I’m starting to feel that and my little bundle of joy still doesn’t arrive for a few weeks. My wife and I are really starting to get excited about it. And of course by excited I mean anxious, nervous, and trepidatious. That’s half a joke; we are excited but it’s a big thing. Moreover the prospect of trying to raise a healthy, confident, self-aware daughter in this uncomfortable version of a modern world we live in is equally scary.
I have to assume Lily Frost knows where I’m coming from. Her latest album Do What You Love (released last month) was conceived as a letter to the daughter she was preparing to have. The advice contained in its 10 tracks is at times personal and at times, such as in the case of the title track, also informed by some long-standing aphorisms that are a little more universal.
Frost also stated in the run-up to the album that she wanted it to be a poppier, sunnier record than her previous effort, the folky (and foreboding) Veridian Torch. Despite her chilly nom de plume, her music always seems to carry a sense of warmth to it but she amps up the intimacy on this one, lending it a larger sense of familiarity regardless of whether or not you’ve heard her work before. In fact this might be the high point of her career, as she hones in on a focused and cohesive sound and direction that feels more relaxed and simultaneously upbeat than anything she’s done before.
I get the sense that the title track was the genesis for the whole works. It opens with the oft-cited trope, “Do what you love and the money will follow,” and clearly Frost is a believer; she continues: “If you do what you hate to get the money to do what you love you’ll find in the end that you don’t have any time, that you’re a shell, you have nothing to give and no reason to live.” It’s pretty clear that sentiment comes from experience. Either way Frost is presenting a blue-sky view of life but there’s definitely a level of credibility here. Frost has gone through some serious ups and downs, recently telling Now Toronto about how her background has fed into her reasoning. Referring to the song “Stand,” she explains:
I wrote it 12 years ago, inspired by Robert Johnson’s idea of being at a crossroads and singing the blues, which was considered to be the devil’s music. I had shaved my head and was celibate. I was willing to do whatever it took to be a star. I signed to Nettwerk Records in Vancouver. We did a lot of big shows with Coldplay, the Dandy Warhols, until it all imploded because of alcohol and egos.
She says now that she’s settled into a comfortable place where she and her husband live in the country, make music, and manage to survive. Doing what she loved eventually worked for her.
Her increasingly sunny outlook is reflected in this and the other sunny songs on the album, like the excellent opener “Background Radio.” It’s an incredible pop number that I’m sure could neither be performed nor listened to without a a smile on each and every face in the vicinity. It opens with a high, playful piano figure and some rapid hand clapping/slapping, some densely-cooing background vocals. As the album continues Forst and her collaborators do their best to get everything short of the kitchen sink into these songs, nearly all of it coming out in an upbeat, energetic wash. Her arrangements continue to be more sophisticated than the average indie popper, subtle electronic noises, plucked strings, resonant piano notes, bass, and acoustic guitar all layering seamlessly into a remarkable texture. “Grenade” has more of a rock edge with electric guitars and heavy, prominent piano notes and chords smashing into the mix for effect. “No Promises” is a sassy number with a shuffling beat and trumpet stabs for emphasis while acoustic and electric guitar strum away in opposing left and right channels. “I’m On Fire” features some subtle tuba (as subtle as it can be anyway) but it doesn’t sound like the A&W theme song or some kind of band camp misadventure. It folds into her sound as though it always belonged there. Frost has often injected a subtle vein of jazz textures into her music, and while that’s no different on this album as a whole, I don’t think tuba is that jazzy. At least, not when it’s kind of the lone stand-out element. Alongside a casually strummed acoustic guitar, shuffling percussion, and a chorus of bells it’s a very amiable setting.
I would imagine Frost endures a lot of Feist comparisons. Unlike some more blatantly bombastic singers like Serena Ryder both Feist and Frost are less likely to floor you with volume and forcefulness in their performances than they are to wow you with the intricacies and subtle flourishes in their voices. Both are willing to use their voice in whatever manner best suits the song. Songs like “Long Sweet Ride” and the Pink Floyd cover “San Tropez” are good examples; Frost’s vocals occasionally fall into the back in the mix, distorted to come across as more atmospheric and melding into the band’s larger sound. But you can also hear her smile in every line she wants you to; her voice drips with character and personality.
“I’m On Fire” sees her confident lyricism wandering away from the idea of innocent advice; at least, I hope so. “Time won’t take your love away,” she coos. “I could take your lover away much faster.” It’s a winking, sly notion, if that’s a sentiment you don’t mind your daughter hearing. Of course, if you view the lyrics only through that lens then the sonds don’t always line up. “Grenade” sees Frost chastising someone for refusing to face up to reality, instead choosing to acknowledge an uncomfortable situation. “Poetry” is a story from Frost’s past, perhaps the manner in which she’s chosen to tell her daughter about how she met her husband. “No Promises” is definitely not for her daughter; an anti-love song of sorts, Frost makes the assertion to a lover that she’s not looking for a commitment and “might not be there in the morning” and “someone like me isn’t going to hang around.” You can’t blame her for widening the scope of the songs, though; clearly an album full of advice to one’s child may not connect to an audience outside of that child.
On both fronts, though, this album is a success. Frost has put together an album full of easy, accessible pop songs that are different and challenging enough to stand out from the crowd. It’s amiable, charming, has a real warmth.
It’s also nice to know that parenthood can help foster someone’s creative output instead of shutting it down. My wife and I have heard from so many people who seem to view having a baby as a kind of jail sentence, something to be lived through. “Sleep while you can, you’ll never be able to once the baby comes,” they insist. “You’re going to be like zombies.” “There won’t be any time for yourself, you’ll be changing diapers and feeding and washing constantly.” Of course, they always insist, “It’s worth it in the end,” or something along those lines. Thanks guys, but we’re actually pretty psyched to include our child in our lives, not have them become all about her. The fact that Frost has been able to continue her relatively prolific schedule of creating and releasing music is encouraging that our lives will continue alongside our daughters.
So thanks, Lily Frost. For this album and the psychological reassurance. Both are more than welcome!
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