By Kevin Pearson  |  Send to Friend

Monday
The first thing that strikes you when listening to She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke is its derivative and unoriginal nature. The second thing that strikes you, however, is the delightful way in which this blatant derivativeness has been executed. It is more homage than pastiche: an amalgamation of early Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and Leonard Cohen. And seriously, who doesn’t want to hear a record that blends these three indisputable ‘60s icons? With only acoustic guitar, female-backing vocals, and various percussive accoutrements (handclaps, tambourines, and shakers), The Dutchess & The Duke weave a tapestry of decidedly downtrodden tales. When Jesse Lortz, the Duke in this royal record, opens proceedings by intoning in his best swaggering Mick Jagger impersonation that he “barely woke this morning” it’s a feeling I immediately identify with. The day I received this record, my girlfriend moved to Belgium. Sadness doesn't even begin to encompass the feeling of being away from someone you've spent pretty much every day with for the past three years. Misery loves company though, and “Reservoir Park,” the album’s opening cut, makes me feel a little less lonely with its constant forlorn refrain that states that “the clouds keep rolling on in.” The jaunty, upbeat musical accompaniment juxtaposes the downbeat lyrics (“I went down to have my fortune told / She said you ain’t got no future / You ain’t ever growing old”) and a simple, sitar-sounding solo adds to the overarching ‘60s vibe. I’m not sure whether it’s the strength of this superb song or my inherent sadness, but all I do today is press repeat and listen and re-listen to the album’s opening track as the proverbial clouds keep rolling on in.


Tuesday
A few weeks ago my cell phone shattered on the ground after slipping out of my hand. I tried to wrangle a new one out of my provider, but because I was out of contract my only options were to sign a new contract and get a phone for free, or forgo the contract and buy a new phone. I chose neither option and decided to go sans cell phone. I’d like to think that The Dutchess & The Duke, with their archaic musical aesthetics, would approve. And while I should point out that I have been listening to this record on my iPod, quarantined from the outside world, I imagine that it would sound even sweeter played on a dusty turntable through actual speakers. But despite the digital aspect of my listening experience, She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke still plays like a long lost relic. “Reservoir Park” is a raw encapsulation of the Rolling Stones; an amalgamation of their early blues-y numbers and the country rock ruminations of Exile on Main Street. “The Prisoner” also pillages Jagger and Co., sounding like a slower version of “Paint it Black.” “Ship Made of Stone” is Cohen covering Dylan, while “Mary” is just straight-up Dylan. Obviously, there’s a fine line between rote rip-offs and heartfelt homage but this record definitely falls into the latter category. What makes it work, though, is that the derivative nature doesn’t dilute the record but instead turns it into a timeless album devoid of any nuances that could peg it to a particular year.

Wednesday
Working with a hangover is pretty painful. After several beers too many the previous evening, I rolled up to work in a weary and weathered state that not even a greasy breakfast sandwich or several sugary, carbonated drinks could rectify. To say I have a short-fuse today is a slight understatement. All I want is my bed. Judging by his lyrics, Jesse Lortz is also an angry soul. Throughout his songs, hearts are nailed to walls and daggers are twisted in orifices. Lips are poisoned, and fortune-tellers, witches, and gurus all make appearances. On the Kinks-like “Out of Time” Lortz is “sick of hearing that things are going to work out,” and states that everyone knows that “tomorrow’s just a lie.” “Ship Made of Stone” finds him in a resigned mood, stating that, “If I play the game and I lose completely, I’m better not playing at all.” Yet, despite all the doom and gloom, Lortz juxtaposes his lyrical crankiness with jubilant and jovial melodies. On the brilliant “Mary” he even utilizes rolling nursery rhyme rhythms to turn a song about pain and shame into a veritable sing-along.

Thursday
After finally resolving to do some research into the group rather than just listening to the record on constant rotation, it comes as no surprise to find that this isn’t the first band, or genre, that this duo has dabbled in. Kimberly Morrison (the Dutchess) and Jesse Lortz (the Duke) first started playing music together in Seattle in 2002 when Lortz recruited Morrison to play organ in his R&B group, The Flying Dutchmen. Following the break-up of that group, Lortz then formed the three-chord punk trio The Fe Fi Fo Fums, while Morrison played in several bands of varying musical genres. The pair reunited for a dance-floor beat girl group called The Sultanas that segued into a spell of songwriting that would become the basis of The Dutchess & The Duke. And while Morrison’s presence isn’t immediately apparent on the first few listens, her backing vocals soon become an integral part of the listening experience with each subsequent spin.

Friday
As the track and field portion of the Olympics play in the background I start thinking about how, like the athletes on my television, The Dutchess & The Duke are a raw encapsulation of today’s musical world. Unlike most sports stars, the track competitors don’t need fancy gimmicks, no pads or helmets, nor any bats or balls – they just run as fast as they can over varying distances. Sure, they wear flashy, high performance sneakers, but they don’t necessarily need them to actually race. Musically, The Dutchess & The Duke often gets by with a similar bare-boned approach. All they need are archaic acoustics and some carefully placed vocal harmonizing. They don’t need an electrical socket to play. This is music that would be as at home on a dusk-lit back porch as it would in the smoky corner of a dank club. Sure, they throw what sounds like a flute into the stunted, adolescent Vaselines-like pop of “You Can Tell the Truth, Now,” but for the most part theirs is a primitive sound that could be performed anywhere. And just as you don’t need a 400-meter track to have a race, The Dutchess & The Duke doesn’t need anything but the musical basics to write a song.

Saturday
Like this album, Pittsburgh seems slightly old fashioned. I am in the Steel City for the weekend and a quick walk around leaves me suitably impressed with the area’s subdued charm. It’s the same sort of subtleties that make She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke such a welcome surprise. There’s a simplistic allure to both of them (no disrespect to Pittsburgh or the band).They both present themselves as down to earth and approachable. There’s a sense (in both aspects) that you’ve been there before, yet everything still smacks as new. On a musical front, The Dutchess & The Duke’s songs are so instantly recognizable, instantly hummable and memorable that, even after half a listen, you find yourself singing along to the vibrant melodies. Pittsburgh is similarly welcoming, in that you immediately feel at home. The valley that holds the main section of the city surrounds you with the same comforting arms that the music on this album embraces you with. There are no airs and graces; what you see is what you get. Fortunately, I find both the city and the music that is sound-tracking my visit very appealing.

Sunday
In the time it took me to fly from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia today, I could have listened to this album 25 times. Due to extreme weather – thunder, lightening, and hail – it took me 14 hours to make what is technically a 45-minute flight. As anyone who has experienced the slightest airport delay can attest, the last thing you want to be reminded of during such a situation is the fact that you are stuck in an airport. With that in mind, I found myself a seat far away from everyone else (but close enough to see any updates), and listened to The Dutchess & The Duke. Not 25 times, but several at least. Despite the often dour lyrical nature, She’s the Dutchess, He’s the Duke is a highly enjoyable album that’s as soothing musically as it is sour lyrically. That said; it’s not all downbeat. “Strangers” implores that “maybe we’re not strangers after all” while “The Prisoner” even gives a sound piece of advice: “Well I hope when you find what you’re looking for you’re not too blind to see it.” It’s the song that -- judging by its title alone -- should be the most downbeat track that I joyously reach for as my plane finally touches down in Philadelphia. After the “no electronics” sign is switched off I skip forward to the album’s last track, “Armageddon Song.” Given the title, you’d think it was a downbeat number that I needed to soundtrack my near-crazy mood, but the song instead is a jaunty, upbeat tune with sunshine lyrics to match. It was just the levity I needed after such an ordeal. It is also, despite sounding slightly jarring at first, just the kiss-off She’s the Ducthess, He’s the Duke requires after all the slightly maudlin lyrical material. As guitars bounce along and intertwine with Morrison’s backing vocals, Lortz intones: “If you want to find me I’m sitting in the sand, I’m as happy as a clam, yes I am.” He’s come full circle from “barely waking” in the morning. And although nature dictates that the clouds are always going to roll in, without them we wouldn’t appreciate the sporadic emergence of the sun or a batch of songs like this; songs that can sustain us through all times – good and bad.

 

 

 

 

 

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Guest Illustrator Damien Weinkratz like things in three points. See his work here: http://space1026.com/space.php?action=bio&id=43

If you'd like to illustrate a "Play By Ear" feature, contact abigail@215mag.com