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Topic: Imogen Heap - Ellipse: An Analysis of the First Two Tracks (Read 3082 times) previous topic - next topic
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Imogen Heap - Ellipse: An Analysis of the First Two Tracks

Imogen Heap

Ellipse


Apologies for taking pictures of it on a sheet.


The case is really pretty, and I enjoy its quality. It is not exactly expensive, but I feel that it adds a sense of pride in ownership, which I do not feel with badly packaged CDs that are typical of our current market. This little book feels really special, and the pictures in it certainly have an effect of my experience

Ellipse by Imogen Heap is among my very favourite albums. In it, Imogen Heap shows the incredible range of frequencies of her vocals, and a very commanding prowess in how she applies them. The moments her voice is weak and soft, and the moments it is shrill and angry, give an intensity to her music and message that are to be treasured by listeners. Each inflection is meaningful, and every moment of the music carries more meaning because of it.

I initially planned to do a review of the entire album, but as this is my first attempt at actually describing an album, I've found how unprepared I was for such a task. Instead, I offer you the first two tracks I've analysed, and the promise that I will make a second, more informed attempt in the future. It's really revealed to me, personally, how complex music is, and what I normally take for granted without much thought. Although I have not made an exceedingly compelling argument, or really even one at all, I hope that with me, you too will be surprised by the amount of detail there is to be anaylsed, and look forward to when I do a proper job of it and really organize a thesis.

01 First Train Home

The first track of the album starts out sleepily. As if you've woken up from a dream, and your senses are not at all precise. The initial notes are on the quiet side, and repeat like the chugging of a train starting up. The feeling is the perfect beginning brush strokes of the romantic painting of a person leaning his or her head head on his or her hand, contemplating a relationship and staring out the window. The tone of the whole song reflects this, and one finds oneself taking the position of this narrative. Imogen Heap's voice begins softly, and she becomes the listener's internal monologue. It's quiet, and shy, and longing: the hopeful voice of a someone who wants to escape. The momentum shifts two minutes and forty seconds in when the monologue begins arguing with an imagined antagonist. It is soft, and expressing dissatisfaction, but not strong or even mildly assertive.

This altering state of emotion pervades the entire first track, in the inflections of Imogen's voice. She will go from singing quietly, to singing desperately—yet still quietly—in a much higher pitch. It exemplifies the confusion one faces in contemplation, and effectively places the listener in the memory of his or her own quiet dealings with tribulations.

"As hiss and echo gain, irises retreat into ovals of white" (1.3) encapsulates the problem the narrator feels. Where beautiful, loving eyes should be, only a blank stare is given. The white eyes feel like an image of untimely death, and unfulfillment. It is the angst felt at the possibility of things never improving, only retreating and becoming worse. Silly hats aren't enough to cover up the feelings of melancholy (1.19), and thus the narrator runs away, in hopes of finding something new.

02 Wait it Out

The train ride is over, and the narrator has arrived. It's a new world, and the narrator feels out of place and lost. The narrator has abandoned his or her life style, and is trying to live in a brand new way, but has no idea what direction to take. Imogen Heap sings "How do we carry on? | I can't get beyond the questions" (2.1-2). The questions are all about how to live her new life. Since the narrator is so used to his or her old life, he or she looks to the past for answers, and one witnesses a betrayal, however necessary, of his or her intentions. "We" refers not to the narrator and the person he or she has left, but to the mind and the body. That constant conversation one has with oneself, the body one is responsible for, and the mind that must take care of it.

In these initial thoughts, Imogen Heap's voice is trying hard not to sound like it's hurt, but then in the phrase "could-have-been" (2.6) her voice wanes and shows its true feelings. On the word "been," she sounds the saddest, showing the pain it causes her to think back on the past. The moment is harkening back to the memories of the narrator's first hopes when he or she met his or her would-be partner. The idealism one first feels in those moments of initial attraction, envisioning a happy and long future. This invokes the fear of these feelings happening again... That is, the fear of feelings fooling one into thinking there is a bright future, when really there is only more despair waiting. Fear that one will never find lasting happiness. The following lines deliver a power image: "Pain on pain on play repeating | With the backup, makeshift life in waiting" (2.7-8). These lines begin with a somewhat confident voice, as if the narrator has already accepted it as true, but reveals how disappointed he or she feels the acceptance of this idea is, when Imogen's voice turns low on the word "waiting." Again, there are specific words that bring her to the point of hopelessness, the way one who is sad is triggered by certain words that remind one of painful experiences. "Waiting," as if waiting is a word she's familiar with. Waiting for things to get better. Waiting for something good to happen to here. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. The repetition of the same, painful song, and now to escape from said song, she goes to a "backup, makeshift life" that she's had waiting. Plan B in case the preferred plan didn't work out, a very sad life indeed. This shows also the regret the narrator felt, for putting so much of him or herself into a plan that now he or she is stuck with, one that is makeshift, and has not had effort put into it.

The title "Wait it Out" then, is ironic. The narrator is tired of waiting it out. The chorus, which comes right after, describes her feelings of being patronized by the cliche advice of her memories. "Time heals everything | But what of the wretched hollow? | The endless in between | Are we just going to wait it out?" (2.10-13). She is criticising the idea that one should just wait for one's life to get better. That sitting around is not the way to fill the hollow in oneself, and seems to bring the image of one needing to eat in order to fill oneself. However, the inside is an 'endless inbetween,' which means the task is described by the narrator as hopeless anyway, or at least that the emptiness suffered within is incalculably vast. This is not Imogen Heap telling us love is impossible of course, only accurately describing the feeling one has at a love gone awry, so that the listener can emulate it. Imogen's voice here is almost as vulnerable as she ever sounds, without a hint of sarcasm or combativeness. It shows that the narrator, in that state of self-pity, has no energy to fight, and sees no opportunity to. He or she is only thinks of the pain he or she feels, and does not offer a replacement to the solutions that are failing him or her. The only time that tone changes and it becomes obvious the narrator is annoyed by the useless advice, is on the line "Are we just going to wait it out?" (2.13).

The narrator begins to see him or herself as not an unfortunate case of random bad luck, but as "A stumbling cliched case" (2.17). His or her feelings are delegitimized, just as one who looks onto sorrows of others feels delegitimized. It is the sadness of not only being unfortunate, but not even being special in one's unfortunate position, and so therefore feeling too guilty to complain about it. The narrator is "Crumpled and puffy faced | Dead in the stare of a thousand miles" (2.18-19). This allusion to the pain of soldiers with PTSD, compares the event of the narrators loss and suffering to that of trauma. He or she is disabled by it, and feels difficulty in continuing his or her life normally, despite escaping from the situation that caused the trauma. The way one escapes a bad relationship, and the way one escapes war, both leave the person scarred for life. The narrator wishes to be "born again" (2.21), but Imogen sings the line with such harshness that it is as if the narrator is criticising his or her own foolish wish, that is, to be given a chance to retry and not make mistakes. The impossibility of such an event shows both the desperateness, and the self-demoralization of realising one is desperate.

At one minute and fifty seconds, the chorus repeats, but instead of being soft and vulnerable like the first time, Imogen's voice is strong and ready to express the emotions the narrator was perhaps holding back in tact. She describes the narrator's previous emotions as being like "dust we layer on old magazines" (2.23). The magazines symbolize the memories of the narrator, and as dust one constantly defiles those memories, instead of cleaning them from one's life. After this powerful statement, Imogen sings wordlessly in a way that is both excited and triumphant. Her voice epitomizes those feelings of revelation and insanity. One feels one has finally figured it all out and with this one is so pleased that one briefly forgets one's sorrow and is joyous. But the feeling doesn't last, and the song becomes very quiet again. Imogen's voice is less sad and hurt sounding, but it is not happy. The line "sit here cold" (2.27)  is repeated from earlier in the song, and expresses this feeling of isolation and a long road ahead.

Works Cited

Heap, Imogen. Ellipse. New York: Sony Music Entertainment, 2009.