Album Review: St. Vincent - Mass Education
Roughly a year ago, when Annie Clark released the fifth
album under her St. Vincent moniker, the polarizing experiment in hyper-sexualized,Technicolor pop music, MASSEDUCTION,
the first time my wife and I listened to it was in the car—not the most ideal
setting for a first time through with an album, but there had been some kind of
hang up with the shipping of my LP (it wouldn’t arrive for well over another
week) so we had to make due with the consolatory mp3s I put on our iPod.
As my wife scrolled through the device, looking for the
album, she exclaimed, ‘Mass Education,’
when she found it. I had to break it to her that it was, in fact, called ‘Mass Seduction,’ and that it was all one
word, and all the letters were capitalized.
So imagine her delight when, a year after the release of
that album (one we are both still on the fence about), Clark returned to that
set of songs, had dramatically rearranged them for piano—performed by
wunderkind Thomas ‘Doveman’ Bartlett—releasing a companion album of sorts,
aptly titled, Mass Education.
Recorded a full two months before the release of MASSEDCUATION, an interesting, strange
fact about this companion piece, Mass
Education finds Clark and Bartlett stripping these songs completely of
their slick pop trappings—the liner notes, a printed, charming ‘hand written’
letter from Clark herself, explains she and Bartlett didn’t rehearse together,
or even discuss how to approach the material in this format; instead, they
recorded each song live, together, performing two or three different takes,
then selecting the best one to include in this collection.
The thing that keeps MASSEDUCATION
at an arm’s length—well, one of the things, is that it’s less of an album and
more of a statement, or declaration, and a culmination of a fully realized
persona. Clark, as St. Vincent, was always swiftly moving away from the
idiosyncratic ‘indie rock’ she started making in 2007 with her debut, Marry Me; she always had oddball
tendencies that slowly started to reveal themselves. I guess I thought she had
reached her ‘peak’ or whatever in 2014, with the self-titled St. Vincent
album—however, I was wrong.
The other thing that keeps MASSEDUCATION at an arm’s length is, I hate to say ‘sloppy’ song
writing—but it’s ‘pop’ song writing—I guess we can thank Jack Anotoff for that.
In a sense, Clark is way too smart for that kind of thing, but on that album,
she embraced it whole-heartedly.
Jumbling the song’s original track list, Mass Education scales back the
hyper-sexualized façade of the originals, transposing them into a reserved and
pensive sensuality. Because the structure has been reorganized, there are some
very awkward transitions—that is one of the first very noticeable things about Mass Education.
The other thing—the thing that you are left pondering long
after the album has finished, is the same thing that I am still pondering, a
year later, about MASSEDUCATION—and
that is, just how much of this actually
works, and how much of this doesn’t.
Sometimes it’s really tough to tell, and that’s the
frustrating thing—it’s an album with no easy answers.
When Clark described MASSEDUCATION,
she said it was an album about ‘sex, drugs, and sadness,’ and it’s that last
part—the sadness—that was mostly lost in the pop music sheen of the bombastic
arrangements the songs were originally written with. Here, however, all three
of those things are loud and clear.
There are some songs that don’t really change all that much
when reinterpreted for solo piano—“New York,” which originally featured
Bartlett on piano, is less jaunty in this form, but the sentiment is still
relatively the same; and “Happy Birthday, Johnny,” one of the most devastating
tracks from MASSEDUCATION, and
perhaps the most personal Clark has ever gotten with her songwriting, was
originally very sparse. Now it is just, you know, even sparser, and a little less structured.
That kind of loose, nearly improvisational tone that Mass Education takes is charming, and
admirable. Bartlett and Clark have known each other for a decade, and have run
in the same social, and musical, circles, including The National and Sufjan
Stevens. The whole ‘two friends playing off one another’ atmosphere from their
recording sessions is palpable, and makes the entire endeavor interesting to
say the least.
Across the album’s 12 tracks (it does away with the
instrumental interlude from the original) there are specific songs that lent
themselves well to the reinterpretation—Clark opts to open this collection with
“Slow Disco,” MASSEDUCATION’s
penultimate moment—one that she has already chosen to remix, releasing the
“Fast Slow Disco” single earlier this year. Jokingly, she called this iteration
“Slow Slow Disco,” and the somber, bittersweet anxieties of the lyrics—“I know what everybody’s thinking,” Clark
swoons during the song’s second verse. “I’m
so glad I came but I can’t wait to leave”—rest beautifully atop Barlett’s
confident piano arrangement, and in a sense, this very short, haunting vignette
becomes the Mass Education thesis
statement.
Once the MASSEDUCATION
opening track, now Mass Education’s
final moment, “Hang On Me” also translates incredibly well to a simple
arrangement—though in its original incarnation, it was one of the more sparsely
structured tracks. If “Slow Disco” is the thesis, then “Hang On Me” becomes a
bit of a closing remark, with Clark’s fragile voice singing, “You and me—we weren’t meant for this world,”
though here, it’s unclear who she’s talking about: is it she and the former
lover (presumably Cara Delevingne, whom a bulk of MASSEDUCATION is more or less about) or, in this case, is it she
and Bartlett—two friends who have spent a number of infinite New York City
nights together, drinking too much, and waking up to what Clark calls
‘exquisite hangovers.’
Then, there are the other eight songs on Mass Education—seven, I guess, really,
because we should just get this out of the way right now: the most mercurial,
perplexing moment on MASSEDUCATION,
the maligned, glitchy pop of “Pills,” doesn’t work here either. It was a bad
song to begin with, and stripping it down to just a piano, doesn’t help it be
any better.
So there are these other seven songs then, and here’s what
is frustrating about Mass Education
is that there are moments, or parts, or sections of these other songs that
really do work, or really are impressive—then there are other parts or sections
or moments that are awkward, or cringey. It’s a maddening given and take that
Clark and Bartlett manage to sustain, presumably unaware of how not everything
is going to translate from heavily processed pop to bare bones piano.
Or maybe they are aware, and they just don’t care.
The prepared piano (while pretentious) lends a touch of
whimsy and charm to the slink of “Savior,” though the lyrics about kink and
fetish don’t exactly land when they are only backed by a single
instrument—however, this is one of those songs where you can hear that give and
take: Bartlett ditches the prepared piano during what serves as a refrain for
the song, and Clark herself abandons the sultry swagger that she has been
singing with, as she literally pleads in a gorgeous higher register, singing “Please,” over and over again, as the
piano swirls around her.
The titular track, or what was the titular track from MASSEDUCTION, finds Bartlett stalking
around the lower keys on the piano, creating an ominous environment for Clark
to yelp, “I can’t turn off what turns me
on.” This is, as a whole, one of the songs that doesn’t really work—it’s
not as unlistenable and insipid as “Pills,” but the dissonant and sparse
accompaniment doesn’t assist Clark—the song itself, lyrically, is mostly the
same repeated phrases which I guess may work a little better in a pop song
format. It was also here, especially at the end, when I got a hint of mid-90s
Tori Amos. I hate to say that, almost, because I don’t want to be like, “Oh
it’s a female singer and a piano so it sounds like Tori Amos,” but there’s a
moment, near the end, where Clark becomes unhinged, her voice caterwauling, and
it reminded me a lot of the conclusion of Amos’ “Professional Widow.”
Clark is raw and unhinged throughout a majority of Mass Education—I think that’s the point.
There’s no time for multiple takes to make sure the vocals land just how she
wants them. She never really misses a note, but her voice is certainly not as
polished or labored over as it is on her other studio albums; it’s a trick that
adds to the intimacy of the project.
I hesitate to say that the songs presented in Mass Education are ‘dramatic’
reinterpretations, mostly because some of them might not be dramatic enough to
push the song in question forward. As terrible as a song like “Pills” is, it
maybe would have been more palatable if Clark and Bartlett had, rather than
just mostly transcribed the original structure to be suitable for showy piano,
actually stripped the song completely and started over from a different place.
There is drama, though, on Mass Education—don’t get me wrong. Bartlett and Clark maintain the
theatricality from the original, just present it in a different light. “I try to write you a love song,” she
whispers somberly at the end of “Los Ageless.” “But it comes out a lament,” a line that becomes much bigger than
itself when you look at both this, and MASSEDUCTION
as break-up records, reflecting on her whirlwind year of sex and drugs, ending
in sadness.
In the end, in trying to balance the highs and lows of this
companion piece, Mass Education
arrives as a bit of an inside joke or anecdote that Bartlett and Clark share
that they are trying to let you in on—only you are having a hard time getting
it. It’s not a bad album, but it also is not a great album. It frustrates and
intrigues, similarly to its predecessor. It also continues to cement Clark as an
‘Artist’ (with a capital A) who has come incredibly far over the last decade
plus. It’s hard to believe there was a time, around seven years ago, that she
blushed at the idea that the phrase “I
spent the summer on my back,” from “Surgeon,” could mean anything other
than being depressed—now, she sits with her back bare, both alluring and
unsettling in a way I can’t really describe, for the album’s cover art.
As an ‘Artist,’ both MASSEDUCTION
and Mass Education are huge artistic endeavors
and statements—if you are a longtime fan of Clark’s work as St. Vincent (as I
am, and as my wife is who is still undecided about both of these records), just
marvel at the fearless risks she continues to take with the St. Vincent
persona, in letting you in and keeping you far, far away—it’s a dance of both
tension and release that is incredibly admirable.
Mass Seduction is out now as a digital download, on CD, and on LP. Please note if you order the LP from Clark's webstore, it does not come with a coupon for mp3s of the album.
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