Self Esteem - Compliments Please

Drowned In Sound 90

I wring this all out, because Rebecca Taylor’s first foray as Self Esteem stomps that article’s argument into dust. I know, I should have led with something about Slow Club, the singer’s other band, and the mercurial rise of that. But this has been eating at me for a while: anyone who separates empowerment from pleasure obviously has never had a problem with feeling empowered. Taylor started this project as a means of self-validation, as opening skit ‘Feelings’ explains: “when you’re in a band, everyone doesn’t want the same thing”. With Compliments Please, Taylor reclaims the path that the industry had laid out for a pretty girl in an indie band - and she proves, with ample sauciness and class, that strong independent women aren’t just riding trends to cash out. This is metaphorical gold.

You remember that old legend about The Monks, about how someone told them to replace all instances of love with hate? Taylor essentially gives herself the same exercise - which leads to genius bops like ‘Monster’, where the big glorious chorus echoes the old-school sass of Destiny’s Child’: ”Nobody can hurt me quite like you... give me half a chance, I’ll hurt you too”. Even though Self Esteem is Taylor’s baby, she often gives the impression of leading a gang, as a cornucopia of voices respond to her own - so while Sia-like dramas like ‘Favourite Problem’ detail the incomplete fissure of one relationship, the story feels more universal with so many companions in tow.

In that light, Compliments Please doesn’t strive for any nebulous ‘political message’. It’s just a simple matter of representation: Taylor wrestled for independence, and so she’s written songs like footprints that listeners can follow. ‘Peach You Had To Pick’ and ‘In Time’ present two lyrical variations on the refrain of “fuck off and find someone else”; both address splits from domineering or obsessive boyfriends, but they could also describe a male gatekeeper in the industry. The sinister gospel of the former hits the nail on the head: “call me hard work to keep me down / but I cannot be silenced now”. If you doubt that promoters and the like would reduce the women on their roster to sweet, disposable flesh - well, have you read the news about Ryan Adams lately?

Now, I don’t want to drown this review in analysis. We haven’t even touched on the total command that Taylor has over those big diva moments in the album; or the perfect lacy cherry icing that the violins add; or the incredibly balanced pace between slow-burning ballads and Beyoncé-worthy bangers; or just the salacious rhythm on tunes like ‘Rollout’ or ‘Wrestling’. Granted, Taylor knows that she’s a white chick borrowing tricks from folks of colour, and she doesn’t shirk from that; the skits in between feature the monologues of black men and women, which in turn reflect back to Taylor’s own narrative of seeking and carving out independence. Is that equalising two struggles that may not necessarily be equal? Or are these skits free-standing parts to a well-intentioned, all-inclusive tribute? I’d like to give it to the latter.

At any rate, I digress. The point I want to hammer in is that Compliments Please delights me more and more with each spin - in part because the tunes are solid, but but also because the heart and the intentions underneath are solid, too. Pop artists don’t have to stick to the same ol’ lovesick schmooze to land a hit, damn it. If we can rewire girls’ heads to value independence and their own ambition with a flourish of sassy strings, then I say let’s hijack the radio and get this party started.

The Guardian 80

(Fiction)

Pop runs on outsized emotions, but too often they’re couched in relatively safe musical settings. The debut album by Self Esteem – AKA Rebecca Taylor, formerly of Slow Club – finds her translating some compellingly unflattering lyrics about her actions during a break-up into wild, ambitious pop that’s a million miles from her old band’s steady descent into Radio 2 pleasantries. She is needy, vengeful, sly and covetous across these 16 songs, sentiments often delivered in falsetto lurches and supported by hefty backing vocals that underpin the sense of Taylor as a formidable presence. “What does it matter / She hated me the whole time,” she sings of her ex’s mother on Steady I Stand, letting out her unfettered indignation in great, belting swoops.

This full-frontal approach could become too much, but Taylor balances her forcefulness with elegant and impactful production that veers from bluesy experimentalism to psychedelic soul. She often sings over sparse, clattering drums; on I’m Shy, her calm, hesitant verses are interrupted with snatches of falsetto and synthesised blurts, indicating some unwelcome emotional interruption. Compliments Please is too long, and possibly too diffuse for a wholly satisfactory listen, yet it works as a display of ambition rather than a haphazard grab bag: the cold drama and sharp strings of Favourite Problem, and the way Peach You Had to Pick rises from organ drone to dystopian cacophony, are undeniable. Taylor has said she has Madonna-size ambitions; a better comparison might be Fiona Apple.