Scarlett Johansson did a whole album of nothing but Tom Waits tunes. Some say that proves Annie Savoy was right - that some men will listen to anything if they can delude themselves into thinking it’s foreplay. To me, it was a reminder of just how great Waits’ songs are. Many can’t handle Tom’s gravelly voice, a percussive instrument like much of his later music, but his songs. Just listen to earlier stuff like “Ol’ 55” and “The Heart of Saturday Night” to see how beautiful and … well, poppy he could be. The Eagles covered “Ol’ 55” nicely, though K’s Choice does an amazing version and there’s more out there.
Adele is kind of the opposite of Tom Waits. She has the kind of voice I want to call “once in a generation” but it seems Britain is full of them these days. Beyond Adele, there’s Duffy, Leona Lewis, Joss Stone, and probably more neo-soul singers that are somewhere between Shirley Bassey and Beyonce (which isn’t as weird as it sounds.) The only problem - and I mean ONLY problem - with Adele’s second album is that she’s a great singer, not a singer/songwriter.
A singer is at the mercy of their material. Some can just interpret and glide by on their voice, but there’s not many Frank Sinatra’s out there. Adele’s material isn’t challenging, but it’s good. It kind of lets her run around, giving her voice the free run it deserves, checked only by the wide limits of her soulful range and the instincts of Rick Rubin, the album’s producer. Some of the songs are treacly and unmemorable. Some of them run together because her voice does one thing, but does it perfectly.
But those are pale criticisms that are nitpicks at best. The album starts and ends with what Simon Cowell would call “moments”. I admittedly slept a bit on Adele’s first album. “Chasing Pavements” sounded like other things, nice voice aside, and I missed out. (Yes, I’m going to go back and re-listen.) You can’t sleep on “Running In The Deep”, which is a girl-power anthem of just-missed love. It’s got the power of a Motown hit, a toe-tapping rhythm, a catchy melody, lyrics that probably make more sense in Britain than here, and … holy crap, she kills it. I mean just kills it.
You’d think that she couldn’t catch up to that opener, but it’s not like the songs are bad here. They’re just not great. Good, yes, and perhaps a bit safe or at least consistent. The cover of The Cure’s “Lovesong” is as big a stretch as there is and even there, it’s pretty safe. It’s a four-star album … until the close.
When Adele played the BRIT awards in January, the presenter announced her with the line “If you’ve ever been heartbroken, you’re about to feel it again.” It’s hyperbole until she starts. “Someone Like You” is the flipside to “Running In The Deep” in ways. It’s a lost, heartbroken song, with Adele’s voice powerful but one step from breaking. It’s got a feel that I haven’t heard in … well, I honestly can’t remember when. It’s simply a perfect song and a perfect performance.
The album is bookended by two classic tunes and there’s no mis-steps between. Adele’s crafted something that’s far more mature than her years and if anyone starts to nitpick, remind them of a Tom Waits quote: “You may say it’s gospel, but I say it’s only church.” Adele finds that transcendent gospel moment twice, reaches for it several times, but at worst, it’s a good sermon. Britain’s pushed out James Blake and Adele, two utterly stunning albums that couldn’t be more different, but then again, good music is just good. Right now, Britain’s doing it great.
