REGINA SPEKTOR – FAR

For all that’s made of her Russian roots, Regina Spektor’s songs comes straight out of the 90s New York post-pop scene that gave us They Might Be Giants and Kimya Dawson – like Kimya, Spektor’s renowned for being cute, too cute even, and popular amongst a certain crowd of sad teenagers. But Spektor’s songs, more than ever on Far, defy this simplicity upon closer listen. They’re bits of lyrical macrame drawn from everyday life: a mixed bag of sad anecdotes, joy, bright colours, weird miscellany (a song about returning a stranger’s wallet and the contents therein?) woven together into strange and beautiful patterns. Far features the lyrical gymnastics we’ve come to expect, still dancing the fine line between operatic cabaret and Amy Millan’s indie whisper-sing. But better production values, and a willingness to lay the dark right up against the light makes this a better listen than any of her previous work. Dance Anthem Of The 80’s, for example, is some kind of fragmented parable about a meat market, some sexually frustrated kids, addiction and alienation, with a serious driving groove – the other standout moment is Folding Chair, which would be a standard pop-kitsch piano ballad, except it’s got a heavy breakdown and what seems to be Spektor trying to make dolphin noises in the middle(!). Far consolidates Spektor’s previously established talent into a great album of well-spun songs, hummable, touching and still a little bit kooky.

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