(100) Days of Soundtrack: #3 – Courtney Barnett – Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit
I had been meaning to check out Courtney Barnett for a while when Matt Belair suggested I add it to the stack. Admittedly, my main intrigue was the album title, which for a 90s alt-geek like myself could only make me think of a Spacehog song. Who is this indie darling who seems to know Spacehog? Does she really? Is this a quote from something else I don’t know about? Pure coincidence? I had my interest piqued. Pair that up with the rumblings throughout hipper circles about this album, and gild the lily with a recommendation from a trusted source, and I had to slap this on the list.
This album somehow immediately seemed fun, between the stomp of the tempo and the apparent organ in the background. It’s not really, of course… there is a definite sense of misanthropy and awkward discomfort to be found on the album. The real draw is likely just how classic this sounds. Classic to my ears. Crunchy and grungy. “Debbie Downer” sounds like the soul Liz Phair lost finally found a new host, and throughout Barnett makes a strong case for being the pre-eminent Courtney of the grunge genre, despite not showing up until two decades later. That a young woman who sounds like this is considered fresh and new and hip makes me feel OK about myself and the copious nobody post-grunge bands that will assuredly show up later in this project. I’m not outdated! I’ve just been waiting for resurgence!
What makes the album stay exciting, though, is that it switches it up. Sure, it goes from cynical bite to wistful slacker-lovesong, but it also has some stunning retro moments. “Small Poppies” sounds like it was born from a 1950s radio romancing a Pretender’s album in Hawaii. It’s lovely and sleepy. It shimmers with chorus and reverb, but remains just a bit smudged. These elements begin cropping up elsewhere, and it’s certainly welcome; an entire album of “Elevator Operator” would get tiresome, despite how well the track kicks things off. “How’s that for first impressions?” she asks in “Depreston.” Well, by this point the album has defied the first impression of those early grungy tracks.
This is not, of course, to say this is only a throwback. It never feels forced at all, like so many trying to mine the past. However, it also doesn’t have the strained smug self-awareness of her modern peers. The affected boredness of Ought’s speaksinging isn’t here in Barnett. Maybe it’s a manic pixie thing, or the Aussie accent, but her tenuous use of melody feels more charming. She plays with stream of consciousness lyricism without devolving into self-parody, and constantly feels cohesive. Even on tracks like “Dead Fox,” which does nothing for me, there is something warm and inviting at the core. Oh, sure, there are times when the album reminds me how well known it is among certain circles. “Pedestrian at Best” has become a sort of Twitter anthem, with a chorus I’ve heard hundreds sing through quotes. The chorus of “Nobody Really Cares If You Don’t Go To The Party,” relatable as it is, feels like it has a second life destined as a tired Tumblr meme. There are those moments where things feel just bordering on over-precious. Where other artists build entire catalogs on milking those potential cringe moments, though, they are the exception with Barnett. She remains interesting, she recovers expertly when her meanderings start going into the uncharted, and she always at least feels like she has something to say. Sometimes you just need an album that can throw out a line like “drinking all the smoothies” without having it land like a ton of bricks. This would be that album. Definitely worth giving a spin.
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