Dorian Electra is one of the more forward-thinking voices of the new electronic age. The Houston-born singer is usually insistent on pulling from the future, rather than the past, but what’s this? Their new album…is a covers album?
The purpose of Dorian’s covers album was to get them out of a “creative rut”, spawned by the gloom of modern media. Part of the problem is the current saturation of nostalgia bait. This is Dorian Electra redesigning nostalgia, peeling off the band aid and getting nostalgia out of their system.
One may already consider their self-titled album a success; a reactive spike in motivation has led to Dorian already getting started on its follow-up, likely/hopefully something as refreshing as 2019’s Flamboyant. Dorian Electra will never stop shaping the future, even with the past on the brain.
But the actual offering, for the most part, leaves a lot to be desired. The aesthetic – an unusually stripped-back synth album with much leftover “flamboyance” – is queer enough to scratch that itch. But queering up the classics – and these songs are all classics – isn’t really the name of the game, rather picturing a world without music, where you must make your own.
Such a practice does nothing but remove many of the idiosyncrasies that make each of these songs so special, and so beloved. The folky storyteller needs its busted-up acoustic guitar, which Mr. Tambourine Man exchanges for an overwhelming acapella intro in which cheesy, electronic harmonies constantly poke you in the face as you try to get some work done.
Still, there was only so much Dorian Electra could do with Mr. Tambourine Man. Scarborough Fair, on the other hand, is already a bit of a collage, so experimenting with it should come natural, but Dorian doesn’t do enough, disregarding a few noisy synth additions. An unrestrictive choice; a restrictive end product.
Does the ‘Dorian Electra does’ style suit any of these songs? While it needs to be said that it doesn’t improve any of them (hardly the point), the answer is yes. Unique, outgoing, a good fit for a sleazy nightclub, Hips Don’t Lie is rebirthed as a dubstep tune that turns a great pop song into a different kind of great pop song.
Dorian similarly electronically repurposes Young Folks’ nocturnality. The whistles are synths; the vibes are intact. Then, the entire thing is pitched down. The drugs are either wearing off or working.
While the thin, though somehow superimposed, synth later of Feel Good Inc. feels underthought, Dorian nails Trugoy the Dove’s rap. They’re quite good at conserving hip hop; Without Me is a new kind of party in which every melody of the original is adapted.
The Model was already one of the more fitting covers for Dorian to do – I’d be fine with a covers album made up entirely of Kraftwerk songs, and not just the poppier ones. But they still do what they do best; keep people guessing a little – there are a few reggae-ish, offbeat guitar jabs, utilised as Dorian, again, adapts the melodies of the original.
Interesting that Dorian does cut these songs up a little – Without Me is just intro and chorus – but still performs them as intended, with no overt liberties taken in rhythm or melody. Their idea of reworking a song is unique, in that regard.
So there is something to enjoy, or at least something to be intrigued by. Not to mention, the album is, on paper alone, fairly risky. Doing these songs – that everybody knows – in this style sets you up for crucifixion; an even edgier stunt than the album itself. Well done.
Best tracks – Hips Don’t Lie – Without Me.
Weakest track – Scarborough Fair.
Rating – 6 out of 10
