Oh blog, how I have ignored thee.
To rectify that cold shoulder, I suppose I should start by mentioning an idea that was in the back of my head when I first decided to make Evil@Large. For the past few years, it seems like I’ve found myself enjoying the company of women in music much more than men (psychoanalyze away; I know I have). This summer should have, therefore, been fantastic for me.
Norah Jones kicked off the season with “Little Broken Hearts.” A little over a month later, Regina Spektor delivered “What We Saw From the Cheap Seats.” And as a finale of chanteuse surdosage, Fiona Apple’s “The Idler Wheel…” brought her back to the masses, as crazy as ever. I was ready to devour it all.
So why, as the first leaves are dying off, am I so disappointed?
Unreasonable expectations, perhaps. Of the three, Spektor delivered the best music for my money. The rest of “Cheap Seats” may not have buried itself in my ears like its lead single (“All the Rowboats”) did, but it wasn’t far off. I admired Jones’ album, but half of it wasn’t for me. Although, it must be said…between half of “Little Broken Hearts” and half of her previous album, “The Fall,” she’s made one absolutely badass breakup record. It’s just a shame it’s diluted.
And Fiona? Dear, I love you so, but this is the first album you’ve made that I haven’t been able to aurally absorb to outright bliss. “The Idler Wheel…” has its moments, mind you. Once “Left Alone” kicks in, with a piano that’s as much boogie-woogie funk as it is avant garde jazz?
Yeah. Damn straight. And those types of moments certainly exist in the latest music from Spektor and Jones, too. They’ve just spoiled me so much in the past that my musical appetite is too voracious to satiate. These three albums are all wonderful in their own right, when taken on their own.
Alas, I still feel…unfulfilled. And Nataly Dawn went and delayed her album (“How I Knew Her”) until early next year. You want to know how much that sucks? We have to wait for more of this.
At least there’s Of Monsters and Men (with the amazing Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir), who have made me want to yell “Nordic rock, FUCK YEAH!” from my car window to casual passerby.
Oh, and St. Vincent and David Byrne? You’re up.