Regina Spektor’s reputation precedes her. Being one of those artistes you often hear of, but never hear, in this case, is a travesty. She is, at least on this single, a subtle genius.
Backed by a piano’s gentle tinkling, understated strings, simple drums, and sometimes even handclaps, Regina’s voice fluctuates between barely speaking and occasionally ringing out while she paints a picture of a perfectly innocent and naïve world. Yet, with child-like words and a singsong tone, she manages to create an uncomfortable atmospheric cross between a gentile tea party with an elderly relative and the most frustrating foreplay you’ve ever experienced. Every time you dare to listen to the song again, you wait patiently for her voice to peak within the classy tune, being teased by breathy high notes and mid-level refrains, until you’re begging her to give you sweet satisfaction, to reach that one note!… and when she eventually does, it’s so fleeting that you feel akin to how someone must feel when caught masturbating at the theatre. Surely you shouldn’t get so much pleasure out of something so socially acceptable? That little minx.
On b-side ‘Dusseldorf’ she’s more brazen, but no less satisfying. Regina Spektor is one saucy tart, and she knows it.