Lily Allen has always been known for her outspoken brand. From calling out exes for their ineptitude in bed to trashing then “rival” Amy Winehouse for being thin solely because of her heroin addiction, Allen has rarely shied away from declaring her opinions sans filter. With the release of her fourth album, that mark of acerbic wit has been more finely tuned and, dare one note, transformed into something more, to use that gross and foul word, mature. This isn’t to say that Allen isn’t still plenty filled with her fair share of tongue-in-cheek puerility (as is the case on “My One,” a tale of one-night stands in various countries). But there’s more purpose to it now, more experience behind all the trauma discussed–of which there has been quite a bit in the four years since the somewhat patchy Sheezus was released (one wonders how Allen feels about having named an album in honor of Kanye West with hindsight).
From the opening notes of “Come On Then,” it’s clear there is an urgency to Allen’s message on No Shame, a message that was also present on Sheezus but somehow lacked the same amount of sincerity. “Yeah, I’m a bad mother, I’m a bad wife,” she declares, as though to say, “Fuck it, I don’t care, I can’t be anyone else other than myself, and having a family isn’t going to change that.” In this way, Allen sets the precedent for what the record unwittingly comes to represent: a female musician tired of apologizing for all the actions and behaviors that men of the music industry have been lauded for–in fact, it’s rather expected that when a bloke goes on tour he’s going to spread his seed all over town–to use a phrase from Allen herself–regardless of whether he’s “attached” or not (but can men ever really be attached to anything other than their penis?).
That “Trigger Bang” follows “Come On Then” is telling of Allen’s continued vacillation between guilt and acceptance both of her past and who she is. Exploring the common motif of her addictions–most especially to alcohol–Allen discusses the problematic nature of returning to behaviors of yore that she once relied on so heavily for solace and release, insisting, “I need to move on and grow some.” Which, it would appear, she has without totally losing sight of her original bawdy sense of humor. This is also the case on “What You Waiting For?” (yes, the same name as that Gwen Stefani song, and come to think of it, Allen’s has a ska tinge that Stefani’s No Doubt sensibilities could appreciate).
With the serene, resigned beats Allen can’t let go of after too much time spent in Ibiza, she delves into the issue that seemed to plague her marriage the most: infidelity–on her part. Apparently a bona fide rock star, Allen knows all too well how to have a good time, which can only be had at its best with use of one’s vag freely as she explains, “Solitude is overrated,” likely referring to the dichotomous loneliness of tour life. Elsewhere Allen existentially laments, “I’m hoping somehow he’ll forgive me/What you waiting for, you’ll never be sure/Just leave him alone.” And it would seem, eventually, she had to as the jealousy and possessiveness got the better of her husband, driving Allen to the point of madness as she explores on “Your Choice” featuring Burna Boy (who Allen also collaborated with on his recent track, “Heaven’s Gate”). Describing the lack of trust she was met with by her ex, Allen rails, “Stop crying every time I get a text/Every time my phone rings/Don’t be upset, baby/I’ve always said that no man can own me/If you really wanna go, that’s fine/That’s your choice, not mine.” This take it or leave it attitude is most certainly not in keeping what’s expected of “the missus” in a relationship. No, she’s expected to pine, be cloying and contrite for any perceived offense. But Allen is saying, at last, “Na. I won’t be hemmed in by rules that men have never had to abide.”
This declaration of independence, of course, does not mean that Allen isn’t still vulnerable, as evidenced by the bittersweet “Lost My Mind,” the video for which puts none too fine a point on being “stuck in a rut” with regard to the way we can’t seem to help ourselves in clinging to that which is dead. And women, more than anyone, are willing to hang on because of the centuries-long conditioning they’ve been given about loyalty that has never been reciprocated by the gender they’re supposed to be loyal to. A double standard Allen also points out on “Higher” featuring Meridian Dan. Applicable to both romance and the music industry suits with the power, “Higher” accuses, “Why did you do it?/Why would you choose to use and abuse me?/This close to ruin/Why just stand by?/Don’t you dare roll your eyes/Why put me through it?/Enough with the lies/I know what the truth is.” Being familiar with Allen’s struggles with the executives of a world that still believes in the defunct notion of a “pop star,” “Higher” is a song that fights back against the very institution that still can’t find itself quite as evolved as other entertainment industries in the twenty-first century, with most obvious regard to #MeToo–something Allen herself has commented on of late.
“Family Man” is the track that most especially subverts the concept of conventional gender roles as Allen repaints herself in the part of the eponymous character, lackadaisical in myriad ways, “just doing what [she] can to get by.” Portraying herself as a deadbeat spouse in the vein of Don Draper, Allen justifies her distant behavior toward her husband with, “I don’t like most people/But I’m scared, not evil/Every day has its challenges/I just never know what day it is.” Again, Allen alludes to the temptations of the music world that, in part, drew her into it in the first place–for it is only of late that Allen has finally surrendered to this idea of herself as a proper musician, a far cry from the 21-year-old who confessed to The Guardian that she “didn’t even know the difference between a bass and a guitar.” But perhaps when catharsis is necessary on a day-to-day basis, one has to eventually admit that their medium of choice is who they are.
Following is “Apples,” a companion piece to “Family Man,” with Allen finally surrendering to the end on this track despite the fact that this means her worst fear is realized: she’s just the same as her parents, rueing, “Now I’m exactly where I didn’t want to be/I’m just like my mummy and my daddy.” Going the extra mile in self-loathing for this, Allen expounds on the demise of the marriage by blaming herself entirely (for it is still too ingrained in the chemical composition of a female to shoulder the responsibility for failure), insisting, “So cliche for me to say, I never meant to break your heart/I’m to blame for all your pain.”
The empathetic mindset Allen displays on No Shame (in contrast, some would say, to the “one size fits all feminism” of Sheezus‘ “Hard Out Here”) is at its most overt on “Three,” sung from what Allen imagines to be the perspective of her little girl, always wondering why her mum can’t stick around. Among the most wrenching on the album, “Three” is in direct competition with the emotional sucker punch of “Everything to Feel Something.” In one sense, the song is the lowest point on the record in terms of entering Allen’s mindset during her darkest hour. In another, it is the peak of her artistry on No Shame. Addressing her issues with codependency and the associated relationship blowups that come with it, Allen speaks to that same codependency being replaced by drugs and alcohol when she can’t get someone to love her on at least a semi-permanent basis. An eerie chant at the intro that forewarns, “I’ve tried everything to feel something, but nothing,” leads into the dramatic piano backing of the song as Allen acknowledges unpleasant truths to both herself and her listeners. Going into the details of how she lets her body be used by men while in a state of inebriation, Allen adds, “I’m at my worst when I’m alone/Can’t take the peace/So my glass is always half empty/Someone fill it up for me/Set me free/I don’t want to fall in love/No, all I need is for someone to walk all over me/Close the door behind you please/Let me be.” The war of emotions within Allen as she wants so badly to feel a connection with someone while knowing that such a connection can’t be forced instead turns to the substances that make interactions with another human being more heightened and intense, and therefore come across as more meaningful than they really are–until the morning comes.
Offsetting the morose realities of “Everything to Feel Something” is “Waste” featuring Lady Chann. Harkening back to the musical style and whimsy of “Alfie” and “Nan, You’re a Window Shopper,” the upbeat tempo accents Allen’s contempt for an ex-friend (again reminding one of her debut album, on which “No Friend of Mine” also appears) who she mistakenly let “get too close.” This, too, debases the idea men often have that it’s all pillow fights and pleasantries among females, even for as into solidarity as they might seem for the moment.
The shifted tone of the album from dark to light continues with “My One,” produced by BloodPop and Allen staple Mark Ronson. Seeing Allen in her strongest “pimp mode,” she brags, essentially, about having a man in every port–or rather, every city she tours in. But no matter what, she always returns to her “one” in London–that one now replaced by another.
A fool for love in the end, “Pushing Up Daisies” sheds light on a “blossoming” relationship Allen has already jumped into (she has codependency issues, remember?) with Meridian Dan (yes, her “Higher” collaborator). With this new boo, her optimism remains intact, convinced that one day they’ll be “pushing up the daisies” together. And so it goes that the cycle begins all over again, leaving one to wonder if Allen truly can have her “cake and eat it,” as she tells other women to on the outro, “Cake,” which posits faith that women will one day get a “piece of that patriarchy pie.” And so, No Shame is at least a running start in helping female musicians reframe how they see their “place” in a family, shattering the former expectations of having to “juggle it all.” But no, why not just let the saggy balls fall where they may?
One thing that can be said about Allen’s seditious rebranding of how a woman “can” act when she’s a female rocknrolla is that it doesn’t mean relinquishing all liability. Unlike a man, Allen feels compunction and remorse throughout the narrative thread of No Shame, ridden with concern for all the mistakes she’s made that might have negatively affected those close to her, from her once beloved ex-husband to her two daughters. And this is one thing that will always make it harder for a woman in music and in life: having feelings. Even so, take a note from Allen and feel no shame for all the fun you’ve had and all the embarrassments you’ve incurred as a result.
