The Weepies - Say I Am You

You expect that Deb Talan and Steve Tannen, otherwise known as The Weepies, would be lyrically inclined to write about what’s depressing and melodramatic. And yes, sometimes they do (“Woke up and wished that I was dead/with an aching in my head/I lay motionless in bed”). But people with great voices and a folksy sheen to their acoustic deftness aren’t very good at melodrama. So at worst, a couple of the tracks on their album Say I Am You come across as old and familiar anthems but not saddening -- unless, of course, you're depressed by getting a song instantly stuck in your head. This duo doesn’t use a wide range of instruments: The tracks are tethered together by a plain guitar (and occasionally, the faintest hint of strings) and plainer voices, often in compelling duets (or in chorus, if you count the instruments as “singing”). The Weepies are winners on the strength of their harmony; the rest is a sweetener. The psychedelic throb of “Riga Girls,” where the words echo so gaily that they trip over one another: “Just a little bit of snake oil, tinfoil/it takes so little charm to keep you hanging on.” The electric starlight of “Not Your Year,” which blinks like the night sky: “Every day it starts again. You cannot say if you’re happy. You keep trying to be. Try harder: maybe, maybe, this is not your year.” Or just settle with the pretty, sweet, pretty sweet melodies of a song on its own, like “Take it From Me,” which showcases uncomplicated poetry: “I lose my breath despite the air . . . My heart won’t stay entirely in this rib caging.” Tannen, slick and earthy in his presentation, is the perfect foil, so to speak, for Talan, who (on songs like “A Painting by Chagall”) seems to be hovering just out of reach in her upper register, even though her voice remains utterly natural, filled with seductive cracks and buoyant scales. Mathematically, these two are 180 degrees: Complementary angles (or angels, if you’ve been waiting for heaven to send down some good music). Thoroughly charming in presentation, The Weepies never get bogged down by the depressing thought that “Nobody Knows Me At All” – they skip around, buoyed by the guitars, the hearts, and their poetry. It’s a beautiful thing. [www.theweepies.com]