Harriet EP: reaching for buffett-status

by Scott Wilson

Tying a song to something tangible is a great way to ensure its longevity. Think about “Wedding Song” by Bruno Mars, “Little GTO” by the Beach Boys, or “My Adidas” by RUN DMC. Whenever you’re doing an event or using a thing that a song describes you can’t help but reference the soundtrack. This is the strategy of Harriet on the song “Irish Margaritas” off their self-titled EP. They aren’t product placers, exactly, but more like product associaters. Members of an unspoken symbiotic relationship between two diverse but related things: music and alcohol. These associations have a long history in the arts, and in any conversation on food-related music it would be both rude and ignorant not to reference the master of the pairing, Jimmy Buffet – for he’s the gauge that all other artists who dare name a song after a comestible must be judged.

With our Buffett-approved measuring stick in place, how does “Irish Margaritas” stand up against the original “Margaritaville” or even “Cheeseburger in Paradise”? First, lets examine what Harriet is, musically: a LA-based, 4-piece pop band with strong, lightly enhanced vocals. They’re lyric-heavy and all the songs on the Harriet EP are love ballads that tell a story in a heteronormative, boy-meets-girl way. It would be fair to say that on musical styling “Irish Margaritas” is not far, thematically, from Buffett, but the love ballad element is more akin to Meatloaf, who, despite the name, is not a food musician, per-se, but it’s fun to think of him singing “Bat Out of Hell” from the perspective of a piece of chocolate cake. “Irish Margaritas” is fast and heartfelt, with a danceable rhythm. It’s a catchy song. As catchy as “Margaritaville?” Possibly. If the Jameson Whiskey Company was looking for a musical accompaniment to market their drinks for Cinco de Mayo, they could do a lot worse.

Though “Irish Margaritas” is an undisputable banger, rightfully the stud single on the EP, the other songs assume a much different tone. They’re melancholy, slow, and full of typical love-song diction and metaphors, like, ‘I hope my heart don’t stop’, ‘I can take you higher’ and ‘you won’t bring me down’. Whether these phrases are tired clichés or canonical reference points is beyond the scope of this review, though I lean towards the former because the lyrical storylines within each song fail to achieve any insights the world of music hasn’t already gleaned through the last sixty years of pop ballads.

Something must also be said about the surprising burst of misogyny in the song, “Burbank”. Up until about halfway through that song, the Harriet EP uses no language a pre-teen wouldn’t be afraid to play in the car with their parents. Then, inexplicably, the singer belts out the line, ‘I get the pu$$y wet’. Why? Why did you put that in the song, Harriet? Not only is it out of place, it’s out of theme: a single vulgar line in an otherwise humdrum love song.

Harriet is a tight EP. The vocals are pretty, the production value is choice, and the overall emotion feels genuine. But, the genre of pop love ballads is already stacked with earnest musicians laying their hearts bare on mp3 players everywhere. Aside from some misplaced vulgarity, Harriet isn’t taking many risks, or striving for much innovation. Though, if they’re continuing the tradition for the aging Jimmy Buffett, why should they?

Put it all in a blender for ten seconds and serve with a lime and a little umbrella in whatever clean-ish glassware you have lying around.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67Cq5-yjxiw&feature=youtu.be