen’s father, B-list British actor Keith Allen, and her coming to terms with his early absences from her life. In the song, Allen says that, despite his flaws, she wouldn’t want to change her father for the world because she knows he’ll always love her: “I’m so pleased I never gave up on him/ Oh well you wouldn’t believe some of the things that he did/ And everyone said you have to give him some time/ And I’m glad that I gave it to him ’cause now everything’s fine.” Now that’s mature.