When I make my usual trip to Revolver Records, I am often immediately drawn to an album which seems out of the ordinary, or, if I’m lucky, completely absurd. More often than not, this has been my algorithm for discovering a gamut of strange music, ranging from awful compilations to sweet, country belles.
This week, however, I found myself searching for nearly an hour to find something worth spending my precious buck-fifty (note: I’m aware of how ridiculous that sounds, but, with a college budget, it’s often a choice between a cheap record and that corn dog you scrounge for on a Tuesday afternoon).
It wasn’t until I entered the deep recesses of the sale section that I discovered Liz Damon’s “Try A Little Tenderness,” and it has since proved its preceding expedition worthwhile.
“Try A Little Tenderness” is adorned with the unnaturally symmetric features of Ms. Damon herself, complete with eyelashes which incite the age-old question: “Maybe she’s born with it? Maybe it’s Maybelline.” Besides her stunning aesthetic, however, I had a lot more to analyze once I removed the record’s sleeve.
After all, what matters most about vinyl is what’s on the inside.
Side one:
“Just Another Morning”
Considering the notably harsh makeup and lighting of this album’s cover, I am nothing but shocked by the airy ‘60s vibe this first track emits. I stumbled upon this album thinking I’d hear something far more “Cyndi Lauper” than “Mamas & the Papas.” That said, however, I am pleasantly surprised by its peacefulness.
“Walkin’ Backwards Down the Road”
I’m glad to hear that Liz Damon’s dreamy sighs are a common theme in her music, especially considering how melancholy her lyrics can be: “I left a note behind in your mail box/ when you wake up, I’ll be gone.” That is one hell of a way to break up with a guy. Then again, I can only assume that this genre was inspired by the ‘60s, an era familiar with the act of leaving one guy for the next. You exercise your right to love, Liz. I’m sure your soon-to-be-ex will understand.
“The Quiet Sound”
Much like its title, the “quiet sound” of this song makes me want to curl up in a blanket with a dainty coffee cup and write a Karen Russel-esque short story next to a fireplace, but this desire will have to hold until Phoenix finishes sporting a hearty 80 degrees. I may just need to shove this into my carry-on when I head off to visit my parents this winter. What better way to spend a week holed up in two feet of snow than listening to some mellow tunes?
“Loneliness Remembers”
As nearly tear-jerking as the lyrics “you went away and now I'm alone / loneliness remembers what happiness forgets” may be, I can’t help but remember that Liz just left a break-up letter in someone’s mail box. Love is a double-edged sword, honey. You’re going to be the one reading that note every once in a while, but, hey, at least you have some lovely pipes to help rope in the next guy.
Side two:
“Don’t Stop Now”
See? In the amount of time it took to flip this record, you already found yourself a new man. Potential booty-calling aside, though, I’m also noticing a trend in my $1 Record Review experiences: I almost always favor the first track on the second side over all the others. The slow, jazzy introduction is reminiscent of a hit ‘50s pop song. Perry Como, anyone?
“Try A Little Tenderness”
Whoa, whoa, whoa, I realize there are a million versions of these same exact lyrics, but I never expected to hear them on such an obscure album. Then again, I can’t complain. Liz, paired with her mix of back-ups and saxophones, gives the cover a beautifully sweet touch. Plus, I already know the lyrics, and singing along to a song –– no matter how off-pitch –– is always a plus. Let’s be honest, though, Otis Redding is the king of trying a little tenderness, especially when dubbed by the ultimate ‘80s heartthrob, Ducky. *swoon*
Reach the reporter at aplante@asu.edu or follow her on Twitter @aimeeplante
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