Review by Allie LaRoe
Some albums stay with you for the long haul. The songs have an uncanny ability to evolve alongside you, with each new listen revealing a deeper understanding not only of the themes but also of yourself. Even after years of steady rotation, it still feels fresh and relevant. While Enough of the Sweet Talk may not be that kind of album, it doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.
Lime Cordiale’s latest release reintroduces us to one of rock’s favorite archetypes - ‘the uppity, unfeeling bitch' —locked in her perpetual dance with the relatable (but ultimately emotionally unavailable) songwriter. This style has been akin to a kind of Shiva and Parvati of rock and pop since at least the 1970s.
The Australian duo unravels what is best described as a “situationship” over the course of 17 tracks, including four short cues or interludes. Sure, the themes may be familiar, but the delivery is punchy and wry. In an interview with Atwood Magazine, Oli said, “Our personality is about taking the piss, and that comes out quickly and naturally.” That un-seriousness keeps the album from falling into “divorced dad” territory. I’m not ashamed to admit I was caught dancing at my desk more than a few times during this review. It has an infectious energy that reminds me of Walk The Moon’s Talking Is Hard.
The opening track, “Pedestal,” sets the scene. The archetypal B is minding her own business, smoking cigarettes on her fire escape, when our songwriter casts her in the fantasy of “a life he’s trying to create.” His main appeal lies in his lack of resolve.
We all know that letting someone walk all over you is not a strong foundation for a healthy relationship. But, DAMN, infatuation is a hell of a drug. Who hasn’t ignored small details like “personality” or “compatibility” while envisioning a future with a captivating stranger? Especially to the beat of a crisp 80s-esque snare. Tal Bachman’s “She’s So High” but with hipster appeal.
Another favorite of mine, “Happiness Season,” layers reverb-rich vocal harmonies that venture towards yodeling, horns, and sparse lap steel behind lyrics that detail the ol’ projection switcheroo. Our hapless narrator bemoans, “She didn’t need me,” before declaring himself in the presence of “the black swan.” This can be interpreted as a thoughtful exploration of the tragedy of masculinity and its terror of vulnerability. Incapable of feeling safe within a relationship outside of the role of the provider, our hero quickly transfers his infatuation to someone whose behavior is more familiar.
Or it’s an upbeat song about getting over someone by getting under someone new.
Either way, I’m not mad at it.
As infatuation fades, or our narrator becomes increasingly uncomfortable with intimacy, the lyrics turn mean-spirited while the vibe remains impeccable. “The Big Reveal; Ou L’Hypocrite” and “Country Club” express the things you might blurt out in a fight and later regret, but they do so over melodies that would fit perfectly in any beach scene.
The album and relationship conclude with the only ballad, “Strangers.” The heart of the song is a rhythmically strummed acoustic guitar, with the rest of the instrumentation building in layers towards a melancholic climax. As the lines of guitar and keys drift into silence, the final vocals echo towards oblivion with an “I never thought it’d be us…” and you’re left thinking, “...didn’t you?”
Ultimately, the commitment to the theme prevents Enough Of The Sweet Talk from becoming truly timeless. The ‘Uppity Unfeeling Bitch’ and ‘Emotionally Unavailable Songwriter’ continue their perpetual orbit, never evolving and never accepting blame. It does what it sets out to do but ultimately stays too close to the surface.
Like all good flings, Enough Of The Sweet Talk is fun, vibrant, and impossible to resist. It may not be the album you turn to in a decade, but you’ll look back on it with fondness. If you’re under the age of 30 and in the “anger” stage of breakup grief, give it a listen.
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