SHELTER: BIRDY

 Yes, I know it's a cover. In fact, all but one of the songs on her first album are covers, arguably all the more surprising, with her subsequent three records being visually all self-penned, at least including co-writes. But it is to her eponymous debut I return the most, giving life and substance to songs I am otherwise not overly fond of.

Named down to her love of Charlie Parker, her neo-jazz skronkings have soundtracked many an apocalypse, making this post entirely appropriate for the moment. I jest; the name comes from the more prosaic open mouth she made as a hungry infant, seeking sustenance. Plus, it is a whole lot easier to say than her given name, Jasmine Lucilla Elizabeth Jennifer van den Bogaerde, almost as much of a mouthful as the dissimilarly derided Dido, for whom it is compulsory to mock with the full extravagance of her christened names. Odd that, but I digress, not least as Birdy has a far greater claim on the Peerage through the Lords and Barons that abound her family tree. As well, interestingly, the actor, Dirk Bogarde, her late great-uncle. And, worry not, neo-jazz skronkings are the last thing she could be accused of.

The original song, by electronica-dance merchants the xx, is such a slight tendril of a tune that it is, to my mind, remarkable what Birdy brings to it, her skilled and school piano-play an altogether more stately setting for the somewhat allegorical lyric. If this theme was designed to show a light on the horror Putin is unleashing on his neighbour state, I fear the words are overly vague, but I am disregarding that point. Just the act of typing out Putin is a psycho monster makes me feel better, wishing that alone could give some relief to the beleaguered Ukraine. Of course it can't, but I can only hope that someone somewhere is plotting a sly, sneaky bullet in him, sooner rather than later. 

But back to Birdy. Like most people, I first heard of her as she brought Bon Iver's song, above, to a wider audience, at the same time, rendering it bearable to those, like me, who can appreciate the construction but cannot stand his enuretic voice. (Apologies to his potent fanbase, who, as he delves deeper and deeper into studio tricks and FX, goes from bad to much, much worse.) What I didn't know, until writing this piece, was that she was a sickening fourteen years old when she cut this cover. Eek, simultaneously discovering I am somewhat older than either of her parents. Given I am known to be especially curmudgeonly toward child prodigies, perhaps it is as well I didn't, at the time I enjoyed the song and bought the album. That was 11 years ago, the other covers on her debut split between the left field indie faves and the sole chestnut, James Taylor's ageless Fire and Rain.

So, what of her later stuff? Casting her net wide for sympathetic co-writers, her next two releases show her finding her feet, it taking 2021's Young Hearts to display the sense of maturity she pretended earlier. Surrender, the song below, is one such example, which brings on board the not inconsiderable talents of Daniel Tashian (Lissie, Kacey Musgraves), a fella who knows his hooks. 

Why have I chosen Surrender? I guess as my heart hopes Zelensky won't, even if my head suggests he has to, in the absence of the NATO support he so strongly wants, and that NATO are so scared of providing.

Gimme Shelter....

MAIL: POSTCARDS/FAITHLESS

 This could go either way. My occasional forays into musics outside the SMM staples of vocals/guitar/bass/drums seldom capture many glimpses, this post adding injury to insult by featuring one of the more vilified singers of recent(ish) times, tho' she is still active. So, listen to the track. Something familiar in the vanilla tones?

Or indeed the song, it being reprised, or at least the female vocal part, as My Lover's Gone, for the Dido debut solo album, No Angel. I'll come off the fence. I like Dido. There, I've said it, never quite understanding the usual smirks whenever her name comes up, at least in this country. (Is it any different in the U.S.?) Sure, she has a massive audience and has sold oodles of product, but in this land of loathing for tall poppies, the critical reception has been traditionally to scythe her down. Let's examine the evidence.

Dido, or Florian Cloud de Bounevialle O'Malley Armstrong, as she is compulsorily referred to within sneering put-downs, possibly never planned it thus. Her name(s), clearly, were given by her parents, who actually might take some deserved flak for that, and her musical history only began through her brother, Rollo, needing some female vocals for his band, Faithless. As with the featured song. Rollo, strangely never Rollo Constantine O'Malley Armstrong, is the famously non-participant member of Faithless, writing much of the material, leaving the other core members, Sister Bliss and Maxi Jazz, possibly also neither their full or given names, to perform them with associated session men and sundry electronica. Her cameo vocals were sufficient to grasp her a recording contract. And her own material, a sweeter and blander, more easily digested version of her brother's music, often written with him, was poised to fill the middle ground. There are myriad singers occupying arguably similar ground, and I will offend the fans of Sia and Paloma Faith by including them in that terroir, but it's true. There is always a niche for well played and performed, exquisitely  produced pop music. But Dido had one huge stroke of luck, with one of her songs being picked up by star of the day/for the day Eminem. His sampling of her vocals was a master stroke, massively expanding both his appeal and hers, hoovering up both sales and plaudits aplenty. Thank you, Stan.

It is true, I haven't paid huge attention to her later work: I have her later recordings, or access to: my wife is a fan, having graduated effortlessly to that status, courtesy her adoration of Faithless and all things related. (An anecdote: it was my picking up her mention of the diminutive Maxi Jaxx on her dating site bio, that both caught my eye, endearing me to her, mistaken in her belief that my tastes did not run quite as far as they do. Had she then known I was listening also to hardcore bagpipe-driven folk-rock and steel drenched country, things may have turned out very different.......) But my affection remains, as those about me four scorn and disdain. The fondly remembered music mag, (The) Word, went on record to say that when they put her on the cover, it was their least selling copy, arguably saying more about their audience than Ms Armstrong. Perhaps I will have to check my stats after I post this?!

Purely because I hadn't realised this before, let me also draw attention to her appearances with and for other artists. Now it may be that Carlos Santana can be a bit of a tart, beefing up his appeal by and nearly inventing the idea of stuffing albums with as many guests as he can find, but this collaboration with Dido isn't so terribly bad.

As is, neither, this duet with Rufus Wainwright, for one of the Bridget Jones sequels. Quite a bit better, actually.If the notoriously picky and spiky Wainwright was willing to share a song with her, up a little further she goes in my estimation.

Check yer mail!