Review Summary: In response to Pavelboca
“For a young artist whose troubles have been so often publicized, it’s surprising that she has so little to say. Night Time, My Time
feels like an entirely escapist affair, where Ferreira seems to have surrounded herself by big hooks and crunchy guitars while turning her back to any sort of deeper self-reflection.”
There’s some truth to the above statement. Throughout Night Time, My Time
, Ferreira waxes poetic about boys, relationships, and more boys. There’s very little by way of quote-unquote “anti-pop” introspection and meaning, almost totally opposite the other similar “bombast-pop” hit of late, Lorde’s Pure Heroine
. Lyrical clunkers abound, such as Heavy Metal Heart’s supremely vapid hook of “You make my heavy metal heart beat beat oh oh / Oh yeah my heavy metal heart heart heart oh oh.” An artist can only hide so far behind the barricade-like justification of “it’s pop music,” and it would seem that Ferreira is veering dangerously close to the point where she can no longer defend herself from assaults on her writing abilities.
But - and here is where Mr. Pavelboca’s review and mine differ - who really gives a shi
t? Like, we can put on our critical goggles and view the album from a totally isolated place, be it in the car, at the computer, or within a home stereo system, and say, “Why yes, I do indeed believe Madame Ferreira’s vapid poetry fits rather poorly within her opus and the greater context of pop music as a whole and its ever-looming trend towards [insert buzzword of your choice here].” But here’s the secret to enjoying Night Time, My Time
, the very reason you see a big red “4.0” up above: she’s writing about what she knows, and that’s what makes the album so real.
She’s 21, for crying out loud; it stands to reason she’d be consumed with the societal construct of the most likely inevitable interminable contract with that one special person for the rest of her life. In other words: of course
she’s obsessed with boys. And that’s exactly why the album can kick off fully honestly with an “I knew it was love,” and then continue on to pour out an emotionally exhausting chronicle of her own fragility. And, most importantly, it works
- it’s easy to see that Ferreira is being truthful, that she’s actually and truly worried about boys, and needs someone to help her believe.
More than just that, Ferreira uses Night Time, My Time
as a platform to talk about herself. She craves attention (“Nobody Asked Me”), curses the emptiness of prestige (I Blame Myself), and screams at unrequited love (“You’re Not the One”). It just feels so brutally honest that there’s really no need for grand, pretentious societal criticisms. So, in conclusion, the album is true in a way that’s difficult to see from the vantage point of the misty Pitchforkian mountain range (note: I have no fu
cking idea what Pitchfork gave this album, but it really doesn’t matter). And maybe it just speaks to me because I feel a lot like her, a love-starved teenager who loves the idea of relationships and having that one significant person but doesn’t know if he’ll find that person who could fill that void he assumes is there. Or maybe it’s just because it’s 10:30 on a Friday night and I’m exhausted after college application after college application with no hope for a social life until January 1st, and I resent that. Point is, it doesn’t matter. Night Time, My Time
is important and perpetually relevant in a way many other albums can’t even dream of. Fu
ck vapidity, fu
ck lyrical brilliance, and most of all fu
ck pettiness and love.
Oh, and the instrumentation’s pretty good too yeah.