COLUMNS

As I write this, I am listening to a low-grade bootleg of The White Stripes performing "Maps," the heartbreaker of a single from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Fever to Tell disc. What compels me isn't so much Jack White's near-femme vocals, nor Meg's barely competent drumming, nor the crackles or fuzzy screaming.

No, cutting through all of this is the simple truth that this is a beautiful song. Not a "beautiful song" like the stuff 94.7 used to play in its post-95X, pre-Buzz (and post Buzz?) iteration, but beautiful like hearing some golden word of truth in a teary telephone conversation or at the moment you wake up from the dream where you're dead. It's transcendent.

For anyone playing the home game, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are alternately a post-modern take on the Pretenders (Karen O. is a vocal dead ringer for Chrissie Hynde) and art-punk noisemakers of the first degree. "Maps" is Karen's love letter to her (no longer) beau, whose band is horrid and not worth mentioning here, but it becomes so much more with each listen.

The lyrics are simple enough, with each simple verse building to a simple chorus:

"Wait. They don't love you like I love you."

It reads like a letter to someone you're in danger of losing to a crowd. It feels like the impotent plea you make to the girl of your dreams on the last day of school, hoping to keep her to yourself but knowing that, even though you thought you knew her better than she knew herself- let alone anyone else- and yet she would never be yours.

And it leaves you with a dull ache each time you hear it.

The flip side of this is hearing Britney Federline/Spears/Alexander's take on Bobby Brown's late 80's  jam "My Prerogative" (which, yes, I used to have memorized.)  Acting like someone still cares, the rampaging Cherry 2000 proclaims that while we say she's nasty, she doesn't give a damn... although what she really doesn't seem to give a damn about as she goes about using marriage and parenthood as a synthetic form of self promotion is the malfunctioning space between her lungs.

Maybe Karen O. could teach her how to use it. I know she's done a fine job of reminding the indie rock crowd of the importance of unabashed swooning.

© 2003 OklahomaRock.com