Collegiate Times

By Tom Minogue, CT regular columnist

Boys, are like, so stupid.

If there is a better summative statement to define Lily Allen's sophomore outing, "It's Not Me, It's You," I am unable to think of one. For all the jangling pop hooks and sugar coated production values, Allen is unable to part from this message throughout the entirety of the album.

But, hey, write what you know, right?

At least for all the broken relationships that consist of the disc's thematic message, Allen manages to turn its songs into pop music confections with the bitter punch of her surprisingly explicit lyrics.

After listening through the record a couple of times, I'm convinced that Lily Allen is the music equivalent of Sarah Silverman -- someone who seems sweet on the outside but then proceeds to spew shocking expletives at you. That still doesn't stop you from enjoying it, however.

Straight to the point, "Fuck You" caught me totally off guard. I heard such a sweet-sounding voice singing "Fuck you very, very, very much" in what is unmistakably an ironically British fashion. The kicker is that the song is about President Bush, and though she's roughly a year late for such a statement politically, there's definitely a sick amusement that remains thinking Allen's still writing songs about boys, just on a wider target than the usual club hook-ups.

The album slows down most when the sweetness of the music isn't offset by the sharp insight of an angry Allen. Out of a mostly lukewarm record, "Chinese" stands out as the ultimate clunker. Instead of spewing the vitriol that is this songwriter's most redeemable feature, she resorts to elaborating on the simple pleasures of eating fast food and watching television. This ends up being a musical sleeping pill in the latter half of the album, where irony gives way to bleeding-heart sincerity for the worse of the music.

The two tracks that follow "Chinese" and wrap up the affair are "Him" and "He Wasn't There," which suffer from the same problems as the aforementioned song.

But let's end this review on a more positive note, shall we? I feel terrible for all of Allen's lousy lovers if they get mentioned in songs such as "Not Fair" where the boy is inflicted with the truth that, "You've never made me scream." The song is actually one of the early bitter joys of the record, infused with a rockabilly twang that sounds oddly appealing over a British accent and cutting lyrics.

For the Katy Perry and Kelly Clarkson fans out there looking for a pop star with a more adventuresome sense of musicality and an acid tongue to match, Lily Allen is the answer to your prayers. For me, however, it's a better option to crank up the Iggy Pop and try and get this falsely cloying sweetness out of my mouth.

By Jonathan Yi, features reporter

They take a different approach across the Atlantic.

Rather than the moribund and lucrative industry we see dominating the stateside landscape, I have come to realize that the most profitable aspect comes in a glossy, duff package placed on every doorstep beyond the white cliffs of Dover.

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