Charlotte Gainsbourg: IRM
I'm approaching IRM, Charlotte Gainsbourg’s second album, with caution; on the one hand, as a child of famous parentage (she’s Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin’s daughter); on the other, the roping in of a high-profile producer, in the one and only Beck Hansen. Her first record, 5:55, was a major success in France, but barely garnered much attention elsewhere. With any luck, that may change a little with IRM.
As the principal songwriter and producer, Beck’s influence is heavy throughout this record; the heavy, swooning string arrangements recall his woozy folk masterpiece, Sea Change; the tight rhythms of “Le chat du café des artistes” and the title track hold echoes of the shadowy grooves of Modern Guilt or The Information. Meanwhile, on lead single “Heaven Can Wait,” Beck comes to the fore, backing up Gainsbourg’s vocals on the sort of lazy hipster folk that could come straight from his Mutations album.
Gainsbourg herself, meanwhile, is thankfully not overwhelmed by Beck’s presence – at least, sometimes not. Her voice – soft, understated and charming, yet apparently uninterested half the time – works fine for the kind of groovy hipster folk that pervades the bulk of the album. She’d be the perfect vocalist for just about anything by Air (who collaborated on her first album). When Beck’s arrangements are stripped back, however, such as on the moody “Vanities,” her voice isn’t really engaging enough to support the song on its own. At the other end of the spectrum, on “Time of the Assassins,” she sounds a little overwhelmed by the expansive, multi-tracked backing vocals swooping around her.
It kind of has to be said, then, that the best songs on IRM – “Heaven Can Wait”, “Me and Jane Doe”’s pastoral folk, and “Trick Pony”’s dirty funk – are the ones that exhibit the heaviest influence of Beck’s writing and production. Nevertheless, there’s the pervading sense that these songs, however Beck-esque they may be, wouldn’t have worked on any of his records. Certainly, the combination of Gainsbourg’s vocals and Beck’s famously eclectic tastes has allowed both of them free rein, playing around with some textures and ideas that may otherwise be left unexplored, such as the superbly swooning, vaguely exotic “Voyage.” Indeed, the album’s three French songs add a new dimension to Beck’s work as a producer.
Maybe IRM would’ve been better titled as “Charlotte Gainsbourg & Beck,” such is his influence over this record. It’s certainly a fine album, with a good clutch of fascinating songs worth returning too, but I can’t escape the sense that it could be replicated with someone like Feist, or Alison Goldfrapp, or – God forbid – even Carla Bruni, with much the same results.
As the principal songwriter and producer, Beck’s influence is heavy throughout this record; the heavy, swooning string arrangements recall his woozy folk masterpiece, Sea Change; the tight rhythms of “Le chat du café des artistes” and the title track hold echoes of the shadowy grooves of Modern Guilt or The Information. Meanwhile, on lead single “Heaven Can Wait,” Beck comes to the fore, backing up Gainsbourg’s vocals on the sort of lazy hipster folk that could come straight from his Mutations album.
Gainsbourg herself, meanwhile, is thankfully not overwhelmed by Beck’s presence – at least, sometimes not. Her voice – soft, understated and charming, yet apparently uninterested half the time – works fine for the kind of groovy hipster folk that pervades the bulk of the album. She’d be the perfect vocalist for just about anything by Air (who collaborated on her first album). When Beck’s arrangements are stripped back, however, such as on the moody “Vanities,” her voice isn’t really engaging enough to support the song on its own. At the other end of the spectrum, on “Time of the Assassins,” she sounds a little overwhelmed by the expansive, multi-tracked backing vocals swooping around her.
It kind of has to be said, then, that the best songs on IRM – “Heaven Can Wait”, “Me and Jane Doe”’s pastoral folk, and “Trick Pony”’s dirty funk – are the ones that exhibit the heaviest influence of Beck’s writing and production. Nevertheless, there’s the pervading sense that these songs, however Beck-esque they may be, wouldn’t have worked on any of his records. Certainly, the combination of Gainsbourg’s vocals and Beck’s famously eclectic tastes has allowed both of them free rein, playing around with some textures and ideas that may otherwise be left unexplored, such as the superbly swooning, vaguely exotic “Voyage.” Indeed, the album’s three French songs add a new dimension to Beck’s work as a producer.
Maybe IRM would’ve been better titled as “Charlotte Gainsbourg & Beck,” such is his influence over this record. It’s certainly a fine album, with a good clutch of fascinating songs worth returning too, but I can’t escape the sense that it could be replicated with someone like Feist, or Alison Goldfrapp, or – God forbid – even Carla Bruni, with much the same results.
6 / 10
posted by Bob @ 9:40 am
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