Antje
Simply Being Cleopatra

By Darryl Cater

Antje's latest album is sort of like the feminist equivalent of an Oreo Double-Stuff cookie: crumbly cute on the outside, with a dense inner-core of sticky attitude.

Sung with willful waifishness, written with a family-friendly sense of humor and a proclivity for words like "doody-doo-doo," her folk-pop might well drown in its own preciousness if it weren't leavened with the surprisingly saucy sarcasm of the singer-songwriter and the varied palette of  Lou Carlozo, who co-produced the record with Antje.

Gherkin's (mock-)girlish sensibility hides her deceptive vocal power, belonging less to the world of rock and roll than to the culture of the coffeehouse, wherein Christine Lavin and the Four Bitchin' Babes reside. Her sense of humor seems tailor-made for WFMT's "Midnight Special" program, a long-running forum for folksy wit.

However, the widely varied production emphasizes the brains and brawn in what could easily have been a somewhat wimpy recording. Carolozo and Antje are never content to stick to the glossy '90s guitar sounds that render boring the studio recordings of many a perfectly good singer-songwriter. Incorporating influences from slick modern rock chanteuse Kate Bush to the acoustic 'tude of Ani DiFranco, the album finds fresh colors in every track. "Insane," for example, is underscored with an unsettling jazz flute arrangement, performed by Paul Mertens (Poi Dog Pondering, Bradley Williams). "I'm Not Your Friend," a comic blues number in the manner of the Uppity Blues Women, makes up for Antje's relative lack of soul with a terrific New Orleans brass trio. On "To Please You," which reads like a biting missive to the controlling patriarchs of conservative Christianity, Carlozo's slide guitar and reverb evoke anger while Antje's banjo adds sardonic flippancy--unearthing multiple nuances in what might have been a slightly earnest and chirpy song.  And rich accordion, mandolin and baritone electric guitar almost save the simpy "Deep Shit" from its own silliness.

Most of the time, the songwriting on Simply Being Cleopatra needs little salvation. A songwriting instructor at the Old Town School of Folk Music, Antje writes sharp, funny stories composed of smart, memorable lines ("I said something smart, you were so impressed / the next thing I knew I had a tongue in my mouth / a hand on my ass and another one on my breast").

Beneath their patina of deceptive, ironic cuteness, Antje's songs reveal fascinating glimpses of the substance of womanhood.

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