Allo Darlin': We Come From The Same Place

ALLO DARLIN': WE COME FROM THE SAME PLACE (2014)

1) Heartbeat; 2) Kings And Queens; 3) We Come From The Same Place; 4) Angela; 5) Bright Eyes; 6) History Lessons; 7) Half Heart Necklace; 8) Romance And Adventure; 9) Crickets In The Rain; 10) Santa Maria Novella; 11) Another Year.

Monoideism. 1. Focusing of attention on a single thing, especially as a result of hypnosis; term invented by James Braid, one of the first genuine hypnotherapists of the 19th century. 2. Major cause of everything that goes wrong with music (and not just music) today, well illustrated by the example of British/Australian twee pop band Allo Darlin'.

Going back to their debut album in my mind, I can still distinctly remember the cute little brilliant melo­dies of ʽDreamingʼ and ʽMy Heart Is A Drummerʼ, and the sweet-subtle excitement of thinking, «wow, this is so promising, there is really a lot they could achieve from here». With the release of the band's third album comes the ultimate realization: they are not even trying to go anywhere else because they never had any such plans from the very beginning. We cannot even accuse Elizabeth Morris of turning out so much less talented than we thought her to be — be­cause she has not the slightest intention to move her talents away from the little green lawn that was carefully prepared, irrigated, and fenced on Allo Darlin'. J'y suis, j'y reste.

If you are already head over heels in love with the well-educated Australian girl who cuts her hair relatively short, plays the ukulele, and combines hip intellectual lyrical imagery with a streak of quasi-chil­dish idealism, and if you already wanted to sue me for all the bile spilled over Europe, this third record of theirs will be an epiphany. To be fair, I think the melodies are a wee bit stronger than on Europe, but it may be an illusion — the band is certainly not studying any new chord progressions here and not moving one step away from the twee-pop formula, so any ob­servable dif­ferences are limited to nuances, well perceivable and significant only for major fans whose eyes turn into magnifying glasses and ears into stethoscopes at the first note of the uke.

No surprise that almost every review of the album that I have seen immediately turns to the only aspect of the record that is relatively easy to discuss — the lyrics and their realization. No sur­prise, indeed, because now we know that Allo Darlin', the pop band, is really nothing but a front for Elizabeth Morris, Singer-Songwriter (Extra)-Ordinaire, and that their soft, lyrical, gentle, but rhythmic and tightly focused melodies are just a mood-enhancing accompaniment for the world philosophy of Ms. Morris.

The problem is, that philosophy hasn't changed much, either, and is getting a bit wearisome third time around. There is nothing wrong with hazy-eyed romantic «can-I-really-really-make-this-sound-intelligent-rather-than-clichéd?» confessions as such, but if they turn out to be your regular way of making a living rather than a phase that you go through in life, there's something unspea­kably wrong with that — I mean, Kate Bush's The Kick Inside has always been one of my personal favorites indeed, but I would not be happy at all if the rest of her career all consisted of innumerable clones of that album.

And this is the way the title track begins: "First snow's melting on the ground / And I can see my breath / In your silhouette / And I remember what it felt like to be warm / And to be safe in love". Uhh... okay. All right, so maybe I was wrong here — maybe the lyrics do not really matter, maybe this whole album is just Elizabeth's way of saying "I want to hold your hand" on a slightly (very slightly) advanced level of technicality. Maybe we should forget all about that singer-song­writer business. But in this case, where are the great pop melodies? If the words do not matter, give me great pop melodies, not just this unmemorable jingle-jangle.

A tune like ʽSanta Maria Novellaʼ (the name of one of the most principal basilicas in Florence) helps uncover some of life's realities — namely, that the band, or at least its principal member, has relocated to Italy where, according to her interviews, she teaches English for a living because the band has no way of making any serious money. Strange as it is, though, you could not guess that from the music, which bears no traces of Italian influence (perhaps for the best, because I am not sure how Allo Darlin' would have coped with a whiff of canzone Napoletana) — yet knowing something about their struggles at least confirms the single positive thing about We've Come From The Same Place: as predictably monotonous as it is, Morris and her pals are being true to themselves, and, unlike so many poseurs, only agree to record stuff that is imbued with reflec­tions of real feelings, sifted as they are through an intentionally intellectual "and you read your Emily Dickinson and I my Robert Frost"-type verbal sieve. (Not quite as much here as on the previous two records, though — even in a song called ʽHistory Lessonsʼ, the only namechecked piece of historical reality turns out to be... the Lion King!).

Probably the only song here that could have some limited radio potential is ʽBright Eyesʼ, a duet between Morris and one of the boys where she asks him "do you believe in fun? do you believe in love?" in a thrilled exorcising voice and he calls back "I surely do, I do if you ask me to" in the voice of a happy willing victim, fully conquered through hypnotism (James Braid strikes again!). Additionally, this is one out of only two or three songs where they allow their guitars to develop a touch of distorted laryngitis (along with ʽHalf Heart Necklaceʼ), and Paul Rains plays a nice guitar solo. Who knows, maybe what this music really suffers from is the lack of sufficient con­tributions from the band's other members.

In the glowing AMG review — glowing, because Morris does have this knack of melting the hearts of cruel guys with keyboards — Tim Sendra called the album a collection of "intimate and true songs about love, life and how to deal with each", and implied that only somebody tired of hearing such songs could be dissatisfied with the record. Well, strange enough, because (a) I do agree with the definition in general and (b) I am in no way tired of hearing such songs, and am not prepared to ever get tired of hearing them, and yet I am still dissatisfied. Mostly, I am dissa­tisfied because, no matter how «intimate and true» these songs may be, the truth and intimacy have turned into a predictable formula, like minor variations on the exact same sermon that, for some reason, you have to attend every Sunday.

How do we mend this? I have not the faintest idea, even if I am sympathetic enough to the band to keep on hoping and wishing that it eventually gets mended. Perhaps the first thing to do would be to write a song that tries to deal with something other than the basic theme of «me and you». How about «me against the world?» Nah, too pre­tentious for a girl with a ukulele. Perhaps «me and my evil twin». On second thought, there's no evidence so far that she even has an evil twin. Maybe «me and my traumatic childhood experiences»? But I guess if she had any, she'd have let the cat out of the bag a long time ago. Ah, forget it. Just brace yourself for about fifty-six more Allo Darlin' twee albums that will tweely explore the twee-sted relations between the protagonist and the antagonist from all geometrically possible perspectives — under the Tower of Pisa, on top of Notre-Dame, and, ultimately, at the bottom of Niagara Falls. As the already mentioned Paul Simon also said, "there must be 50000 ways to say weird crap about your lover".

Allo Darlin': Europe

ALLO DARLIN': EUROPE (2012)

1) Neil Armstrong; 2) Capricornia; 3) Europe; 4) Some People Say; 5) Northern Lights; 6) Wonderland; 7) Tallulah; 8) The Letter; 9) Still Young; 10) My Sweet Friend.

Damn you, Elizabeth Morris. I really, really like you. You seem like a fun person to hang out with for somebody who hates hanging out with people – with just the perfect mix of sarcasm and idealism to pass for «the real thing». Smart, but not condescending. Stylish, but not garish. Pretty, but not beautiful. Childish, but never infantile. Hipsterish, but never over-the-top outrageous. A fine, upstan­ding example for any 21st cen­tury girl who might be looking for one.

So why then did you have to go and make your second album... no, not a «carbon copy» of the first one, more like an endless set of variations on one particular style? Essentially, if you have al­ready heard ʽThe Polaroid Songʼ, you have heard most of Europe. If ʽThe Polaroid Songʼ is your life, afterlife, and post-Apocalypse rolled in one, Europe will bring utter satisfaction. And hey, I like it too. But when your entire LP consists of upbeat, monotonous twee-pop, stubbornly based around jangle, jangle, and even more jangle, you just get to thinking: «hey, wait a minute, I kind of thought ʽsunshine popʼ was more than just that?!..»

The basic sound of Allo Darlin' remains as delicious as it ever was. The jangle is vivacious and friendly, and Morris' voice is a master weapon: as long as she keeps it that way, no song released by the band will ever be utterly worthless. But that's just it: the sound. The sound totally triumphs over the songs, all of which are interchangeable. The individual bits of magic, such as the heart–breaking guitar riff on ʽMy Heart Is A Drummerʼ, are nowhere in sight. God knows I've tried looking — a miserable failure every time. Just one pretty, generic jangle pattern after another. Enough, in the end, to make you crave for some AC/DC.

The only exception from the formula is ʽTallulahʼ, which is just Liz and her ukulele. Feather-light, touching, pretty — problem is, the rhythmic pattern is just about the same as the one in ʽHeart­beat Chilliʼ, and the vocal melody is hookless. It's as if she's just expressively reading a little bit of her diary, accompanied by a little strumming. Is that the way you save the world? And don't tell me that Allo Darlin' aren't here to save the world. They are. They just need to stop sucking their lollipops, 'sall.

ʽNeil Armstrongʼ and ʽCapricorniaʼ start things off with probably the strongest jangle patterns of 'em all. In about five seconds' time, you are already acquainted with the major charms of the for­mer (a little folk-rock riff, reminding of Dylan's ʽI Don't Believe Youʼ), but you will have to wait about fifty seconds for ʽCapricorniaʼ to hit its full stride and become a full-fledged Byrds-appro­ved extravaganza from mid-1965 — all that's missing is invite ol' man Crosby to sing backup.

I refuse to name any more names, with the possible exception of ʽThe Letterʼ, which does ac­tually try to re­create a little of the echoey magic of ʽMy Heartʼ. It would force me to be more cri­tical, and I don't want to be any more critical. I like the sound, I like the band, I'd like to replicate millions of clones of Elizabeth Morris to replace the millions of clones of Rebecca Black, but I just cannot, for the life of me, remember any of these songs. Somebody get Sir Paul McCartney to join this goddamn band. Something should be done. A thumbs down is just not right here, yet a thumbs down is still all I have for this disaster. Don't they teach songwriting in Australia?..

Check "Europe" (CD) on Amazon

Allo Darlin': Allo Darlin'

ALLO DARLIN': ALLO DARLIN' (2010)

1) Dreaming; 2) The Polaroid Song; 3) Silver Dollars; 4) Kiss Your Lips; 5) Heartbeat Chilli; 6) If Loneliness Was Art; 7) Woody Allen; 8) Let's Go Swimming; 9) My Heart Is A Drummer; 10) What Will Be Will Be.

Approximately thirty years before this day, the timeless American pop band Blondie released Eat To The Beat, one of their finest collections, not the least because it started off with 'Dreaming', a totally stunning combination of appropriately dreamy gorgeousness with a kick-ass rhythmic sec­tion. Now, in 2010, a British twee pop band, playing music about as light and quirky as Blondie used to be, and also consisting of a female frontwoman and several smarty-pants male instru­men­talists, releases its self-titled debut LP whose first song is also called 'Drea­ming'. Coincidence? Sym­bolic gesture/tribute? Or a subconsciously orchestrated trick from God's naughty brain?

«Twee pop», I gotta tell you this, is a strange phenomenon, somewhat akin to a bunch of grown-up mommys and daddys secretly sneaking in the kid's nursery and perusing his electric trains and tin soldiers while he's sleeping (not that there's anything wrong with that). In other words, it mi­mics the naïveté and innocence of days long gone by, when you know for a fact that no sane (or even insane) per­son in our modern world can truly share those feelings — all the really naïve hu­man beings just latch on to Miley Cyrus or take Rebecca Black's 'Friday' for serious.

Allo Darlin' are no exception. Australia-born Elizabeth Morris is the principal mastermind here be­hind all the songs, and she is at once overwhelmingly charismatic and utterly frustrating — for every simple, unadorned discharge of sexuality there must be a self-consciously intellectual flou­rish, for every "I'm here because I love you" or "Come over, give your heart to me" there must either be a reference to Wild Strawberries (but then, if she doesn't popularize Maestro Bergman, who will?) or a sly quotation from Johnny Cash (and God only knows what else I've missed).

On the other hand, intellectuals need to get laid, too, and they certainly won't be doing it to the soundtracks of American Idol. And if anything, Allo Darlin's take on the traditional love song genre (ten takes, I mean) is not without its own individual merits.

The grandest of which, actually, is that these ten songs are good pop songs — not simply retroish nothings clad in professional retro arrangements (although all the arrangements are in extremely good taste, and none of that lo-fi crap), but, like, real songs with interesting melodies and lots of emphasis on the instrumental side. As a vocalist, Morris is not very capable; she has this husky hushy sexy thing going on, which she can sometimes elevate to a happy childish yell ('Kiss Your Lips'), nothing else, and, perhaps because of this, her vocal melodies seem poorly thought out — no truly catchy choruses or anything (in fact, many of the lyrics are just a bunch of prose impres­sionism rudely and unconvincingly stuffed inside the song's rhythmic structure). But she and the rest of the band keep coming up with pretty pop riffs — time after time after time, the songs hook you right from the very first seconds.

Certainly this band's 'Dreaming' will never replace that other band's 'Dreaming', but there is still something utterly fresh and juicy about that chugging guitar line and how it is then underpinned by the ukulele rhythm and electric dream-poppy overdubs. The jumping Beatles For Sale-ish jangle of 'The Polaroid Song', the opening bassline of 'Silver Dollars', the droning style of 'Kiss Your Lips', all great starts, and although most songs never progress far beyond the greatness of the opening five or so seconds, well... you could complain likewise about Beatles For Sale, for that matter. It's only pop music, for God's sake.

As they find out themselves that the main choruses aren't doing their job as fine as they should be, the band isn't even afraid to throw in a few really cheap thrills — such as the "sha-la-las" on 'If Loneliness Was Art', which still plays to their advantage because it's so, you know, RETRO: who the heck wants to attract attention these days by singing "sha-la-la"? From the other side, no hip person will bypass an album with a song called 'Woody Allen' on it (yes, the one that namedrops both Annie Hall and Manhattan, and throws in the Bergman references as a bonus — all in the same innocent kiddie tone that makes matters so befuddling).

Still, every album like this, in order to gain its thumbs up, has to have at least one magic moment during which it is clear (to me, the thumbs-upper) that the band has IT, and the way I see it, that particular moment which makes me yearn for more from these guys arrives no earlier than at 1:40 into the next-to-last number, 'My Heart Is A Drummer' — a simple, but description-defying patch of musical bliss.

From here on, Elizabeth Morris and the boys may go on to bigger things (Allo Darlin' is as per­fectly humble, although not entirely «unpretentious», beginning to a modern career in pop as can be thought of), or they may stick to the same formula for decades, or they may burst and blow away next Saturday, like so many twee pop bands before them (they don't call it «twee» for no­thing, you know), but I only know that I'm perfectly sure to return to this album some day in the future, which is probably the awesomest compliment I could ever give a 21st century record.

Check "Allo Darlin'" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Allo Darlin'" (MP3) on Amazon