Left of the Dial
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James Blunt: All the Lost Souls
by Joe Sweeney
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(Atlantic Records)
James Blunt is a genius. No song in the last decade has exploited the fragile psyches of young American females more successfully than his smash hit, “You’re Beautiful.” Blunt saw a country that has made a national pastime out of making women feel ugly and unwanted, realized that these same women had more disposable income than ever before and wrote some bullshit that they’d eat up with a spoon: “There must be an angel with a smile on her face/When she thought up that I should be with you.” I can just see him in his dank British lair, rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain and saying, “Those Americans think they’re so smart. Fools! Just wait until those big, ignorant cowboys have to endure my bleating voice when their simpering girlfriends put ‘You’re Beautiful’ on repeat and say things like ‘This song is about me!’ And what’s worse, they’ll have to pretend they like it! Woo-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” On his latest record, All the Lost Souls, Blunt doesn’t offer up anything quite so diabolical as “You’re Beautiful.” In a way, he turns the tables completely, writing songs that seem deliberately meaningless, but keeping the musical formula the same—bland, unobtrusive soft-rock productions that feature one of the most unappealing falsettos you’ll ever hear on the radio. (I never realized there was such a big market for a singer that sounds like Barry Gibb’s asshole grandson.) Blunt’s newfound love of lyrical rat’s nests reaches its apex on another brilliantly titled song, “I Really Want You.” Over yet another framework of throwaway acoustic strumming and a Natalie Merchant-esque vocal melody, the songwriter lays this doozie on us: “I really want you to really want me/But I really don’t know if you can do that/I know you want to know what’s right/But I know it’s so hard for you to do that.” After hearing these lines, I didn’t not know if you knew if I wasn’t sure if I didn’t really understand them. And if you’re busy trying to decipher them as if they were actually poetic, don’t bother. That’s not the point of James Blunt’s music. All that matters is, he thinks you’re beautiful, he really wants you, he’s got the wool over our all-too-trusting eyes and he’s bleating all the way to the bank.
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