I spent a decent amount of my morning watching videos from Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, a group I had resisted listening to because their name sounds like something my mother would enjoy listening to (aka tortured me with) during my childhood. As it turns out, Grace Potter is waayy more hip than anything that my parents could handle, mostly because she looks like she stepped out of a Michael Kors pictorial. There’s a lot I could say about her various wardrobe choices, but I’ll save it for another post about how Free People‘s aesthetic is contradictory to their price range but I kind of love their raggedy-ass sweaters anyway.
Wardrobe – judgement aside, I was intrigued by the lyrics of ‘Paris’, which is her single or something. My initial thought was “This song is completely vapid, almost worse than a Ke$ha verse”. Then I realized that Gracie Lou Freebush was trying to do a bluesy song, with her groovy band of long-haired Nashville dudes. Of course, how could I forget that repeating a statement in each verse, with perhaps a slight twist of words in the final verse laid over simple riffs is classic blues structure. So ok, she’s just keeping an old songwriting tradition alive.
Except I’m pretty sure Muddy Waters never sang about his lover’s sex swing. Sure the blues is all about jilted lovers and desolation, but the difference is they sung about desolation of the heart. Not about Grace Potter’s lady-boner.
Not that 27-year-old singers from Vermont are expected to be serious, and some of her album tracks are definitely more poetic, but leave the campy fringe shenanigans to the tweeny boppers, who don’t know any better.