After spending some time with it, La Merde et Les Etoiles feels like a completely isolated, endless, and elaborate shudder. The dejected poetry of singer/songwriter Bob Massey takes center stage as various strings and brushed percussion imperceptibly swell and recede around him. A glaring non-sequitor like "This furniture talks to me" is rendered oddly poignant by his delicately poised delivery. He's got a sweetly forlorn voice, and its versatile range provides an almost operatic tone for the listener. There's no overriding narrative, but at times the songs possess a certain drama that takes hold of you, begging you to welcome the sort of world-weary devastation you'd sooner evade.
And there's something to be said for a guy who'd open an album with an unrequited love song to comedian-turned-political commentator Janeane Garofalo. Though I find her gorgeous, I realize she is not what most guys would consider a dream girl. What's interesting about the choice is that the song is about how love is a movie ideal and not anything that real life can provide. Janeane is frequently cast, like the girl in She's All That who's supposed to be all frumpy till she takes her glasses off, as someone who isn't feminine enough to be a love interest. Massey is decrying this horseshit and doesn't forget to add that film maker John Cassavetes was a martyr against these tired, repressive Hollywood notions of beauty. Which brings me to their namesake. Rowlands, like Garofalo, is a beautiful woman who shined in her husband's films because she wasn't afraid to get ugly -- to peel back the itinerant sweetness of femininity and reveal something resplendently fractured and human. If only Garofalo could have received roles as challenging and engaging.
But, I don't want to get off track, as much as the occasional directness in regard to the well-known lyrical subjects easily lends itself to such tangents. There's also a weepy little tune about Traci Lords, whose lyric "What the pornographers refused to show her was the hole where the heart goes" can be either poignant or corny depending on your attitude about the adult entertainment biz.
As much as the lilting, scattershot arrangement of La Merde's songs could be elusive for some listeners, the more straight forwardly song-like Helena Bonham-Carter ode "Power, Lies, Helena's Lips" doesn't fare as well. His aching, dangled turns of phrase are better suited to the slighter arrangements that populate the rest of the release. This song turns what before seemed like thoughtful observations on celeb mystique into something more like facile stargazing. Perhaps this isn't so true for the more upbeat "The Last Words of Lesley Gore," whose trilling strings and assailing guitar work make it a fine closer. At first the mopey uniformity from song to song on La Merde can be as much an asset as a hindrance to its enjoyment. But the more one listens to it, the more oddly alluring the self-effacing lines and their intricate, yet nebulous musical components become.
1. Garofalo, C'est Moi
2. Tom Shroder's Blues
3. Kong Meets His Maker (A Parable About Dating)
4. Seceding From Our Union
5. [intro]
6. Pilot For A Situation Tragedy
7. [outro]
8. Easter at the 7-11
9. Power, Lies, Helena's Lips
10. Traci's Big Screen Test
11. The Last Words of Lesley Gore
12. Punchline of My Life