Great Sounds Great; Bad Sounds Bad: Sarah Mary Chadwick ‘Fools Like Me’

Great Sounds Great; Bad Sounds Bad is a column which sees a panel of writers for The Corner review a range of local singles and grade them out of 10. Check out the song below, read through their opinions and let us know in the comments section your own thoughts and what you’d like us to review next time around

[Soundcloud]

[Grade: 6.5]

Michael Upton: One of those tracks where I’m not too sure what to say. Some listens I found it pretty enjoyable, others I was struggling just to stick with it to the end. One time I’d be thinking “yay, the way her voice cracks is pretty great” and the next would be more “ouch, sounds like it hurts”. I dunno, eh. It’s not the kind of thing I usually listen to. [5]

Stephen Clover: Sarah Chadwick out of Batrider (whatever happened to?) is pretty fierce but other than the first 0:38 I’m not really getting into this. It’s too overwrought and — while apparently in earnest — the production gives it feel of a B-side/demo. Also I would chop the last chorusx2 off and see how that swang. [4]

Maddie Collier: When I hadn’t yet heard Lucinda Williams’ album West, but I knew my dad had, I asked him what he thought of it. He said, “I’ll put it this way: it’s definitely not the kind of music you’d want to put on at a dinner party”. I wouldn’t want to put Sarah Mary Chadwick on at a dinner party. In fact, I wouldn’t want to put Sarah Mary Chadwick on around any other people, ever. I don’t even want my flatmates to overhear me listening to it in my bedroom, lest they start hiding the kitchen knives from me and leaving open pamphlets in conspicuous locations about the ubiquity and treatability of depression. ‘Fools Like Me’ is a miserable, scratchy, straining, overcast-Tuesday-morning, family-dog-just-got-put-down, overbearing ordeal of a song. Does this sound like a bad review? It’s not. I love this. [9]

Matthew Plunkett: I have not grown tired of this all week – in fact I want to just put the thing on repeat and wallow in the blank spaces it makes. It’s a simple, beguiling song on guitar which stays on the right side of lighters in the sky and big bald metaphors while being comfortable enough in its own skin to flirt with this kind of universal language. I don’t want to think too much about what the words mean because I like the mystery and the impressions. When she sings about her songs draining away down invisible holes it floors me because Chadwick sounds so connected and staunch in the face of her fate. Her raspy style of singing is appealing – it feels strong and sexy like Sharon O’Neil. This is the kind of song that could get you through a few black weeks and if that isn’t something worth celebrating I don’t know what is. [9]

Sean Quay: I guess people who like this will probably appreciate its emotional rawness but I find it droney and monotonous. Maybe I’m just cold but it will take more than room temperature for me to warm to this. [4]

Luke Jacobs: ‘Fools Like Me’ opens so simply and ends in the same way. I found it hard not to be charmed entirely by it. Chadwick is able to weave quite a bit with just her voice and electric guitar and the narrative at times are gripping. I heard hints of Cat Power in there, and I really mean that in the best way. I doubt she is trying to copy anyone but she is able to open up her voice so that it hints at vulnerability in a similar sense. I love Batrider and I really look forward to hearing more from Chadwick. [8]

Eden Bradfield: There’s an ambling honesty sewn throughout this song – that’s perhaps a skill not many people have and Ms. Chadwick has it in spades. Now, I don’t think honesty is a pre-requisite to anything, but it’s what makes me like this song so much. That and the bare-bones nature of it – woman and guitar. The cracks in her voice are perfectly placed, and whilst the overdubbing/reverb might annoy me elsewhere, here it’s just tasteful enough (lord forbid anything be too tasteful). [8]

Joe Nunweek: Exercise in endurance though it is, I have a lot of time for Batrider’s 2011 album Piles Of Lies. Chadwick (that band’s only permanent member) always sounds like she’s had a big cry, and I don’t mean that in a “oh, this song’s a bit sad” way – I mean actual adult crying, that sort of unnatural, exhausting wail that comes heaving out like vomit, leaving you drained and debased. Which, along with the full band’s forced-march drone, makes a pretty convincing soundtrack for the aftermath of something terrible. I’ve no idea whether this track means she’s shedding the bandname, but it feels divested of more than that – it’s a simple strumalong, like Best Coast playing in a well at half-speed and with a clumsy quiet-loud verse/chorus dynamic that edges into open-mic night grunge territory. Batrider have a handful of these direct, spare little bummers, but this one might thrive in the context the others benefited from. On its own, it’s a bit of a strange and incomplete creature. [5]