Frank Kogan

I think there is a Lilyness to "Stephen," in the summer-glare lilt of the chorus, and it has a Lilyish combination of sexpot bravado and open neediness.

Which is to say: What's not to like? Actually, now that the Lily comparison has been made, I realize what I like about "Stephen" is that it's almost as good as Lily at her best. "Who'd Have Known" is one of Lily's best songs -- it's about the warmth and uncertainty of the beginning of a relationship, and the world Lily creates in telling that story is so complete that you feel like you're beginning that relationship yourself, and like you could get up and walk around and live in the picture Lily is painting. "Stephen" does almost the same thing, except Ke$ha goes back a little earlier, to the beginning of a crush instead of the beginning of a relationship -- when inside your head is a chorus singing his (or her, but the name is Stephen this time, so his) name, wondering why he won't call you, and the world feels like there's sunshine scattering off every surface, blindingly bright one moment, and a flash of darkness the next. You think about how you saw him from across the room, and he saw you too -- just seeing him feels like a landmark moment -- and you think his name again, Stephen, Stephen, and how he makes you feel so different, so not like yourself, and why won't he call? Stephen. You're not even fantasizing about a relationship, or sex -- that will happen later, and the whole thing will become tinged with darkness -- but the uncomplicated excitement of wanting and getting, like a child thinking about a toy, or a puppy. Stephen. You try to make a joke out of it, want to tell him what a maneater you always are, call him "Steve," all these things to make yourself seem powerful and uncaring -- but you want to tell him the truth, too, that you're feeling pathetic, that you break so many hearts because you can't handle rejection.

It's less detailed than "Who'd Have Known", lyrically, but it should be. "Who'd Have Known" is full of places and people because it's (at least partially) about laying claim on the various parts of another person's life, but "Stephen" exists, like a crush itself, in the triangle between three points: the party where you saw him, the privacy of your bedroom, and the inside of your head -- this whole thing built out of nothing, really, other than your own giddy obsession. So you fill in the blanks with repetition, his name over and over again, and with feeling: light, airy instruments and a melody that stops and starts through the verses (a hint of a nervous stutter?), slides up and down (like your mood) through the chorus, slightly alien versions of your own voice joining in to repeat his name with you and again to betray how you really feel when you ask the important question: Do you not love me? (You had your kidding-around voice on before that chorus came up, but when those other voices fade away they leave yours all alone, unaffected.)

It's an almost perfectly formed little experience, which is why I love it, and why I'm disappointed in the songs that aren't it -- if Ke$ha is capable of this, then why is she wasting my time with generic bullshit all over the rest of the record? ("Your Love is My Drug" is like "Stephen"'s shitty, malformed twin.)