Neko Case – The Worse
Things Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You
Anti, 2013
When I heard the proposed title of Neko Case’s new album in
an NPR piece about the record’s progress, I said, “please don’t change that
title” under my breath three times fast. Nothing grates on me more than a
boring album title. Still, no matter what Case decided to title the record, it
would still be the most powerful and disarming work she’s crafted to date.
These days it feels so rare to fall head over heels for a record on the first
spin through and I was in love with this album before it was even done playing.
There’s something really nice about having faith in an artist. While I felt her
previous LP Middle Cyclone was a bit
overstuffed, the songs were almost exclusively gems. This time around, Case is
straight-up lean. The songs are
brutally concise, honed like twelve little daggers that cut straight into that
part of your gut that causes such exclamations as, “Holy shit, this is a
fucking masterpiece.”
Neko Case stopped dying her hair. At least that’s what my
wife said. She’s a Case superfan and our romance has roots in a New
Pornographers mix I made for her four years ago (heavy on the Case-led jams).
She says she read an interview about the hair-dying thing. It seems fitting; as
if Case is somehow stripping away the aura of ineffable cool that has always
surrounded her. Watching Case on stage the words “flame-haired chanteuse”
always immediately come to mind. You get the impression that there’s a personal
sea change at work, and while The Worse
Things Get… is different from any other record Case has produced, it’s the
deeply personal autobiographical content that causes the record to hit harder
than any other album in Case’s discography. It’s not small feat, considering
that Case is one of the strongest songwriters currently working. Maybe ever.
I’d be willing to say that Neko Case is just as talented as Bob Dylan, and that
you might as well start etching her name on the plaque at the pantheon of
greats right now.
This thing is a lyrical blockbuster. You could throw a rock
and hit a brilliant line (“I only ever held one love/ Her name was Mary Anne/
She died having a child by her brother/ He died because I murdered him” on one
of the album’s rare fictional story-songs “Bracing for Sunday” is one of my
favorites) but the music and the production is the sort of stuff that leaves
you breathless. The specter of M Ward’s guitar work, the deftness of Kelly
Hogan’s backing vocals which feel as much a part of Case’s records as Case
herself, and the gorgeous idiosyncrasy of Case’s melodies that play so
perfectly with the words she wraps around them. There’s the a capella “Nearly
Midnight, Honolulu” which details maternal neglect in such terrifically sad
detail I wept the first time I heard it. And then there are the horns that push
the magisterial closer “Ragtime” into the stratosphere and leaves your head
spinning. There’s the hushed tenderness of “I’m From Nowhere” and the sadness
embedded in long distance romance in “Calling Cards” and then there’s the
rollicking attack on gender identity “Man” and the vibrant pop majesty of “City
Swans,” which is the sweetest, most tuneful track on the record. There is no
dud. Where Middle Cyclone’s b-sides
were as much a part of the fabric as gems like “This Tornado Loves You” and “I’m
an Animal.” Like the best albums, when The
Worse Things Get… ends it feels like it’s over all too soon and immediately
warrants another listen. And another. And another.
"City Swans"
"I'm From Nowhere"
"Ragtime"
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