calculated by heavens to betsy / not what you say but how you say it
Good morn/afternoon. In K & I's album trading endeavours so far, we've covered a lot of genres. We went from hyperpop to r&b, a bit of singer-songwriter, I've even sent along Abbey Road by the Beatles. How anyone has made it to the ripe age of 19 without listening to a single Beatles album is beyond me.
Last Friday, I sent her an album from a completely different genre. I showed her Calculated by Heavens To Betsy, a two-piece girl band straight from the '90s Riot Grrrl movement. It's messy, emotional, incredible in my books. It can be an off-putting sound to many just because of the sheer loudness of it, but I find that it's an album that really fits certain moods. Usually those of despair and anguish.
Now, not every song was a hit for her, but I begged her, if anything, to listen to just one song off the album. My guiding light, my torture anthem, my grungy Toronto teenage sound. That song was Complicated, and it's a masterclass in conveying raw pain and feeling in the vocals.
When I pitch music to her, I often give her a scenario of where it most fits in. Complicated has made a lasting impact through many lives of mine, and has always been a mirror of my anger and frustration when I've needed it the most.
In its most recent stay in my playlists, the canal next to my second-year dorm had been completely frozen over, snow weighing down on all of the evergreens lining my window. It was like a blanket of misery had been laid down, dampening all sound and life. It was the start of the winter semester, and I had a distinct sense of listlessness for just about everything. The fall had been the continuation of a creative renaissance I was having since the spring, built on using just about every inkling of my personal life as copy. This culminated in an emotional burnout by the time the new year came as a result of my giving, giving, giving, but I never like to dwell too long if I can help it.
One benefit of the cruel Canadian winter is that the cold has a way of shocking your system awake. After getting through the mind numbing homework, the cafeteria slop, and all else that makes life grim, I'd be damned if I ended the night going stir-crazy in my shoebox dorm room. I'd arm myself with my Fuggs (my fake Uggs stolen from my mom), my hefty black sheepskin coat (my family heirloom stolen from my mom), and my grey wool scarf (no comment, stolen from my mom), ready to tackle the canal.
Round 11 or so, I'd trek out to the icy canal, staying on the lit path above. Most times, I'd been lucky to time my walk for when the wind would die down to a standstill. That's the sweet spot, where the air just naturally bites at you, but doesn't outright attack you. Feeling your cheeks turn red against the sky is a nice reminder that you're still kicking it, in a weird way.
Complicated was a comprehensive experience of wanting more, getting less, and making mistakes in the face of it. Corin Tucker begins with mumbled accusations mixed with excuses for the erratic behaviour that can only come from love gone awry. She gains power, conviction in her voice as she begs for the defensiveness to end, yet she grows more and more vulnerable with each verse. Shaky belts and cries asking for forgiveness, promises, all too much. She crashes down at the end, weakened by her own emotion. You can hear it in her chest, hear it in her head, hear it in her voice. It did all of wallowing for me, all of the lamenting and screaming for me, and all I had to do was make my way through the winter for as long as the song ran.
What I adore about this song, and songs of its caliber, is that the lyrics act as a supplement to the story that the song is conveying, not the main catalyst. For all I care, Tucker could be singing complete gibberish, and I would still understand every single thing she was feeling from the pit of my stomach. As K and I discussed, in so many slower and sadder songs, many artists rely heavily on lyrics to convey the emotions they're describing while neglecting to fully get in character, so to speak. The truth of the matter is, when you're writing about ugly feelings, you simply can't be afraid to sound ugly too. That's where the beauty lies, in the unashamed honesty.
K says that she feels that lyrics are the least important part of a song. A song can be good even if it has bad lyrics, but only good lyrics can't save a bad song. I'd have to agree, K.
For those curious, here's K's mandated mini-review:
Complicated. I understand why this is your favourite because this is definitely the best of the songs I have listened to on this album. I love how it slowly builds into a full scream by the second half. The song starts off a lot calmer than the other ones where she's at 100% the whole time. The soft spoken singing at the beginning conveys a disappointment that slowly builds into anger. By the end, I feel like it drags on a little, but overall very good song. Will be going on the playlist [yay!].
Next winter depression, I'm pulling this bad boy out for sure [me too].