Loser music isn’t new. Dudes have been writing about being losers since biblical times. There’s a pipeline from “Blessed are the poor in spirit” to “I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo” — and it’s losers.
Sometimes, we need an album that’s about being a bit pathetic. We need some warm and fuzzy self-deprecation to keep us humble. And we can’t just keep listening to Stephen Malkmus’ entire discography. Enter NYC duo Frog’s latest record: 1000 Variations on the Same Song.
The title of 1000 Variations is an ironic yet brazen admission of insecurity — you have to listen to see if it’s a cop-out or not. After all, you can’t tell me that my album is derivative and unoriginal if I named it Unoriginal Derivative Album.
The first track (and the only non-variation), “STILLWELL THEME,” sums things up for us. Driven by a minimalist four-chord piano riff and vocalist Daniel Bateman’s falsetto, it tells the story of an unemployed, shit-talking, alcoholic member of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees doing an ad-read for a now-defunct furniture store on Long Island. The track ends with an audio clip from “The Wire,” Marlo Stanfield repeating “You want it to be one way. But it’s the other way.” It’s the sort of simple line that digs its dirty fingernail right into the thesis of 1000 Variations — being stuck, inept and frustrated about it. So, basically, feeling like a loser.
Instrumentally, 1000 Variations is minimalist. Contained to hearty drums, woody folk-ish guitars, some punchy piano and at one point a banjo (!), the star of the mix is Bateman’s vocals and, by proxy, his storytelling. Oftentimes we hear a straining, layered falsetto in the foreground while a chorus of mini-Batemans croon and echo further back. His lyrics are assembled in a similar way, both slapdash and thoughtful.
On the first listen, Bateman’s narration is almost silly — I was reminded of the first time I played “Cinco De Mayo Shit Show” by Marietta for my ex. She asked, about Evan Lescallette’s poor singing, “Is he, like, serious?” Frog’s answer is, “Well, kind of.”
Bateman’s writing uses absurdity to deliver sour truths, and his uncanny falsetto is the only correct mode of transport. Take “HOUSEBROKEN VAR. IV,” where our drunken narrator is blatantly talking out of his ass to impress his uninterested date. In his slurring high-pitched twang, Bateman blathers, “Fucking up the track like my name J Dilla / Topped Michael Jackson I outsold ‘Thriller’ / No cap, just facts man, a stone-cold killеr,” and it’s downright funny.
He goes on nonsensically, until his final-line confession: “It sounded clever to regale her ’front of all her friends / But you looked over and she hadn’t eaten anything.” The track suddenly sobers, punctuated by one echoing guitar chord and ten seconds of self-loathing silence. You can picture this sweaty-foreheaded dude sitting in a stinky little bar, rambling on while his too-pretty date stares at the metaphorical clock on the wall behind him. Though I’m biased — I’ve always had a soft spot for losers — you can’t help but feel bad for this bumbling idiot. He sucks, clearly, but he also knows that he sucks; you can’t deny the quiet tragedy in that.
In each of Frog’s 1000 Variations, at least one element harkens back to this sense of “loserhood” that hasn’t been so palpable since the Midwest emo revival of the mid-2010s. To give a brief highlight reel:
“BLAMING IT ALL ON THE LIFESTYLE VAR. V” is a lament sung by a man blaming his poor behavior on a stereotypical rockstar lifestyle that he doesn’t even have. Lines of sincere insecurity (“If I had the balls / I’d marry you”) are sandwiched between weird humble brags (“Gucci socks, Gucci sweater”) painting a portrait of a guy whose only way of being is pretending. “DID SANTA COME VAR. IX” is the disgruntled-adult-coming-home-for-Christmas song we’ve all been waiting for; our narrator hits his vape and asks his mom to carry him home in the same line, followed by the hopeful chorus refrain, “Did Santa come?” “ARTHUR MCBRIDE ON THE LOWER EAST SIDE VAR. X” is an NYC twist on the Irish folk song in which the narrator and his cousin, the aforementioned Arthur, take a trip to Harlem to buy drugs and end up watching their dealer get run over by an Isuzu Van. While all of these concepts are inherently funny, Bateman’s storytelling is so earnest that it becomes utterly believable. Herein lies the disgruntled charm of 1000 Variations.
While there’s an abundance of loser music, most of it isn’t done correctly. It makes us cringe, listening to some guy clumsily whine through a 40-minute album. The miracle of 1000 Variations lies in its ability to broadcast fault without begging for sympathy. There’s no character growth, just plain honesty, and sometimes that’s all we need to hear.
Long live losers!
Daily Arts Writer Siena Beres can be reached at sberes@umich.edu.
