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If Scarlett Johansson lived in this country, her foray from silver
screen superstardom to the more unfamiliar, but no less spastic
world of music recording would hardly cause a ruckus.
In this country, even the most talentless hack
can score a record deal on the strength of his or her good looks and
even better PR. Releasing an album is more a matter of course rather
than a thoughtfully planned and well-executed endeavor anchored on
the assumption that the artist actually possessed talent rather than
simply imagining he had it.
But the star of such acclaimed films as Lost In
Translation and Match Point is undoubtedly white-hot Hollywood
property. The announcement that she was coming out with an album was
enough to get not a few breathless tongues wagging, not to mention
some very passionate discussions in music rags and online forums.
Could she pull it off?
Her chosen vehicle for launching a recording
career, in itself, raised some very serious eyebrows. Tom Waits
isn’t your usual cookie-cutter pop-rock artist; he’s never been
a fixture on music charts and channels and remains virtually unknown
to most contemporary audiences. He does however possess a small but
devoted cult following; diehard fans fixated on his smoky, gravelly
voice and his meanderings on dark, eccentric subject matter, with
the occasional mainstream love ballad thrown in.
Scarlett’s decision to cover Waits’ material
in her debut effort “Anywhere I Lay My Head” is, at the very
least, an attempt to convey the message that this isn’t just some
lame attempt by a bored Hollywood waif seeking to conquer new
avenues and “prove something,” not just to her audiences, but
perhaps more so, to herself.
But good intentions do not a good record make.
The album has yet to hit our humble shores, but thanks to the
wonders of online streaming, her voice already has.
There is no denying that the sentiments already
expressed by dozens of online reviews—while stinging—are
spot-on: Ms Johansson is lucky to have her day job. Her deep,
low-pitch vocals, while not entirely unpleasant, are hardly enough
to sustain our interest. At the risk of sounding like a certain
acerbic judge from a certain TV talent show, her singing sounds like
something you would hear from a Sunday noontime variety show from a
matinee idol forced to perform something before she can promote her
next movie or TV show.
On the first single “Falling Down,” you’re
almost thankful that her singing is almost drowned out by the
instrumentation, almost, because with the languid, almost hypnotic
arrangement, the track isn’t bad. Throughout the album, in songs
like “Town With No Cheer” and “Fannin Street” (with David
Bowie on back-up vocals), it’s obvious she tries, and tries hard,
but really, it is an exercise in futility.
She is ably guided by TV On The Radio’s Dave
Sitek (who produces the album), as well as contributions from Nick
Zinner folks the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Sean Antanaitis from
Celebration, but it is an effort that feels too forced to really
make a good impression. It’s obviously a tender, loving tribute to
an artist Scarlett greatly admires, but ultimately, it’s an album
that we can all—even Scarlett herself—can do without.
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