Oren Lavie, The Opposite Side of the Sea

By Chelsea Spear

In the early days of 2009, the Internet became aware of Oren Lavie. The video for “Her Morning Elegance,” the album’s opening track and first single, was auspiciously posted on YouTube, and was subsequently linked on individual blogs and websites (like the group blog MetaFilter.com) with great enthusiasm. As Lavie’s catchy melody burbled along, a narrative of dreams and unrequited love unfolded in appropriately elegant, yet painstaking stop-motion animation. The album’s sales figures at online retailers increased faster than you can say, “YouTube embed.”

The glossy pop of “Her Morning Elegance” highlights the strengths and weaknesses of Oren Lavie’s first album, The Opposite Side of the Sea. The mellifluous melodies, spare arrangements, and Zima-clear production make the album seem like a throwback to the halcyon days of pre-Nirvana College Rock, when every major label had a literate, mildly quirky male singer/songwriter in its roster. The flowing melody and Buzz Bin-ready video for “Her Morning Elegance” bring to mind Michael Penn’s breakthrough hit “No Myth,” while the title track sounds like a long-lost outtake from XTC’s Skylarking. The arpeggiated piano motifs that flow through the album, combined with Lavie’s intimate lyrical observations, suggest a male counterpart to Little Earthquakes-era Tori Amos.

Lyrically and vocally, Lavie comes off like a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t use any of the choking or sobbing techniques on which many of his peers draw, and in his lyrics he rarely sings from the first person or plays the victim. He comes across as, if not tough, then definitely as someone who’s gone through a lot and come out stronger. In listening to his album, I don’t have the same level of concern towards him that I have towards some of his contemporaries.

The album is pretty straightforward, accessible singer/songwriter fare, and those whose taste runs to more experimental recording artists like Bon Iver or Shearwater might find themselves checking their watches during the album’s running time. Lavie’s work is head and shoulders above morons like Jack Johnson, whose work clogs the airwaves. Unfortunately, Lavie shares the himbo bard’s enthusiasm for formulaic songwriting. He dresses his mellifluous melodies in arrangements that draw on string quartets, guitar, piano, and the faintest hint of rhythm, and his songs rarely stray from middle tempos or 4/4 time signatures. He depends on these elements so much that after the first three tracks I wondered if Lavie had shown us all he had to offer. The album ends with an “unhidden” track, “Quarter Past Wonderful,” which is an attempt to show Lavie’s playful side but one that comes off in such a puerile manner that it makes the aforementioned meathead troubadour’s “Banana Pancakes” look like Richard Thompson’s “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” by comparison.

In theory, Lavie’s music deserves the wide audience that was beguiled by the “Her Morning Elegance” video. In practice, his music needs a greater sense of adventure. A bassline and a rougher production techniques wouldn’t hurt, either.