There’s a pianist off to the left, but she was ruining the composition…
[Video][Website]
[5.38]
Edward Okulicz: “Living Without You” is likeable power-pop with grit, gravel and authority in the voice, and playful charm in the lyrics (you have to ignore clunkers like the entire third verse, but I’m more than willing). The layering of two bits — the chorus and and the middle-eight — over each other at the end is a challenge for the listener singing along, because they’re both more than worth their place.
[8]
Martin Skidmore: This female quartet all exist as solo artists too, which is unusual. It’s sort of folky pop-rock, well crafted, nicely enough sung (good harmonies), but it feels kind of lightweight musically, a touch short of ideas and energy and I was bored before it ended.
[3]
Brad Shoup: Just by talking about “Living Without You,” I feel like I’ve wandered into a semiotic minefield. There’s the grocery list of you-can’t-define-me-I’ll-define-myself descriptors. Here’s a slightly smug presentation of oxymorons, that cherished modern pop-rock songwriting trope. The song itself splits the difference between Liz Phair and The Jayhawks, with an undercooked chorus that would still make Susanna Hoffs proud. The band is tight, no doubt, but what I think about this song is even less of the point than anything else I’ve reviewed.
[3]
Ian Mathers: It’s totally unfair, but for some reason this song got a lot more tolerable once I watched the video and found that it’s a bunch of old people. The lyrics still range from dodgy to trite, but the song’s cool, restrained craftspersonship makes more sense, and it’s just nice to hear something like this from someone who might actually know what it means. “Living Without You” is certainly catchy enough; listening to it six times for this blurb means that I’ll probably hum it once or twice to myself at some point. But those lyrics! I just can’t quite get behind them. Of course, the only way the song’s actually interesting is if “You” is God; otherwise, the song just makes me want to reach for the Mountain Goats’ “Woke Up New.”
[6]
Katherine St Asaph: “Soak Up The Sun” absorbed into the pores of “She’s So High” and performed by Suzanne Vega and Tanya Donelly, but something in the mix is diluting something else, leaving matte patches where the shine should be.
[6]
Michaela Drapes: The nicest thing you can say about this is that it sounds like an (understandably) lost Bangles b-side, or maybe the Posies on a bad day. It’s blandly generic and pleasant power pop — and not in a good way. It’s too easy to drop scare words here like Starbucks and NPR, and I’m loath to do it, because this is the kind of thing that would have been played to death by either outlet in the early aughts, maybe — but not now.
[3]
Sally O’Rourke: “Living Without You” casts my memory back to the 1990s, when Meredith Brooks’s “Bitch” was the apotheosis of female empowerment anthems, and my primary extracurricular activity was watching VH1 specials on Lilith Fair. Those crunchy yet polished guitars — sweet and sour at the same time, to borrow a phrase from a Chinese takeout menu — signify a time when we believed music could demolish gender inequality. Over a decade later, those guitars now soundtrack commercials for the contraceptive patch (“I’m living without my daily birth control pill!”), and we’ve had time to reflect on just how navel-gazing and inane all those “I am ___” lyrics were. Still, this was the stuff of my formative years; I can’t dismiss it entirely. Don’t blame me. Blame nostalgia.
[5]
Chuck Eddy: Was predictably skeptical about these four seemingly alt-country-leaning middle-aged San Fran womanfolkies when their CD (Speeding Ticket and a Valentine, title from this song’s lyrics) showed up in the mail, but for some reason it held up to several repeat plays, when with most music in their apparent genre, I rarely ever even make it past the second song once. Which maybe means I was wrong about their genre. Anyway, I hadn’t played the album in a while when this track came on in a Starbucks (where I’ve heard it a couple times since — who says danceclubs are the only public places people connect with music communally anymore?), and I actually couldn’t place it; just loved that it rhymed “quinine” with “porcupine” and sounded like what would’ve happened if Chely Wright and Suzanne Vega joined the Bangles before they sold out their paisley powerpop. Googled the lyrics — oh yeah, them! Rest of the CD still sounds good to me, too.
[9]