Valentine’s Day is more than just the seminal masterpiece starring Bradley Cooper, Jessica Alba, and Ashton Kutcher (I kid, I kid). It’s a day of flowers, candy, and hiding away in your apartment listening to sad songs on repeat.
If Adele’s 21 has invaded too many of your Spotify playlists, Taleen Kali’s latest single “Baby Love” will fill your I-bought-myself-chocolate disposition. Originally recorded by The Supremes in 1964, “Baby Love” has that classic Diana Ross cool to it – a detached sadness that pairs perfectly with a shoulder length bob and a glittering pantsuit. Kali’s cover combines a modern beat with a ’60s surfer vibe vocal; it’s a definitively West Coast rendition, the kind of tune Don Draper would spin in his California bungalow. If you’re looking for a gimmick, look elsewhere *cough Weezer*; Kali retains much of the original song’s melancholy, while adding in a style that is all her own.
Read about the song’s production process – with help from former Dum Dum Girl Kristin Kontrol – and listen to “Baby Love” below:
AF: Why did you choose to cover this song?
Taleen Kali: “Baby Love” is the first song I remember singing along to as a kid… I’d sing it to my parents all the time, so this one’s dedicated to them. I’ve always wanted to do a noisy space-rock take on a classic Motown love song, and nobody does girl groups quite like Diana Ross.
AF: What is the experimentation phase like for a song like this?
TK: This one was a total studio experiment during our Sunset Sound album sessions. I wanted to keep the lyrics old school and subvert the classic love song by shaking up the instrumentation, so we went through a few different vibes with the band. First we tried a grungy take that didn’t land, and then a sleepy shoegaze version that was too saccharine – there was no bite. Once my producer Kristin Kontrol helped us find the right beat, Miles Marsico’s fuzzy bass line was able to take front and center, and then everything else fell into place from there.
AF: Did you have the phrasing down when you went into record or were there a few variations at first?
TK: I always knew I wanted to sing certain parts with that classic girl group affectation of feminine yearning, and then at some point to disrupt it, updating it with an active drive. The phrasing was all done on the spot, line-by-line… it begins with a question and ends with a demand. It feels so empowering.
Taleen Kali’s latest record Soul Songs is out now Lolipop Records. Looking for the perfect date night? Catch her LIVE:
2/13 Valentine’s Single Release @ Alphaville, New York
2/15 Live on the air @ KUCI 88.9FM Radio, Irvine
3/01 DUM DUM Zine Fest @ The Smell, Los Angeles
5/18 L.A. Zine Week Kickoff @ The Echo, Los Angeles
If you were lucky enough to get them, you must admit: by now the chocolates have been eaten, and the roses are beginning to droop. Maybe there are a few once-bitten, raspberry cream rejects left in that heart-shaped box of truffles your main squeeze gave you, but they will retire to the trash can only a few days before the flowers. Valentine’s Day was this week, and if you couldn’t guess by my tone (and annual, grumpy V-Day column), the only thing I did was my laundry. Afterwards, I ate a shrimp Panang curry for one, and listened to the stories of my one true love: NPR.
I know what you must be thinking, and you’re right. Being a single human in New York is thrilling. Despite all of my sarcasm, it really can be. You don’t have to answer to anyone outside of work. You get to take yourself to dinner and read a book instead of forcing conversation or watching your date scroll through his Instagram feed. You can travel spontaneously, flirt at will, and cat-sit for your married friends with better apartments. But societal constructs and the bulk of pop culture are not here to make single people feel better. Carrie Bradshaw, the fictional star of TV’s Sex and the City and patron saint of single ladies for years, gets hitched in the series’ first film adaptation. In the Fifty Shades trilogy, what’s disguised as a taboo romance ultimately ends in marital normalcy, including the overbearing husband, kids, big house, etc. Off the top of my head, I can probably think of two romantic comedies (and I’ve seen a surprising amount of them) that ended realistically, with the lovers in question going their separate ways.
But music, as a medium, is far more honest about the harsh realities and banalities of love. The love song does not promise a happy ending. In fact, converse to romantic comedies, I can barely think of a love song that ends well. The most memorable ones end horribly, or at the very least, unresolved. Some convey longing for a relationship that never was and never will be. Others pick at the untidy details of a failing one, as if plucking wilted petals off a flower until only its bald center remains. The former yearning can be found in classic pop songs like Sam Cooke’s “Cupid,” which, despite its blissful melody, is about the most extreme version of unrequited love. “I love a girl who doesn’t know I exist,” Cooke sings, which seems as hopeless as it does impossible. How can you really love someone when you’ve never had an interaction, let alone a date?
Cooke’s song maintains a promise reinforced by decades of film, television, and (some) pop songs: that if you could only get the person you desire to look at you, to kiss you, and to eventually love you, that everything will be ok. The movie ends with the first kiss. The TV show draws out and dramatizes the dating ritual for seasons on end. The song, however, has only so many minutes to tell a story, and nothing – not even a kiss – is ever guaranteed. To me, love songs have always felt like snapshots documenting individual phases of a relationship, or lack thereof, rather than the broader perspective visual storytelling can offer.
One master of these snapshots is Elvis Costello. Costello’s breakup songs are so biting I often wish he worked on commission to pen vengeful letters to exes. But he’s also capable of conveying the most vulnerable aspects of monogamy. Tracks like “Little Triggers” (from This Year’s Model) and “Different Finger” (a song about infidelity on an album called Trust) strip the varnish from matrimonial bliss. Costello succinctly captures the spiteful side of relationships in the first few lines of the former, when he sings of “Little triggers that you pull with your tongue;” if you don’t know exactly what he means, I suspect you have never dated, and had parents who hid their arguments well.
The love song is in a category unto itself, but it splinters into infinite subcategories spanning countless genres. The unrequited love song; the breakup song; the disintegrating-relationship-but-not-quite-breaking-up-yet song; the song about cheating; the song about being cheated on; the you-broke-my-heart-but-I-still-want-you-despite-having-no-rational-excuse-for-that song; the song about being so hurt, you pull the emotions plug and cut yourself off from ever loving again; I could sit here for days digging heartbroken anecdotes from the crevices of pop’s past. I could also list of some pure love songs, the ones that stay true to their title and end happily ever after. But who needs to hear those right now? The people lucky enough to be in love don’t need help this week. They got their chocolates and their flowers. And what do the rest of us get? I suppose almost every song ever written is a good place to start.
When Beyoncé so wisely instructed “All the single ladies” (ALL the single ladies) to “put your hands up,” it was a different time. It was 2008. A year of innocence. We had elected Obama. Beach House had released Devotion. And single ladies everywhere felt empowered by Queen B’s anthem for autonomy. I’d just moved to New York, 18 and wet behind the ears. I couldn’t wait to have my own fashion line, a loft in Soho, and to party with The Strokes – all of which happened in rapid succession. (#AlternativeFacts.)
Back then, 99% of my friends were single, and we relished in seasons of not giving a fuck about it. Our lives were spun of work, college, fun…and the impending recession. But still! Life was good. Lovers came and went like party guests. Some stayed longer than invited. Others left before even taking their coats off.
Nearly ten years on, paradigms have shifted, and rightly so. People met cute and moved in. People got married. Some got babied up. Hell, even Beyoncé, Ms. Single Lady herself, got married to Jay-Z – and I hear it’s going really well!
Naturally, my single friend percentage declined. It is in the single digits these days…like, in the 1-3% range. Which begs me to entreat: “All my single ladies (All my single ladies!) Now put your hands up!” All six of them. All six of your combined hands. Put them up, for the love of god. I guess with my hands we have eight. Strength in numbers.
Did anyone ever stop to ask: why are we putting our hands up?? Maybe Beyoncé wanted all the single ladies to put their hands up – because they were about to be shot by a firing squad? Maybe that’s what that song is about…elimination of the single ladies. She did marry Jay-Z that year after all. Perhaps it was meant as a kindness…to put us single ladies out of our perceived misery.
Ok, that’s a bit extreme, but I can’t help being wry. As we approach Valentine’s Day – the preferred holiday of single people everywhere – the commodity of coupling up can be oppressive. The polyester teddy bears lining shelves at Duane Reade. The lingerie ads. 50 Shades Darker.
Valentine’s Day is perhaps the most polarizing commercial holiday; the holiday that cruelly bisects the population into those with, and those without. Those who will dance together in the kitchen to Joni Mitchell’s “A Case Of You” – and those who will sob to it over a box of self-gifted Russel Stover’s. Those who shall feast upon prix-fixe dinners of lamb chops and heart-shape chocolate cakes – and those who SHAN’T!
Parks and Recreation may have given us stags “Galentine’s Day,” and I’m sure Pinterest is rife with “fun alternatives” to drinking an entire bottle of wine in front of the mirror while cry-singing Cat Power, but I say fuck that shit. We don’t need alternatives. The single ladies don’t need saving. I don’t wanna go to the club with “gloss on my lips/a man on my hips,” as per Bey’s example.
Instead, all my single ladies: let’s dwell. Let’s lament. Let’s feel the pain. Love does hurt after all, and so does its absence. But that’s all right. This shit makes the world go ‘round. This Valentine’s Day, I want you to imagine all of the songs that have ever been written. Yup, all of ‘em. How many of those do you reckon are love songs? A pretty big portion I’d say. Finally, think about how many of those love songs are happy love songs, versus the ones that spring from raw, unbridled agony.
You see my point.
Would Roy Orbison ever have written “Only the Lonely” if he were just peachy and happily married? Would Stephin Merritt have written any songs, ever? Would I have any sad bastard music to listen to at all?
No.
Some of the best music comes from good old-fashioned anguish. So when you’re feeling unbearably lonely, remember that you’re in good company – albeit the miserable kind.
I admit: there is a time to “put your hands up” and feel emboldened by solitude. I do it every day, when I eat my lame yet efficient dinner of sandwich meats, mayo, and hot sauce wrapped in a plume of romaine lettuce. Standing up. By the sink. I celebrate the fact that I can make the decision to do so without the democratic process. Without having the “What are we doing for dinner?” conversation. I can eat my sad lettuce wrap in peace. Blaring Pulp and singing along, still chewing. There is always a time to champion sad salad wrap singing, and 2am laundry doing, and in-bed pizza eating. And there is also a time to pour yourself a carafe of merlot, put on a depressing record, and be alone with everyone who’s ever written a song.
This Valentine’s Day, let’s get dismal. Just for one night. No one will even notice! (Because they will be on a date!)
Let’s start with Morrissey’s “Please Help The Cause Against The Loneliness.” A bubblegum number to the uncaring ear; but listen closer: sweet, sweet isolation! Leave it to Moz to wax desolate – this bouncing tune scrutinizes the pity cast upon the unwed…and who better to scrutinize than the infamous asexual himself? “Please help the cause against the loneliness,” Moz croons, as if there is a charity handout for our kind (if only!).
Next turn up some Liz Phair, who knew that you could still be completely alone while lying right next to someone. Phair’s snarky “Fuck and Run” is the quintessential opus for bad decisions. A sloppy, pitchy, honest, pathetic, undeniably brave song. This is diary caliber realism – all about that forbidden bed you keep crawling back into. Phair really hits it home when she asks the simple questions, like:
“Whatever happened to a boyfriend/The kind of guy who tries to win you over?/And whatever happened to a boyfriend/The kind of guy who makes love ’cause he’s in it?/ And I want a boyfriend /I want a boyfriend/I want all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas.”
While we’re reveling in emotional immaturity, let’s listen to “I Don’t Want To Get Over You” by the barons of broken hearts – Magnetic Fields, the band that truly did “make a career of being blue.”
As we’re discovering, a bit of wallowing can be cathartic. Despite all of the song’s clever imagery, one line says it all for me:
“I could leave this agony behind/Which is just what I’d do/If I wanted to/But I don’t want to get over you.”
And haven’t we all been down that dark hallway?
If love’s impact on the history of music, film, art, literature, and war (I’m talking to you, Helen of Troy) isn’t making you feel at one with your solitude – may I throw but one last metaphor at you?
A friend of mine recently returned from a trip to Paris: the city of lights and love and innumerable sauces. She regaled me with tales of part-time lovers and fine meals. At the end of one such fine meal, she chose a dessert to cap off the perfect dinner. She chose framboise surprise. Raspberry surprise. Ooh la la! To append an American dish with “surprise” usually suggests catastrophe (tuna surprise), but the French weren’t gonna fuck this up! It would be exquisite; mountains of frothy pink mousse encasing shortbread and sorbet, the whole thing crowned with gold-dipped sugar lattices. Quelle surprise!
When the dessert was gently placed on the table, raspberries there were. The surprise however, was missing. It was 12 raspberries, up-ended on a plate. 12. Fucking. Raspberries. That’s it. C’est tout.
My point is: sometimes love is all that frothy pink mousse and more. Sometimes a relationship is a rich and mysterious and delicious dessert, worthy of all the pain, paintings, opuses and arias. And sometimes – it’s 12 fucking raspberries on a plate. That you just paid 10 Euros for.
Love is, without a doubt, the most frequently used topic in songwriting (sex and drugs are probably tied for second place, but that discussion is for another playlist). Since Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, here’s a list of some of the best, (mostly) romantic indie songs to get you through the day.
“You’ve expressed explicitly/ Your contempt for matrimony.” Is your significant other not so psyched about getting hitched? Play them “Archie, Marry Me,” by the Canadian pop band Alvvays, and listen as vocalist Molly Rankin convinces the object of her affection that it doesn’t have to be so complicated: “Take me by the hand and we can sign some papers/ Forget the invitations floral arrangements and bread makers.”
Boston’s Krill has been getting a lot of attention with their new album, and it has the perfect Valentine’s Day song for all you tortured, lovesick souls out there, “Foot:” “I came and visited you at work/ I couldn’t help but imagine you without your shirt/ And all I wanted was to hold your foot.”
4. “O I Long To Feel Your Arms Around Me” – Father John Misty
Love will sometimes drive you to do crazy things; just ask Bonnie about her relationship with Clyde. If Valentine’s Day drives you insane, check out this song by the quirky rockers, Deerhoof.
Whether you’re having a romantic night or boycotting a Hallmark-spawned holiday with a friend, Courtney Barnett makes a case for tuning out the world with someone you like: “Come around to mine/ We can swap clothes and drink wine all night/ Turn your phone off friend/ You’re amongst friends and we don’t need no interruption.”
New York loves Dr. Dog so much that the band recently sold out eight shows in a row here. And even though they’ve moved on to other cities, we know the feeling’s mutual with this track: “I’m gonna miss you, til the day I come home/… On the road and dreaming of you.”
Their name doesn’t imply sentimentality, but “Only For You” by Heartless Bastards is a heartfelt declaration of affection, withan awesome bass line too.
The feeling of getting lost in a show (not literally, because that sucks, especially when you’re 13 and at a punk show for the first time) is something that doesn’t happen often. However, when it does, it’s indescribable. You lose track of time and what life is like outside of that enclosed venue. That’s what it felt like at Jonathan Wilson’s show at Music Hall of Williamsburg on 2/14 (the sexiest day of the year).
The opener, which my boyfriend and I missed half of, was The Blank Tapes hailing from Los Angeles and capturing that hazy, washed out vibe SoCal is known for nowadays. From what I heard, most of their songs sounded quite similar, but were broken up with lead singer and guitarist Matt Adams’ searing guitar solos, every note hit with precision.
Then, Jonathan Wilson came on, unassumingly, in what I can only describe as a guitar wizard/alchemist’s garb. They got right down to it, opening with “Fanfare” off his sophomore release, aptly named, Fanfare. The song’s instrumental opening was about five-minutes, building up suspense and setting the standard for songs to come. Wilsons’ backing band was tight and took cues from him instantaneously.
The song that got me hooked on Jonathan Wilson over a year ago was “Desert Raven” off of his first record, Gentle Spirit. It was the one I had been waiting for the whole set, although when he finally played it–an 8-minute song originally–he condensed it to five, leaving us feeling rushed. However, the real showstopper, which came in the middle of the set, was “Can We Really Party Today?” a song that was, admittedly, not my favorite off of Gentle Spirit, but evokes a completely different atmosphere when played live.
Well over two hours later, Jonathan Wilson and Co. closed out with “La Isla Bonita”, a Madge cover. After all that time spent with him, he barely spoke a word, instead letting the music speak for him. I think that’s the way he wants it, and that’s OK with me.
Listen to the title track off Fanfare, here via Soundcloud:
Happy Valentine’s Day from AudioFemme! Thus far we’ve gotten some excellent feedback and would LOVE some more if you’ve got a few seconds to email us and let us know what you think, what you’d like to see more of, and – oh, yes! – submit something.
If you need some inspiration, we’ve got our first submission RIGHT HERE! It comes to you from Jessica Darakjian, a self-described 23-year-old grandma living and working in Brooklyn, NY. Currently she is getting ready to move back to California where she will partake in her favorite pastimes – riding a bike, gardening, making pickles and pies, surfing, going to flea markets, and listening to country tapes with her grandpa.
Personally, we think she could do most of these things just fine and still stay in New York, but she will not be convinced. Enjoy! – Eds.
Is it just me or does anyone else wish Ye Olde Valentine’s Day was celebrated a little different? How, you might ask, could I ever dislike chocolate boxes, cutesy cards, hearts and bows, fancy dinners, pretty dresses and shoes, lots of flowers, and maybe jewelry (if you’re uh, rich)?Well I don’t. I’m not saying I would refuse any of those things if they were handed over to me. But, I am saying that most likely I would love you, dear, a bit longer and harder if you approached this holiday a little differently… Can’t a girl get a mix tape in this day and age?It’s all I want. Honest. Just to hold the little shitty piece of plastic in my hand and know it took you 45 fucking minutes to get the cut right so the tape didn’t run out in the middle of our favorite song. Can’t I listen to it over and over, until I know exactly how many seconds are between the click of the needle setting down to the actual beginning of each song? Everyone remembers how fucking special this is, we all know how much heart goes into it. From a friend or lover, there is no doubt that mixtapes are just, ya know, absolutely honest. So Happy Merry New Kind of Valentine’s Day – here are some songs I’m playing for my sweetie pie.
(One of my favorite videos. I wish I could dance like her. But honestly, Catherine should have just chosen Heathcliff and then none of the crazyness would have been necessary, right?)
(Even though you and I both can’t stand to look at that fucking blue hat this weirdo is wearing, you cannot try to tell me this song didn’t melt your heart when you were/are in your rebel high school loser stage)
(Best scene from Rock ‘n’ Roll High School. Makes me all googley)
(off the most played record I own. “I need it everyday”)
(I can tell by the way you dress, that you’re real fine)
