In 2010, the Austin band Harlem released Hippies, an album with bubblegum melodies and a sneering sense of humor. It was a record easily lumped in with the garage punks-- any lyrics that seemed to come from a personal place were overshadowed by their raucous delivery and big, infectious choruses. That's not the case with The Garden of Joy and the Well of Loneliness, the brainchild of Harlem's Michael Coomer. It's an album where every song tells a vulnerable story with lyrics that pulsate with insecurities, breakups, sex, and love. Those factors seem to be the driving forces behind Lace Curtains.
Storytelling is definitely one of Coomer's greatest strengths here. "Candy says", he sings on "High Fantasy", perhaps invoking that familiar Candy who's come to hate her body. He continues, "'Stop writing songs about me/ I'm not to be taken literally/ I don't need anyone seeing my laundry written into a song.'" The central character is tired of having her hang-ups, image, and stories reflected in some dude's lyrics. It's a song that could feasibly be sung from the perspective of the Velvet Underground's character, but by the end of the track, Coomer cries out, "Alexis." It's a name wailed without context but one that's loaded with emotionally resonant, deeply personal implications. And every song offers a glimpse at small, seemingly telling moments, as in "Sadie Hawkins", where he slow dances with a chaperone and decries his own lack of poise and mop of hair.
If a feeling of tenderness pervades, it's only encouraged by Coomer's equally tender guitar. "Grey", "High Fantasy", "Sadie Hawkins", and "Cute Black Cloud" feature soft, unassuming-but-memorable melodies. But if all this talk of feelings and soft guitars makes the album sound fey or devoid of any rock'n'roll punch, that's not the case. Throughout Garden, Coomer contrasts his observations and ponderings with driving, pop-oriented instrumentals. Most of the album's songs, including the four listed above, are bolstered by drum work from Bloc Party's Matt Tong, a longtime friend of Coomer's. One of the album's best songs, "Cleopatra", is a choogling, semi-improvised jam that finds Coomer singing about people he met in Northwest Houston with a cadence that's equal parts J. Spaceman and Lou Reed.
Most of the source material in Garden of Joy's lyrics are relatable moments-- feeling self-conscious at the school dance, listening to records with somebody special, exploring the blurry line between platonic and romantic relationships. But some of the album's lyrical highlights are its weirder lines. Here's a description of endearment from "Police Brutality": "Baby fat still hung on your cheeks like a lil' JonBenét." That same song dips into some fairly graphic imagery later on, so clearly, his sense of humor from those Harlem records (and his often hilarious Twitter account) isn't lost in the album's introspective tendencies. Still, there's a sweetness to the line, "I like the sound you make learning to play the drums."
Every name, reference, and symbol in the album seems to point to something fragile. The album is named for both a gay-friendly bar in 1930s Harlem and a 1920s lesbian novel, furthering the "behind closed doors" mindset. The cover features a portrait of Marilyn Monroe. There's a reference to Cleopatra's suicide, which clearly holds some significance to Coomer (from Lace Curtains' Twitter account: "today is the anniversary of the defeat of mark antony by octavian leading to the eventual suicide of cleopatra. also my record is on itunes"). Even the name "Lace Curtains" implies getting a glimpse at a private moment. And that's what this album deals in: Unsure feelings. Memories. Skin. In tone, execution, and tender demeanor, it's definitely a far cry from Free Drugs;-).
