Before I begin, this, incidentally, is one of two points in my top 10 countdown at which the rules that I set for myself actually matter. Were it not for the bit about only choosing one album per artist, Tales from Turnpike House would almost certainly have made the list, and if I hadn’t decided that compilations were off-limits, Travel Edition 1990-2005 would probably have been in the top 3.
Saint Etienne are perhaps the best example of what people are thinking of when they’re talking about “European cool,” or that kind of thing. One gets the sense that Sarah Cracknell, the gorgeous blonde with the honey-sweet voice, has never stepped outside without matching designer clothes and perfect makeup, drives a new Porsche, and has better wit, better manners, better taste, and better connections than you or I ever will — and yet for all that, you can’t dislike her, because she’s not arrogant or a show-off; she’s just that good.
Sarah is in what is probably the best voice and form of her career on Good Humor, but what makes it the most special of their albums (aside from the fact that they ditched the annoying interludes that are the reason I can’t rate Foxbase Alpha any higher, even if “Girl VII” is my favorite Saint Etienne song of all time) is that the album is the best example of what her bandmates, Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs, were trying to do. It’s a dizzying blend of modern dance and ’60s pop, Petula Clark reinvented for the end of one century and the beginning of the next. The punchy brass parts on “Split Screen?” Pure gold. Same with the electric piano on “Lose That Girl” and the congas that drive the ridiculously catchy single “Sylvie.” Critics who don’t like the Et tend to say they “sound dated.” But to say that is to miss the essential point of Saint Etienne, which is their ability to take old, familiar sounds and make them fresh and alive.
And they’ve never sounded more alive than on Good Humor. There are some not-particularly-happy songs on the album (”Lose That Girl,” “Postman”), but nothing can really shatter Sarah’s cool. Good Humor, in contrast to some of Saint Etienne’s later work, is a statement of optimism — real optimism, not the kind that exists simply to mask an absence of thought. Sarah recognizes that life has plenty of problems, but when she brushes her doubts away in the chorus of “Split Screen” with “Now I really don’t care / ‘Cause I’m dying to get the sun in my hair,” it’s impossible not to believe that she’ll make it through just fine.
And maybe that’s why Good Humor means so much to me. Every once in a while, it’s important for me to hear something life-affirming from someone with more credibility than, say, The Spice Girls — and therein lies this album’s magic for me.
Release date: Sept. 1998
Label: Creation
Rating: 10/10
2 Comments »
“Kissing things” is indeed the name of that song.
Anything Sarah does makes me happy. Her second solo album, Kelly’s Locker, doesn’t quite make my top 10, but it’s almost certainly in my top 20 or 25.
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Comment by joiezabel — December 16, 2006 @ 12:48 am
nice pick. uplifting music is so much harder to do well, as opposed to sad, which only needs some alcohol and existential angst to add sincerity.
i love that song sarah cracknell did with the 6ths…can’t remember what it’s called right now. “kissing things,” maybe? am i right?