0 of 5 thought this review was well written
Listening to Chelsea Girl
, I always reminisce back to my younger, close-minded self who casually thought that “girls just didn’t make good music.” I was not a sexist douchebag, this 12 year-old me would merely proclaim (albeit in different language), it just, didn’t, happen. Considering Nico’s almost glaring lack of talent and the fact that she comes across soulless and harpy-ish on Chelsea Girl
, it’s odd that this
would be the broad to prove me wrong. Throughout the cold bitch’s most critically-acclaimed LP, the ice queen crafts a few flawless tracks amid a sea of equally bone-chilling duds. It’s amazing to hear the jump from the sublime, transcendental peak of “These Days” all the way to depths of Nico’s nonexistent heart with “Little Sister,” and makes me wonder how one could achieve this inconsistency accidentally. Despite this, a few aspects are clear throughout. Nico’s deep voice is distant and blunt, and shrill without succumbing to being grating. Nearby, the stark and minimalist flute and violin arrangements run parallel to the wintry vocals. What really makes or breaks each individual piece, I’ve found, is the melody. The impeccable catchiness and charm to “Fairest of the Seasons” provides some euphonious allure to counteract the cacophony of the desolate arrangements. Songs like “It Was A Pleasure Then” or “Somewhere There’s A Feather,” with their (seriously) drugged fuzziness and general repugnance only exist to bring the rest of Nico’s album down. Looking back once again, Chelsea Girl
certainly taught me girls were, in fact, capable of crafting some sweet tunes, dude
, but I couldn't help but wish their albums were more consistent.