Lily Allen Its Not Me Its You Review

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Lily Allen, eh? It'southward been quite the few years. Her early on demos piqued the attention of the nation's youth via MySpace through their mischievous and matter-of-fact tone, and when 'Smile' eventually hit, it buffeted her into the upper echelons of British pop royalty with nary a look back. And why not? Alright, Still was a breath of fresh air in an increasingly moribund "popular" landscape. A playful, frequently caustic wit informs Allen's finest, with subjects tackled including breakups, unsatisfactory partners and boozy nights on the town, anthology highlight 'LDN' a wonderfully irreverent and addictive paean to the capital. If it'south comparisons you're after we're talking Mike Skinner's talent for evocation and Alex Turner's penchant for detailing his songs with the minutiae of everyday life. Equally evidenced by a revelatory Strongbow'n'smokes-assisted performance at Glastonbury 2007, Allen's none-more-candid music reflects her character to a tee. That, and it'south just a lot of fun.

Three years downwards the line Allen has faced off with detestable 'celeb-blogger' Perez Hilton, suffered a miscarriage, drawn remarkable levels of antipathy from sure quarters (check out this snide-every bit-you-like gig report), and glumly resigned herself to tabloid fixture status – a level-headed reaction to not putting any music out for a while. There was that much-maligned chat show also, but, well: I never saw it. All things considered, coupled with the fact that It'southward Non Me, It's Y'all kicks off with a fairly grim state-of-the-nation address entitled 'Everyone's At Information technology' (we're all on drugs, apparently), you'd exist forgiven for thinking the impish charm that saw her resonate so thoroughly with the Groovy British Public style back when has justifiably evaporated.

Indications aren't particularly promising: the trumpets and ska-influenced overtones are conspicuous by their absence, replaced by a sleeky electro-pop sheen courtesy of Greg Kurstin from LA's The Bird And The Bee. Ronson's nowhere to be seen (part of a concerted effort to not ply fields "as well retro"), atomic number 82 unmarried 'The Fearfulness' hovers precariously above the trap door marked 'Celebrities: Your Celebrity Is Non Songwriting Gold', and third runway, 'Not Fair', revolves effectually a somewhat uninspired chorus of "Information technology'due south non fair and I remember you're actually mean." Furthermore, topics such as God and an inept U.s. President (no prizes for guessing who) are on the table. Yikes.

Hold up though, because dismissing this album out of hand would be a grave fault of judgement. There'southward nothing as direct-up enjoyable as 'LDN' or quite as remarkably scathing as 'Smile', simply sticking with It'southward Not Me, It's You and penetrating its jarringly slick-meets-Garageband-amateur exterior is wholly appropriate. Non perfect by any means, it nevertheless cements Allen'south condition as an adept chronicler of daily existence (just another blogger? - Ed). Past virtue of her clever lyricism and melancholy-sweet singing voice, even 'Anybody's At It' is a triumph, and a dauntless opener at that, while the frank manner in which she addresses the pitfalls and vagaries of fame in 'The Fear' is for once refreshing, equally opposed to merely nauseating. "I am a weapon of massive consumption," she proposes: "Information technology's not my fault – it's how I'm programmed to function."

'Not Fair' (of the "information technology'due south non fair" chorus) might come over equally petulant in lesser hands, but given time, even this reveals its own idiosyncrasies – not to the lowest degree some fairly incongruous banjo licks – while information technology turns out Allen is expressing frustration at a lover's inadequacies in all matters carnal (made doubly irritating as in all other respects he's acme-notch). "I experience pretty damn hard-done-by / I spent ages giving head," she trills sweetly, and in a wicked subversion, "You're supposed to care / Just you never make me scream."

Her family as well remain a major business organisation in these songs: 'Back To The Beginning' is a self-confessed "olive co-operative" to an older sister with whom she'due south had a hard relationship and 'He Wasn't There' belies its title, a clumsily affectionate tribute to her begetter. Relationships are considered at length, in a way that although skewed is capable of eliciting enough of empathy. The cathartic 'I Could Say', for example, sees her emerge from the other side all the better for it, while 'Who'd Have Known' lucidly details the furtive thrills and giddy excitement that prevarication at the outset of a romantic effort. This latter wasn't intended for inclusion on the album, namely as Allen made no bones about ripping the chorus straight out of Take That's 'Shine' and couldn't exist bothered with the paperwork surrounding. In slowing the tempo some though, substituting its vapid generalities and platitudes with a warmth both insightful and agreeable, she bests the original considerably.

It ain't all good, listen. 'Him', despite occasionally inspired couplets regards the Big M ("I don't imagine he'due south ever been suicidal / His favourite band is Creedence Clearwater Revival…") is a bit much, really, though fair play to her for the effort. 'Chinese' besides treads waters a niggling too over-familiar, with Allen again extolling the virtues of a healthy human relationship (and Chinese takeaways). Even hither though, a fine vocal functioning salvages things from the completely forgettable. The attack on Dubya (ahem: 'Fuck Yous'), though inevitably amusing to a caste, succumbs to a nursery rhyme chorus that however sincere can't help but grate a little.

Ultimately though, what other popular star would please in (and generally get away with) taking on subjects as convoluted as terrorism, politicians, drugs? Who else would revel and then much in dissecting the unglamorous effectively points of relationships, and so eloquently and so breezily? Katy Perry and her fake-lesbian antics? Leona Lewis and her flagrant over-emoting? James I-am-just-shit Morrisson? The vacuity-peddling, monstrous entity that is the Pussycat Dolls? When Lily Allen is at the top of her game, she is the (im)perfect pop star for our times. That this defiant 2d album is as patchy as it is assured simply serves to underline that notion.