Adele – 21
I’ve always found Adele eminently likeable. She’s brilliantly candid and giggly in interviews and gives great quote, perhaps most notably when she described meeting Sarah Palin on Saturday Night Live with ‘an Obama badge on [her] tit.’ But while I’ll never turn over the Alan Carr show when she’s on, and always read an article about her, I’ve always had absolutely zero interest in her music; 2008′s 19 passed me by, put aside after a couple of listens, and my brain filed her away, maybe unfairly, next to Duffy in the ‘beehived pop puppet with an accent and a fairly impressive set of pipes’ pigeonhole.
Adele - 21
Two things made me reconsider. One was the High Contrast remix of ‘Hometown Glory,’ which, while being a truly brilliant dance track, first made me properly stop and listen to her voice. She doesn’t just have a really powerful set of lungs, but also the woefully rare ability to sincerely express raw emotion vocally. And the second was my first listen of 21.
21 is explicitly about a break up. Now, obviously a vast percentage of modern popular music is rooted somewhere in relationships making us unhappy in one way or another, but albums which are so openly based on the end of a particular relationship can make for a slightly uncomfortable listen. I’ve only ever made it halfway through The First Days Of Spring without having to turn it off, cringing wildly. The equivalent of the drunk uncle sobbing loudly over his divorce at a wedding, oversharing albums are sympathy-inducing but above all embarrassing. 21 is not one of these albums.
What is so striking about it as a whole is that Adele, at her still tender age, manages to masterfully articulate her way though the full spectrum of post-break up emotions. Beginning powerfully with first single ‘Rolling In The Deep’ (which, if we can briefly jump back to excellent remixes, has been given the Jamie xx treatment, and rather wonderfully so), she bellows vengefully ‘You’re gonna wish you never met me.’ Knowing call and answer on ‘Rumour Has It’ proclaims ‘She ain’t got your love any more’ before executing a final triumphant blow with the twist in the final line ‘Rumour has it/he’s the one I’m leaving you for.’ Make no mistake, Adele is in control here.
However, in the spirit of the maelstrom of emotions we all recognise as part of being a recently single emotional train wreck, she slides effortlessly from revenge into defenceless heartbreak on ‘Don’t You Remember’. ‘Don’t you remember the reason you loved me before?/Baby, please remember me once more.’ There are weaker points on the album, notably the slightly trite lyrics and trilling piano lines of ‘Turning Tables,’ but it’s easy to forget that this isn’t a record from a far more established artist and criticise accordingly, rather than a coming-of-age record serving perhaps as an introduction of sorts to those who initially dismissed her. The strengths of this record, and there are many, show that not only has Adele produced something really quite astonishing here, but that there can only be greater things to come.
It’s her extraordinary voice that carries us through the wreckage of her relationship. While sharing something incredibly personal, she somehow puts her finger on a series of universal human experiences and feelings, without ever intending to. Her voice is both effortless sounding, skipping octaves as easy as a whisper, and completely sodden with emotion. This album is surprisingly persuasive, and those with no interest in what Adele had to say before could well see their minds being changed.
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