Interpol “If You Really Love Nothing”

Interpol is the kind of band that always sorta sounds the same if you’re not paying much attention, but are nevertheless always making new formal decisions within the context of their clearly defined aesthetic. In the case of “If You Really Love Nothing,” it’s the introduction of a shuffle beat. The swing of the rhythm makes the more familiar elements of their sound feel a bit more fresh, it’s like rearranging the furniture of their sound a bit to give the music a more comfortable sense of feng shui. The usual claustrophobic tone is gone, but the weird bug-eyed tension remains. Paul Banks’ vocal sounds as tightly wound and neurotic as ever, and he seems to be addressing someone – a woman? an audience? the United States? – with a perplexed sort of disgust. He sounds like someone who has just given up hope for recovering a relationship with someone, and is now attempting to justify himself. What a bitter vibe for an unusually light and groovy song for them.

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Spice Girls “Say You’ll Be There”

The Spice Girls spent the majority of their debut album singing songs about negotiating the terms of relationships and assertively stating what they did and did not want out of love. It’s remarkably mature stuff in retrospect – music for teens about setting boundaries, asking for what you need, emphasizing consent, and expecting emotional reciprocity. “Say You’ll Be There,” their best single, is about attempting to gracefully transition from friendship to romance. The lyrics are plain and direct, but respectful of the audience’s intelligence. You can certainly nitpick about whether or not their commodified “girl power” was Good Feminism, but I think in terms of presenting pop songs about love, they were Good Role Models. If only we could all be as forthright and sensible about relationships as the Spice Girls were in the mid 90s.

“Say You’ll Be There” is the sort of pop song that sounds relatively normal until you pay attention and notice it’s actually a little odd. The melodies are rooted in the glossy UK pop of its time, but its groove is heavily indebted to Dr. Dre and P-Funk. There’s a harmonica solo that sounds like someone doing a pretty good job of mimicking Stevie Wonder in the ’70s, and while it’s a major highlight of the song, it’s hard to fathom how it ended up in the arrangement. The pre-chorus has an elegant feel to it, but it slams into a proper chorus that sounds like it was deliberately designed so large groups of drunk women would eventually sing it together at bars.

There’s a bit of glittery disco glamour in the mix, but it’s nearly neutralized by how much the Spice Girls sound like a bunch of silly kids rather than the sort of bold, sassy women who fronted songs in the disco era. Those songs were aspirational, but the Spice Girls’ funk is highly accessible. Everyone’s invited to dance at their club, and they want you to sing along. And maybe when you sing along, you might just internalize some good ideas about love.

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Mitski “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?”

Mitski’s voice is a stumbling block for me. Her compositions, especially on her new record Be the Cowboy, are bold and expressive, and her lyrics are sharp and emotional. Her voice, however, is pleasant but oddly lacking in affect. She undersells every line in a way that makes it hard for me to tell whether she’s being deadpan or emotionally reserved. I’m inclined to believe “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?” is more the former, and we’re meant to take find her indecisive and low-key selfish lyrics to be darkly humorous, probably at her own expense. Her composition, particularly the dramatic keyboard hook and lead guitar parts, carry the feeling of the song and indicate emotional stakes far greater than her vocal would imply. It’s certainly interesting to me to contrast that bombast with a vocal approach that presents a rather distant and cerebral take on raw feelings, but the result is a song I admire far more than I connect with it.

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Ariana Grande “Sweetener”

Pop albums take time to make, while pop star relationships tend to burn bright and fast. As a result, it’s easy to approach Ariana Grande’s new album Sweetener as a collection of songs about her intense romance with the comedian Pete Davidson. (There is, of course, a song on the record called “Pete Davidson.”) But many of these songs have been in the works for some time, and “Sweetener” in particular apparently dates back to 2016 when Grande was still involved with Mac Miller. (A lyrical tip-off is the entire verse about enjoying getting head from this lover, and Miller is a guy who proudly rapped “I just eat pussy, other people need food” in his album-length tribute to Grande, The Divine Feminine.)

Fun fact, right? Cool trivia. But I think this context is valuable in understanding where Grande is coming from as a person and as an artist. This is a woman who had her heart set on singing songs that conveyed a joyful, lustful love, regardless of what relationship she was in. She’s chasing a feeling, and trying to capture it in sound, and she absolutely nails it when she works with Pharrell Williams. Williams, one of the great geniuses of modern pop R&B, has an instinctive understanding of what chords and melodies flatter Grande’s voice and persona that most of her other collaborators have lacked. His chord structures float and sparkle around her voice, which is at once bold and sweetly delicate, like Mariah Carey in her youth. The songs sound light and dreamy, like she’s just levitating in a haze of infatuation.

This is the state of mind she wants to be in, like, all the time. Blissful, horny, and removed from stress and the horrors of the world. And whomst among us does not want this? Look at this gif of Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson from earlier this week. Who doesn’t want to feel like Ariana in this moment? Who doesn’t want to have someone look at them the way she looks at Davidson? This is an ideal state!

The idea driving all of this – her life, her songs – is that this is a choice. You have to want it, to chase it, to bring it into your life and cherish it. This is a woman who recently endured a horrific trauma, and made a decision to throw herself into love. She made a record about love rather than the hate and murder and cruelty she witnessed firsthand. She’s singing about her experience, but offering the best advice she can give to anyone else struggling: Find love, embrace love, hold on to it. You need that sweetener.

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Brandy “Sittin’ Up In My Room”

Babyface was in his mid 30s when he wrote “Sittin’ Up In My Room.” It’s vaguely surprising to learn that he wrote it entirely on his own because the vibe and sentiment of the song is so purely “teenage girl” – I’ve always felt a little like I’m trespassing in some girl’s room and reading her diary when I hear it. But I suppose it doesn’t take all that much imagination to picture a girl sitting in her room mooning over a crush, and to channel her thoughts and feelings. Especially when the truth is the feeling of the song is fairly universal and it’s just the setting that is specific. A crush is essentially the same at any age.

I love the little tells in the lyrics that show this song was in fact written by a guy in his mid 30s. “I must confess” is a pretty standard line, but here it’s built out of a legal conceit. There’s talk of “investing” in her happiness. The language gets a little formal in cute ways – “I have but one concern, how can I get with you?” Brandy makes it all sound so light and breezy, and the casual funkiness of the track goes down so smoothly that I never noticed any of this for 20 years. She exudes warmth and sweetness in this song, the crush is so pure and good-hearted. It’s not a problem aside from not knowing how it will turn out, and that concern taking over her mind. It’s stressful and emotionally taxing, but it’s fun to have this in your head. It opens you up to happy possibilities! It feels exciting! She was probably very bored while sitting up in her room before this crush came along.

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The New Pornographers “We End Up Together”

“We End Up Together” came out eight years ago, and ever since I periodically come back to it to obsess over the implication of the title phrase. In the context of the music, it’s played like this triumph of inevitability, a celebration of abandoning free will. But I know enough that this song is in some way about Carl Newman and his wife, so I think it’s meant to be sort of tender? “We end up together” surely would come across as unambiguously romantic in other contexts, but as dramatic as this song gets it never conveys that sort of feeling. It’s mostly pensive and melancholy until the bombast kicks in, and even that part feels a bit cold and distant. The chorus is an expression of distracted confusion: “You looked like you were saying something.” This song is very lost in its head.

This isn’t a song about a relationship so much as it’s about everything that leads up to the relationship – generations of family history, social and cultural context, the damage of living and loving and searching until you finally find someone to settle down with. “We End Up Together” seems to come from the perspective of the moment just after the deal is sealed and the story finally becomes clear. All of this, everything, was leading to this thing that now seems, in retrospect, to be destiny: We end up together.

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Echo and the Bunnymen “The Killing Moon”

I have spent a lot of time trying to parse who “me,” “you,” & “him” are in “The Killing Moon.” Is this a love triangle? A cuck fantasy? A love song about two men? Three men? Is the singer always a passive character, or does he switch perspective when active – another self that he’s alienated from? Is “him”…God? Is “him”…death?

Ian McCulloch deliberately wrote “The Killing Moon” to be ambiguous. That’s a lot of why it’s so powerful and timeless – a lot of songs invite you to make it your own with interpretation, but McCulloch’s lyrics are so vivid and intense that they seem to be telling you something very important that you must decode. It’s like he’s offering a key to something inside of you: What are you afraid of? What turns you on? Who do you want? Who do you want, but resist? What do you feel is unavoidable?

“The Killing Moon” is a song about desire and inevitability, and how desire can create a situation that is more or less inevitable, and how desire can also resist inevitability. There is romance in either scenario. The lust in this song is so strong – it’s repressed to a large extent, but the gothic romance atmosphere of the music gives it away. It’s sexy, but incredibly gloomy and bleak in tone. McCulloch is singing about a maddening desire, something so mind-bending that every kiss is cosmic in scale. He sings it all with a weary desperation.

So, is their love the inevitable thing, predetermined by fate? Or does his lust invariably lead to madness or humiliation? Is heartbreak inescapable? Is he doomed to never consummate this love? All of that and more seems plausible to me. Anything is possible in “The Killing Moon,” because it is stuck indefinitely in the moment before resolution. Something feels destined, but you don’t know what it is. You hope for the best, you fear the worst. You wait for the moment, and then you let go of your pride and submit to it. You give yourself to it.

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Jake Shears “Big Bushy Mustache”

First off, I am just so glad to have this guy back. I miss the Scissor Sisters very much, but some solo Jake Shears will do for now – especially since it all just sounds like Scissor Sisters anyway. There’s some magic missing without Baby Daddy and Ana Matronic, but Shears’ songwriting is still distinctive sharp.

“Big Bushy Mustache” is a funky fantasy about masculinity that’s based in a desire to emulate a certain kind of ’70s straight man. It’s a nostalgic song about a type of guy you don’t really see anymore – strong and bold and flashy, right on the edge of campy but not quite. If you see this dude today he’s probably queer, and emulating the vibe as Shears is in this song (and his current look.) This is probably all tied up in very contentious “masc” politics in the gay community, but from my own boring straight man perspective, this resonates as an ideal of manliness that’s rugged and confident but relatively light on toxic masculinity. And the world surely needs more good examples of being unambiguously masculine without rejecting style and sexiness and fun, or being an angry creep about everything.

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Bad Bad Hats “Makes Me Nervous”

“Makes Me Nervous” is an airy, atmospheric pop song that conveys a very subtle anxiety in the way the guitar chords sound so crisp, taut, and rigid. It’s the uptight feeling hidden beneath the smiling facade, and the grasp on to familiarity in the face of the unknown. Kerry Alexander’s voice is ideal for this sort of low-key tension – she always sounds reasonable and calm, but her phrasing always reveals an easily wounded and sensitive soul. Her lyrics for this song match the tone perfectly, with her character getting paranoid about her relationship and freaking out a bit when she can’t get in touch with her partner. There doesn’t seem to be anything actually going wrong, but she’s so invested and obsessed that every little thing seems like it could be a harbinger of doom. And it all comes down to the Sisyphean frustration of everyone who’s ever been insecure in love: “I still want to be whatever you need.” If only!

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Doja Cat “Mooo!”

I suppose “Mooo!” qualifies as a novelty song, but I ask you: Where exactly is the line separating a “comedy song” from a regular song that happens to be funny? I’m inclined to say “Mooo!” is in the latter category – its silliness is more surreal than jokey, and there is a jazzy delicacy to the arrangement that is lovely and highly listenable in and of itself. Doja Cat is a delight on the mic, gleefully extending her cow metaphor to nearly a breaking point, and delivering an interpolation of Kelis’ “Milkshake” near the end of the song that’s joyful and inspired. The song is definitely funny, but when it comes down to it, “bitch imma cow, bitch imma cow” isn’t much weirder or off-kilter than a lot of other things going on in hip-hop lately. It’s just whimsical and cute in a way that’s a bit unexpected.

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Tirzah “Do You Know”

Mica Levi’s arrangement for “Do You Know” makes Tirzah sound as if she’s pacing circles in a damp basement in her mind, trapped indefinitely in a loop of thoughts about a relationship that has crumbled. Levi’s production centers her voice in the mix so fully and clearly that it sounds almost too intimate, so it feels less like hearing a song, and more like accidental telepathy. Or, at least, it’s like overhearing half a phone conversation you really should not be eavesdropping on but you can’t bring yourself to tune out. Tirzah’s lyrics are specific enough to give you a clear sense of the troubles between her and this other person, but just vague enough that you’re still piecing together the bits that are left unsaid.

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Robyn “Missing U”

Robyn knows what we want. She knows that we want her to make the kind of songs you dance to when you’re upset. She knows we want her to take our loneliness and heartache and turn it into romantic, cinematic, and cathartic moments that are sometimes more satisfying than actually feeling good. She knows no one else can do this for us like she can. And so here’s “Missing U,” a song that gives us what we want and what we need. Robyn is not very prolific, but she is generous.

Robyn knows her way around a hook, but the reason her songs work comes down to the sound of her voice. She always sounds like a strong person cracking under the pressure of enormous feelings, like she’s trying to hold it together just a bit longer. She always sounds like her pride is slipping away, like someone ready to totally debase herself to get the feeling out. She never loses control in the song, but it always sounds like if you keep playing it over and over, she might.

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Astronauts, etc “Symbol Land”

“Living in a symbol land.” That phrase, central to this song, really gets under my skin. Symbols in and of themselves are fine – utilitarian, a crucial part of how we process language, images, and life. But the way we lean on symbols for shorthand can be disastrous. A lot of the problems in the world come from an over reliance on symbolism: A laziness in interpreting other people that justifies casual cruelty, the intellectual bankruptcy of only seeing action and ideas for their symbolic value, the accumulation of empty signifiers in capitalism.

“Symbol Land,” as a song, isn’t quite as political as my interpretation of that line would suggest. It’s more of a broken love song, with Anthony Ferraro singing about attempting to parse the meaning of a collapsing relationship. His melody is gorgeous, and the sound of the chords and harmony has a stately and angelic quality, like John Lennon’s “Imagine” by way of Brian Wilson. Ferraro’s words are left deliberately ambiguous, almost as though he’s attempting to disrupt the symbols that weighed down this relationship in expectations beyond simple, pure love.

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Lithics “Still Forms”

I hate to share a song and say that it sounds just like something else – it feels lazy and disrespectful to me – but… I have to do that here. This band sounds so much like Erase Errata that it’s uncanny. I first encountered Lithics when they opened for Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks recently, and I was stunned by how specifically they sounded like Erase Errata. Not post-punk in general, or other similar bands like Delta 5 or The Raincoats. Erase Errata, right on down to the tone of Aubrey Hornor’s voice.

But this is not a complaint. I miss Erase Errata, and Lithics are very good at making this type of jagged, disaffected music. “Still Forms” has a weird sort of swing to it, and its main guitar riffs have a peculiar sharp trebly clang that is like the musical equivalent of a bitter taste on the tongue. Hornor’s lyrics are evocative too, particular with her cold, blunt delivery. A line like “TV remote lying in a field of golden wheat” comes off as a menacing implication.

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Taylor Swift “Delicate”

It’s so interesting to hear Taylor Swift doubt herself so much. “Delicate” is a love song, but from the perspective of someone who is desperately afraid that this amazing connection she’s made is about to be poisoned by her past, or ruined by allowing herself to be vulnerable too soon. And all she wants is to honest, and to just tell this guy what she’s feeling. She’s censoring herself, editing out as much as she can to maintain an illusion, but she’s not sure if it’s working.

She really makes you feel her angst here – the urgency of her desire crashing into the anxious need for self-preservation. You can hear the classic Taylor crush vibes in the song, but it’s muffled and muted by the icy arrangement. The song is all tormented restraint, so when the bridge comes and allows a brief moment of pure honesty – “sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you’re mine, all the damn time” – it’s incredibly cathartic. But then the song snaps back into the chorus – “is it cool that I said all that, is it chill that you’re in my head?” – and she sounds so totally defeated by her need to protect herself.

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Leonard Cohen “I’m Your Man”

What does a woman want? It’s hard to say, as all of them are different. Your assumptions, especially as a straight man, are probably off base given your personal assortment of hopes and fears. But if you care – and this is not a given, a lot of men really don’t care – this question can drive you mad. Every woman you fall for offers fresh new ways to tie yourself up in knots trying to figure out how to make her happy and want you. And if you care, it’s all you want.

Leonard Cohen wrote “I’m Your Man” after trying and failing to figure out what women want. “I myself have decided to abandon the inquiry, I have decided to surrender,” Cohen has said introducing the song. “I’m ready to be whatever I must be in order to deserve her voluntary caress. That is why I say without shame and unconditionally: I’m your man.”

“I’m Your Man” is sung from a position of vulnerability and humility. It’s worshipful in tone, but willing to back away from that on a moment’s notice if he got the sense that worship would turn her off. He adores her so much, and just wants to feel worthy of her. His esteem for her is so high, it’s unlikely he ever will.

The synthesizer arrangement of this song sounds a bit cheesy and dated today, but the artifice was always intentional. The sound is aiming for suave sophistication, but what you hear is a slightly awkward simulation. It’s the musical equivalent of another mask he’s willing to put on to please this woman. It’s an act, but the intention is incredibly sincere. He just wants to be her man.

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The Smashing Pumpkins “Hummer”

“Hummer” is a song Billy Corgan wrote about coming out of a period of depression and writers block. Corgan often talks about his art as the result of divine inspiration, and while I can’t relate to his faith, I will say that the way creativity and epiphanies seem to come and go can be so inexplicable that it being God’s will is as good an explanation as anything else. In my own experience, it’s like a light bulb being turned on or off. The off periods are a dull malaise. The on periods are a glorious high. Either position feels permanent in the moment, but it never is. And you can’t ever anticipate when the switch goes on or off.

“Hummer” is a song of joy and hope, but Corgan doles out the ecstatic moments carefully. A lot of the song is riding a placid groove, with Corgan playing crisp, calm lead parts or gently chiming chords. The big distorted parts signal overwhelming happiness on a monumental scale, and seem to shoot upwards like skyscrapers bursting from the ground. How else are you supposed to accompany a sentiment like “When I woke up from that sleep I was happier than I’d ever been”?

This is also a love song. Corgan buries the lede a bit here, but the most dramatic element of the song is him trying to square this feeling of renewal and creative fertility with his love for someone. Every feeling he has is intensified, but he seems worried about holding on to this love. “Yeah, I want something new, but what am I supposed to do about you?,” he asks. He immediately knows the answer: “I love you, it’s true.”

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Bob Dylan “Tangled Up in Blue”

There is no timeline in “Tangled Up in Blue,” just scattered memories of small moments burned into the mind of the narrator, who could be singing about one woman or several different women over the course of his life. It’s all deliberately unclear, to the point that sometimes he might be a different person too. Some sections seem like vivid recollections, and others feel more like fantasies. But memory is shaky and unreliable, and is mostly just the story you tell yourself to make sense of your life and define yourself. People change over the years. I prefer to hear this song as being about just two people drawn to one another but almost always out of synch. It’s more romantic that way, and more tragic.

In “Tangled Up In Blue,” love is easy but life is complicated. Every moment of profound connection is fleeting, and every commitment is subject to change. Love gives him focus and purpose but it’s inevitably thwarted, and he’s often complicit in the failure. The music moves in circles, mirroring the way these people orbit one another, and suggesting that they will eventually connect again. There’s a brightness in the notes, a glimmer of hope. She may be gone for years on end, but she never escapes his mind. His lingering love for her and regret about losing her flattens and scrambles his timeline. It’s always her, somehow. And in his heart, it’s always her, someday.

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The Velvet Underground “Rock and Roll”

You know how if you put a seashell to your ear you can “hear the ocean” in its hollow? The guitar chords of “Rock & Roll” are sorta like that, but the space between strums contains faint echoes of the Manhattan of the late 1960s. You can feel it in the tone, and in the attack – a hustling groove, but played with a bit of “so what?” slack. I’ve never been to that version of Manhattan, but I’m certain that’s the sound of it. It sounds just like it.

“Rock & Roll” is meant to do this. It’s designed to evoke New York City, and conjure a romanticized vision of a space full of exciting people where you’re not, but could someday be. The entire song is about the way sound can take you where you need to go, if only you can just hear it. The girl in the song, a stand-in for Lou Reed as a young man, finds love and life and meaning on the radio. The “New York station” is a beacon for everyone in range of its transmission.

When Lou Reed wrote “her life was saved by rock & roll,” that sentiment was not the corny Pinterest cliché it is today. The need for escape was far more urgent, the stakes were much higher. “Rock & Roll” expresses the joy of finding your people, even if you haven’t really met them yet. The sound is a map, and it takes you to a place. In this case, it’s Manhattan and it’s 1969.

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Prince “Take Me With U”

“Take Me With U” contains one of the most charming moments in the history of pop music: The bit in the third verse in which Prince sings “you’re sheer perfection” and Apollonia replies “thank you.” The very idea of this exchange is cute, but the exact tone of their voices is what makes it so special – he’s so thirsty and earnest, and she’s so polite and demure. She sounds like she’s blushing. He sounds like he’s sweating.

“Take Me With U” is one of the few songs where Prince sounds genuinely nervous, like he’s trying to be chill about his love but is failing completely. He’s desperate for her company, he just wants her soooooo much. He can’t hold back anything, so he’s laying it all on the line: “All I want is to spend the night together, all I want is to spend the night in your arms.” To me, this is Prince at his most romantic. His desire is so pure, his love is so respectful. There’s no trace of toxic masculinity, there’s nothing controlling or manipulative or selfish. It’s just this guy declaring exactly what he wants, and being a real sweetheart about it.

And uhhh, she has a mansion? That’s cool, I guess.

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