Wendy James has made this consistent and very sweet album from start to finish and top to bottom. Written it all, sung it all, played it all produced it all. Hooray! Although she isn’t a great musician she'll do fine. I'm a bit disappointed to have to report she doesn’t have a lot to say. But no matter, it sounds OK as a smart lifestyle additive. No one's listening to the words anyway. (despite the namechecks to Hunter S. Thompson and Jack Kerouac)
A slightly downmarket Broadcast vibe noodles away behind layers of breathy little-girl vocal tracks that loop round and round. Many will be smitten. The themes are the surfaces of indolent life in New York, "you've only got eyes for me" is a phrase whose multiple meanings cover the whole thing. The whole thing in this case consisting of: me me me; what you see; maybe we'll get to the top; you have and give nothing but looks. But of course, nothing makes sense. If the lifestyle of triviality and tawdriness appeals, well hey, it isn’t bombing anyone's brains out. Whatever.
Narcotic rather than hypnotic, the only judgement it craves or could be hung by is big sales and more limousines. It pretends to be an indie album with punk roots. But it’s a pop album with casually plundered ID. A pop album that would improve Top of the Pops by a factor of seventeen, but still a pop album that leans on others work to make it work.
Top moment by a long way is "Hip Hop 156", with a punk structure and a Sixth Form squealiness that reminds of The BONSAI KITTENS. Without the spice of the kittens knowing distance from the pallid glamour of the scene it still captures the voice of bewildered, soap-educated and very smart youth.
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The in-between moments of goodness are all the other tracks. Single "Grease Monkey" is direct and sassy. "Blonde Mink Mimi" is crunchier and Blondie-like. "Cakewalk" is spacey and submarine in a slow and supple way with a very cool bassline. W13th has a dub feel with a lite dancehall touch that steers a passage via Puerto Rico. All in Pro Tools I guess.
Low point by a very long way is the fake orgasm sighing dropped into "Heavy Metal Dude". Irony? Doesn’t work for me. It’s faintly FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE from a girls' point of view – but sitting inside a package that keeps on using coy femininity as a come on, it feels like real rather than represented shabbiness.
I write all these reservations despite the fact that it could be a massive album. It could catch a mood that the canny Ms James is channelling straight back to the mass of pop outsiders – just like she could do with Transvision Vamp. Borrowed clothes, maybe. But the right clothes for the right audience.
"Racine" is pronounced on the album as Ray-seen. Oddly enough. She gets the words nitwit and smackeroos in too. Good words.
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