I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new
year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout
the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my
current collection. Most aren't recent, but
they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any
playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope
you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!
***
There's only one song this year, y'all, and it feels appropriate to share it the day that our new Congress is sworn in: "Meltdown."
Just listen to the lyrics. They'll tell you how I feel.
I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new
year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout
the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my
current collection. Most aren't recent, but
they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any
playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope
you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!
***
2017 was shitty, y'all. I mean really, truly awful. In the interest of never having another year like that, let us proceed with fun, happy music!
While I fully recognize that this song was specifically engineered to find the right balance between talent and fun, I don't care: it makes me really happy that it sounds like a jam session at some beach party, with the background noise and ashtray improvisation and everything else. Listen to it and you'll know why people think Brian Wilson is a genius.
I'm gonna go ahead and tell you right now that I have scream-sung these lyrics into a phone in the past. Was I under the influence? I decline to say. Was it a good night? It certainly was.
Justin Timberlake's musical godfather Michael Jackson was, in my opinion, at his very best when he was protesting, such as in "They Don't Really Care About Us" or "Scream." But neither of those songs is cheerful at all. You know which of his tracks makes me smile the most? This one.
Speaking of superstars from the '80s, here's Madonna imploring us all to take "some time to celebrate." With the new year here, why not take her advice?
Is it just me, or does Stevie Wonder always sound a little bit elated, even when he's singing sad-ish songs? I suppose the question is moot, as he's singing a genuinely happy song here.
There's something great about songs that declare, "I need you and that's it," as long as they don't have a creepy tinge to them. Sia only wants to be on the dance floor; it's her happy place. Let the lady hit her groove.
Let me first say that I am so glad Kesha is back after all the upheaval and drama she experienced for a few years there. It's not that I miss glitter-bomb Kesha; it's more that I look forward to hearing her sound as excited about life as she does on this track.
It is absolutely criminal that Nikka Costa is not more famous than she is. This song alone should have done it: an anthem about letting go and relaxing for once--something I need to learn to do.
Like so many people in their youth, my brother didn't always have the best taste in music. But every once in awhile, he pulled something great out of his hat, and sometime late in 2000, he showed up with a copy of Hybrid Theory, Linkin Park's debut album.
I know that nΓΌ-metal is a controversial genre among music lovers, and I understand why. For my part, I was never a huge fan of any one band from that world, and even Linkin Park wasn't part of my pantheon beyond Hybrid Theory. But that one album is one to which I can still return, 17 years later, and enjoy, and part of that has to do with Chester Bennington's lyrics and vocals.
At the time, I was 14 years old and a freshman in high school. My peers and I were at that awkward stage where we were growing up but not grown up, and that was even more obvious for us underclassmen, not the least because some of us were shedding our middle-school identities and trying to form new--or at least cooler--personas. This was a time when I was getting into rock music rather than the prevailing pop of that era. It was also a time when I'd already had my first run-in with psychology, though many years before I received the diagnoses I have now.
Something about the way Bennington delivered his words got to me. He could move from angry to vulnerable to sad to enraged in seconds, which spoke to every outcast kid in the country. No song embodied this better than Linkin Park's monster hit "In the End."
Although it's been memed and the chorus provides a nice bit of dry humor when you've messed up some task or other (example: you tried so hard to run a mile and got so far, but in the end, it didn't even matter because it was high school phys ed), "In the End" is quite powerful. It's an anthem about failed friendships and intimate relationships, about letting out your emotions when you want to quit trying, and it's comforting to know that someone else really, truly understands your pain.
What many people didn't know, but surely could have inferred from most of the songs on Hybrid Theory, was that Chester Bennington had walked a difficult road up to that point in his life. Even though he spoke about his challenges and his depression on many occasions afterward, this was the beginning of his career, and he was a newly-minted rock star, which made him cooler than cool.
Now that he's passed away, everyone knows that Bennington had depression. A vocal minority of people out there have been saying the same things
they've said about countless celebrities before: how can you be
depressed when you have it all? They fail to understand that it's a real illness; you can't wish it away or ignore it into nonexistence, and you can throw all the money you like at it, but it won't bow to capitalism.
Even if you do all the right things--go to the appointments, take the meds, read the books, do the cognitive behavioral therapy--you might still not feel better. And it's an exhausting experience, both physically and emotionally: depression literally makes you tired, and discussing your inner thoughts can be difficult, especially when you already feel inadequate and stressed. For those diagnosed with chronic depression, this turns into a lifelong battle. You never know when your medication might start to fail you, or when something may happen to send you into a spiral.
When you're living in such a black hole, it is sometimes difficult to see a way back to the light, let alone drag yourself onto that path. No matter how many people you love or how much money you have, if depression is that pervasive, it can drive you to extremes. So no, I'm not surprised that Bennington chose to end his own life. And I'm not disappointed in him, either. Rather, I feel for him and his family, for his fans, for his friends. They've lost someone dear to them, and he lost his battle.
But I don't condone what he's done. Having been touched by suicide multiple times in my life--sometimes directly, sometimes peripherally--I can tell you that it's a horrible experience for everyone. Because I've been depressed, I completely understand where people are coming from when they consider suicide, and I'll never judge anyone who feels that way. However, know this: the world will not, cannot be the same without you.
And so, as always, I encourage anyone who's feeling suicidal to reach out and speak with someone. There arenumeroushotlines and websites with good resources, and if those fail, you can always e-mail me: cateismilesaway@gmail.com. Please stick around. We want you here with us.
Let's talk about Madonna and Walt Whitman for a minute.
Maybe it's an unorthodox pairing. But frankly, these two work well together: each taking in as much as they can, whipping it around in their personal brain-blenders, and then spitting something out and sharing it with the masses. Plus they're both uniquely American, albeit in different ways: Madonna the gregarious, outspoken, spotlight-seeking variety in the vein of Benjamin Franklin (don't fight me on this), Whitman the contemplative, wordsmithing, diplomatic type along the lines of Thomas Jefferson (I'm telling you: it's true).
The thing that really unites them, though, is their proclivity for tinkering. Madonna has been on 10 tours--9 of them worldwide--and many of her songs have been rejiggered along the way. "La Isla Bonita" seems to be one of her favorite tunes to reinvent, as she's introduced new versions of it on 5 separate tours, in addition to the album and radio cuts.
Does this sound like anyone we know? Perhaps--could it be--Uncle Walt? He of the multiple revised/expanded printings of his landmark work, Leaves of Grass? Why, yes it is.
And this is also a mark of their American nature: the constant need for improvement. Ours is not a nation that feels comfortable letting something stand if it needs to be fixed. We're at our best when we take what has been good about our past and bring it into the present. That way, we honor both history and progress; that's why the Constitution has had amendments added to it throughout the years.
So maybe let's look to the examples of Madonna and Whitman and try to forge ahead, better than we were yesterday.
When I was putting together last week's "New Year, New Playlist," I started thinking about not only the songs but also the albums that influence me the most. Some of them are, undoubtedly, unsurprising, but there are others that may make even those of you who know me best do a double-take.
Although the list is much longer than what I'm presenting here, I've decided to choose the eleven that are most important to me (at this moment in time, at least)--you know, the ones I would take into exile with me. How did I end up with eleven instead of ten, you ask? Well, for one thing, these guys told me it's okay to turn it up to 11. For another, I started to panic and couldn't stand the thought of cutting one more from my list (although part of me suspects it would be Sheryl Crow, if I'm being honest).
Rather than do a write-up of each album, I'm simply going to list my favorite track and let you do your own exploring from there. These come to you in alphabetical order by artist, because any sort of ranking is impossible after the first three (No. 4, Confessions on a Dance Floor, and White Blood Cells). Enjoy!
- No. 4, Stone Temple Pilots (Favorite song: "Sour Girl," forever and ever)
- White Blood Cells, White Stripes (Favorite song: "This Protector")
-Cate-
PS I am aware that this list consists of only white musicians, all of whom are Western. It's not that I don't want to be more diverse in my listening--and reading, and watching--habits; it's more that these are such strong touchstones for me that I feel they're important to include on this list. But, as always, suggestions for broader listening are more than welcome!
I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new
year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout
the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my
current collection. Most aren't recent, but
they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any
playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope
you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!
Jarosz is one of those people I would hate if she wasn't awesome, because she's stupid talented and already successful at a young age--things I would love to be. Her new-Americana song is both comfortingly familiar and fresh, and her solid education, undertaken at the New England Conservatory of Music, guarantees that her musicianship is impeccable.
No, this isn't Gaga's best effort ever, but it's a heartfelt tribute to her aunt Joanne, who died very young. It gets me in the gut every time, because it reminds me of my own aunt, who was also gone too soon.
If the vocalist here sounds familiar, it's with good reason: she's Hope Sandoval of Mazzy Star, the group that brought us one of the most ubiquitous love songs ever, "Fade Into You." Sandoval brings her haunting voice to the table, and it perfectly pairs with Massive Attack's moody synth strings.
I am rarely not listening to the White Stripes in some capacity, but I was on a serious kick with them last summer, and this song, which opens their self-titled debut album, was a great, noisy part of the soundtrack of my life in August, as I expect it will be this year, as well.
If you don't like Dwight Yoakam, you're wrong and we can't be friends. But also, I would very much like for Yoakam and Branch to do an album together. Is that so much to ask?
I'm kind of mildly obsessed with mid-career Elton John right now--roughly his 1990s discography, starting with The One, from which this single came. This is the period when his voice really transformed and he started singing in a slightly lower, richer register than he did in the 1970s and most of the 1980s. That's the Elton John I turn to for comfort.
Believe it or not, On the 6 was a good album, and I sometimes miss this side of J. Lo--before the super-fame and extreme contouring, but after she had proven herself with her excellent work in Selena, and while she still had some Latina flair.
True Blue is a notoriously uneven album, which is undoubtedly due at least in part to the influence of Sean Penn, who was Madonna's husband at the time. And as overly sweet as "True Blue" the song tends to be, it's good, clean, cheesy fun. Plus, check out Debi Mazar as a backup dancer!
I invite you all to make your own playlist for the coming year, and share it with me if you're feeling confessional!
Although you're seeing this post sometime in August, I'm in the past, writing it on July 4, 2016, some 240 years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I mention this fact because it has a direct bearing on what you're about to read.
Earlier today, I had my iPod on shuffle, and Desi Arnaz's "Babalu" started playing. I'm a fan of I Love Lucy, and, having seen the entire series several times through, I can't help but know a few of Arnaz's more famous tunes, including this quintessential one. The song itself, though, isn't what interests me right now. Rather, Arnaz himself does.
He was what I consider to be an American success story. Born to a prominent family inn Cuba but thrust unexpectedly into straitened circumstances during a revolution, he found himself in Miama as a youth and then took up the business of entertainment. He of course met and married Lucille Ball a few years later, and the rest--as they say--is history. Everyone in America must know his name, or at least his face, by now. Not so bad for an immigrant, a non-native English speaker, and a man who dared to marry a white girl and (gasp!) flaunt their relationship on national television.
Thinking of Arnaz leads me to Richard Blanco, another Cuban making his way in America in another, but still contentious, time. Blanco was born in Spain and brought to America by parents who, like the Arnaz family, were fleeing political issues. A civil engineer and writer by training, Blanco was selected to recite a poem at the 2013 presidential inauguration (Barack Obama's second time swearing in). This was an excellent choice for several reasons: not only did Blanco give a flawless reading of his "One Today," but he also represented the changing face of America. For Blanco is an immigrant, yes, and a Latino, but also a gay man. This was a truly monumental moment, and again, I consider Blanco to be an American success story.
In keeping with the artistic bent of these musings so far, I turn to Lin-Manuel Miranda, the nearly inescapable face of Broadway in 2016. While born in America, Miranda comes from Puerto Rican stock. And he is a man who has done a few things all at once: brought attention to musical theater, triggered discussions about American history among people who might not otherwise find it an interesting topic, and dedicated his stage to the showcasing of non-white talent. Moreover, he has gotten away with all of these things through a combination of talent and commitment, which are rare enough personality traits in the public sphere nowadays. What could make his American success story more successful? Maybe only getting his face on a Wheaties box.
You've surely noticed a trend here: each of these men is Latino.
I believe in inclusion. American culture overwhelmingly privileges white people and can be ridiculously appropriative, and diversity of any kind often seems to be an impossible dream. But the United States would not be what it is today without the contributions of people from every racial, ethnic, and sexuality-based background. Unfortunately, for each person calling for a wider variety of viewpoints and a higher level of tolerance or activism, we hear another voice full of vitriol and anger, blaming non-whites--and particularly immigrants--for the perceived woes of our society.
This is unacceptable to me. And it should be unacceptable to you as well. This is America. It's meant to be the land of the free. So why are we, as a nation, working so hard to suppress diversity? We need the white people, the brown people, the black people, the blue people, the gay people, the straight people, the Christians and Jews and Muslims and Democrats and Republicans and even the anarchists, probably. Because we the people are all people, supposedly born equal (or made so as immigrants) under the law.
I've only given three examples here, but there are countless more worth researching and promoting. Those breaking down barriers, crossing lines that represented certain death in the past, marching in order to make themselves and their brethren heard, speaking out when the opportunity presents itself, fighting for what they believe is right, working to recover what was taken from them.
In the event that you haven't looked at a calendar recently, I would like to remind you that it is 2016. And it is long past time to let everyone be heard, respected, and included, and I cannot stress that enough.
He had several names and many more faces throughout his career, but most of us knew him as David Bowie. Whether your first exposure to him was as musician Bowie or actor Bowie depended partly upon your parents' willingness to subject you to Labyrinth as a child and/or your own musical awakening during high school. As for myself, I came to his work through my favorite band, Stone Temple Pilots.
Many years ago, when MTV Unplugged was a (glorious) thing, STP had their own episode, and part of it ended up cut from the broadcast, though it lived on in bootlegs, pre-iTunes but post-Napster. This was a live cover of "Andy Warhol." As soon as I learned that David Bowie was the original artist, I booked it over to the store and snapped up a copy of Hunky Dory. That was the day I fell in love.
Bowie speaks to adolescents in particular because he was weird. This isn't a bad thing, but it's the most accurate word for him. As the saying goes, he let his freak flag fly, and with every iteration of himself that he presented to the world, he touched some misfit somewhere, from the streets of London to suburban Detroit and everywhere else around the world.
I was fortunate enough to see him live in concert in January 2004, during my senior year of high school. He was touring in support of Reality and played at the Palace of Auburn Hills (home of the Detroit Pistons). The seats weren't great, but I was as enthusiastic as I've ever been, and with good reason: that show remains the best performance I've ever seen, even 12 years later. I also feel lucky, because time proved that this run of dates made up his final trip around the world as a touring artist.
At the concert, I bought a poster that I've had ever since. It's lived with me in Michigan, in North Carolina, and now in Louisiana. Right before I left home to come here, I went on a rampage through the house, desperately trying to locate said poster; I knew I couldn't live without it, because I feel like it's part of what makes my space my own.
He's been watching over me since I was a teenager, and I hope he never stops.
In what I would perhaps call the least surprising turn of events ever, Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots, Velvet Revolver, and an underrated solo career was found dead on his tour bus in Minnesota the day after I went on my holiday hiatus. As far as I'm concerned, most celebrity deaths are sad but inevitable--we all grow old and die, or fall victim to freak accidents, or what have you. And I would tend to include Weiland's death in that category, except his life's work had such an impact on me that I feel compelled to comment on it now.
Some of you are undoubtedly aware of my long-standing fascination with Weiland. He served as both role model and cautionary tale to many, and among my many connections on Facebook, a handful mourned the loss, citing STP and Weiland's voice as essential to the soundtrack of their lives. Two of my friends made sure to text me and ask if I was all right after receiving the news, and two others made contact with me to discuss the event.
Personally, Weiland left a long trail of destruction behind him, and in some cases, he did so professionally, as well. This is not a news flash in any way; Weiland was probably as famous for his struggles as he was for his music. Yet people have been lining up to eulogize him: the front page of AlternativeNation.net was basically one big Scott Weiland tribute site in the week following his death, Craig Jenkins over at Noisey wrote an excellent article about Weiland, and Billy Corgan also had kind words to share.
I don't think I can add much of anything to the conversation, having been only a fan and not a contemporary or even acquaintance of Weiland's. But I can say this: to me, Scott Weiland's voice sounds like home. Maybe it's because he and I both grew up in the Midwest, and so I literally hear the speech patterns of my people in his singing style. Or perhaps it's because I've been a fan since I was 14 years old, which amounts to about half of my life.
In the absence of any meaningful contribution, I'll leave you with this, one of my favorite Stone Temple Pilots songs and a testament to Weiland's vocal ability:
I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new
year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout
the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my
current collection. Most aren't recent, but
they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any
playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope
you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!
Last summer, I worked for a company that had a corporate playlist, so no matter which of their stores you entered, the soundtrack was the same. This was, far and away, the best song I heard during my time there.
"Devil's Whisper" was a staple for me when I first arrived in Louisiana because I heard it somewhere within days of arriving and it would not leave my brain. Raury's habit of melding rap, pop, and something else entirely makes him a fresh, standout voice.
For a number of reasons, Michael Jackson's latter-day output doesn't get the kind of respect his '80s material did, but I think this song--which is more chill than some of his dance jams--is catchy enough to warrant inclusion on this playlist. (Plus I can't resist Chris Tucker's role in the music video. It's a must-see for all Rush Hour fans.)
A few months back, it occurred to me that I need more Brian McKnight in my life. In fact, EVERYONE needs more Brian McKnight in their lives. Start here, and then start back at one.
My mother sent me a wreath to decorate my office this past Christmas. I decided to call it Awreatha Franklin. And so here, in honor of Aretha AND Awreatha, I give you one of the greatest recordings she (Aretha, that is) ever made.
This song is honestly not that great (compared Day's other output), but it's catchy as hell, and it gets stuck in my head on the reg. Thus I share it with you.
I invite you all to make your own playlist for the coming year, and share it with me if you're feeling confessional!
As with Boomerang Girl (and other projects) before it, I decided it would be fun to make a playlist for Gods in the Wilderness,
my upcoming full-length poetry collection. This one is longer, to
correspond with the length of the manuscript, and I'll spread it out
over two posts to make it more manageable. To read Part 1, click here.
"Sam Hall" is all about the speaker saying, "Hey, man, fuck you." I'm not taking a stance on whether this is right or wrong, but damn, can I relate to Sam.
When Apple sings, "Full is not heavy as empty, / not nearly, my love," I know exactly what she means: the way emptiness drains us more than fullness, to the point where we'll do anything to be full again.
Volatile relationships are a standby in music and literature. Eminem and Rihanna know this better than most people out there, and the way Rihanna delivers her chorus will haunt you.
Ah, Gord. At one point in the song, he says, "But for now, love, / let's be real." The honesty here is incredible and incredibly relevant to my poetry.
You may have noticed the '90s trend on the first half of this playlist. I can't help it--these are the songs that defined my days before I started writing, and some part of me continues to seek them out.
The lone voice of color on my overwhelmingly white playlist (sorry) knows the pain of having everything but the one thing he wants (needs?), and no one can deliver such a story quite the way that Al Green can.
Fun fact: Sleepless Inn is a local group, and I am so happy to have discovered their work (as much as I was able to "discover" a girl whose time in high school overlapped with my own).
I find this to be far superior to the Velvet Underground original. Sacrilege, probably, but true because Chan Marshall's haunting vocals linger in your ears even after the song has finished.
This long-shelved track of STP's was intended for Shangri-La Dee Da but didn't see the light of day until it emerged as a bonus track on Stone Temple Pilots. I wish like Hell that it had debuted when it was first recorded so I could have had those extra years of hearing it.
"Three hundred people living out in West Virginia / have no idea of all these thoughts that lie within you," Jack White tells me, but here's hoping that they'll know now.
There is a line from this song that sums up both Gods and my writing in general: "I've put millions of miles under my heels, / and still too close to you I feel." But would I ever want to get away from the written word itself? Absolutely not.
As with Boomerang Girl (and other projects) before it, I decided it would be fun to make a playlist for Gods in the Wilderness, my upcoming full-length poetry collection. This one is longer, to correspond with the length of the manuscript, and I'll spread it out over two posts to make it more manageable. Come back on Friday for Part 2!
***
1) "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," Green Day
Call me emo. Call me a sell-out. I literally DNGAF, because this is the theme song for lingering teenage angst, which I suffer from.
2) "Like Flames," Berlin
I want hair--and a voice--like Terri Nunn's. I want to be the person who brought this song to life. And "The Metro." And "No More Words." And "Take My Breath Away." But for now, I'll settle for being an admirer of hers (and the band's).
3) "Gimme a Ride to Heaven Boy," Terry Allen
Once upon a time, a wacky biology professor introduced me to this song. I wouldn't trade it for anything, and I want everyone else to hear it, too.
4) "Hell," Squirrel Nut Zippers
There is a great deal of religious imagery in this collection, in spite of the fact that I rarely go to church. "Hell" is, at times, the perfect song to go along with my words because of its sheer wackiness.
5) "Closer," Nine Inch Nails
As someone heavily influenced by the music of the 1990s, I can't help but keep "Closer" as a touchstone. Anyone old enough to remember this song will know what I mean. (PS If you're easily offended, this is probably not the song--or video--for you. Fair warning.)
6) "Bloody Mary," Lady Gaga
The defining line of this song, for me, is the one where Gaga sings, "And when you're gone, / I'll tell them my religion's you." I feel her so much on that one that it informs several of these poems.
7) "Everybody Out of the Water," The Wallflowers
Do you remember when the Wallflowers first hit? Of course you do: "One Headlight" was nigh unto inescapable. I wish that people knew more about their later work, as well, and particularly this track, with its apocalyptic vision and insistent lyrics.
8) "Pillar of Davidson," Live
The first music video I remember seeing was the one for "Lightning Crashes," but there is so much more to Live than that one song. Throwing Copper is an incredible album, and I'm happy to say that this track belongs here.
9) "Comedown," Bush
I don't think I know a single straight or bisexual girl of my generation who didn't have an enormous crush on Gavin Rossdale or cry a little when Gwen Stefani took him off the market.
10) "Undun," The Guess Who
Because who doesn't love some Canadian classic rock with a touch of jazz flute?
11) "Amazing," Madonna
When I listen to Music, Madonna's 2000 follow-up to Ray of Light, I tend to gravitate to the middle of the album, particularly this '60s-influenced collaboration with William Orbit (who is also partly responsible for "Beautiful Stranger" and "I'm a Sinner," songs that wear his influence proudly).
13) "Under My Thumb," Rolling Stones
Yes, I know: this song is wildly misogynistic. And yet, I don't care, because it sounds good and describes the way the world tends to treat women in a way that makes me want to sing along.
14) "Anything But Down," Sheryl Crow
I can always get behind a good Sheryl Crow song, and this one is a universal tale of toxic love.
15) "Three Days," Willie Nelson
For those of my friends who believe I know nothing about country music: I've actually seen Willie in concert, he was amazing, and this song is part of my Top 100. It's quintessential country, what with its tale of lost love, and fits well with some of my own work.
16) "Scar Tissue," Red Hot Chili Peppers
I've been quoting this song since it first appeared on the airwaves. Anthony Keidis sings, "I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl," and I will, too.
17) "Murphy," Erin Harkes and the Rebound
Sadly, I cannot find a video of this song on YouTube, but go look it up. Erin is great and brilliant and I love her work and wish I had written this song.
18) "Come Along," Titiyo
The two halves of this playlist roughly correspond with the two halves of the manuscript, and I like to think that "Come Along" has its analog in my poem "North/South": an invitation to see what's going on and continue traversing the path we've started down.
You remember that time when I was talking about how Franz Ferdinand
sounded to me like the soundtrack to 1960s Britain? Turns out that
Karen Elson is their long-lost counterpart or something, because her
first album, The Ghost Who Walks, gives me that same feeling, but in a different way.
Now, as it happens, Karen Elson is more well-known for one of two
things: either her (now-dissolved) marriage to Jack White of the White Stripes or her
modeling career. In fact, she is one of my favorite models ever, thanks
to her always perfect facial expressions and the way she carries herself
(and, as a side note, she replaced Angelina Jolie as the face
of St. John a few years ago and did very well,
in my opinion). And while I think that modeling is her true calling,
she's done a bang-up job of putting an album together, as well.
Coming in at around 42 1/2 minutes, it's not a particularly long album
(the longest song runs 4:21, but most range between 3:00 and 3:50). But
in twelve tracks, Elson covers a good deal of ground. The title track
has a distinct 60s-era garage sound, possibly influenced by Jack White,
although Elson strikes me as the kind of person who came to this sound
on her own, and that's why she and White are such a good match.
Something interesting to note about "The Ghost Who Walks" is that it
works just as well acoustically as it does with a full band, and in
fact, the first time I ever heard it was the acoustic way. See here for the acoustic and here
for the full band. Note, though, that these videos were recorded live,
so even the full-band version sound as little different than the album
cut. The upshot of this is that you realize that she's not just some
overproduced rock star's wife--she actually knows what she's doing.
In contrast to the garage sound are the more country-influenced tracks,
"Lunasa," "Cruel Summer," "The Last Laugh," and "Mouths to Feed" (and
when I say country, I mean the more classic country sound, like the kind
of songs you'd hear on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack). Other sounds also abound. "100 Years from Now" is a strange carnival-type song and has a Mary Poppins
kind of vibe to it. There's a certain kind of urgency to "Garden," and
it calls to mind the very best aspects of 1990s alternative music. "The
Thief at My Door" sounds almost like Sheryl Crow's "Weather Channel."
But for me, the tracks that stand out the most are "Stolen Roses," "The
Truth Is in the Dirt," and "Pretty Babies." "Stolen Roses" sounds a bit
like the flip side of Madonna's "La Isla Bonita 2008"
with its Roma-influenced tones. But at the same time, it takes the
country influence, and I can almost hear Hank Williams singing this
song. "The Truth Is in the Dirt," on the other hand, pulls more of the
garage rock sound in, fusing it with a blues-type structure, evident in
the repetition of certain lines. And in a way, the chorus is almost a
battle cry: "Here she comes; it's killing time. / Flames are burning
behind her eyes."
"Pretty Babies," my very favorite song on the album, calls to mind The
Hives' cover of "Find Yourself Another Girl" (from their album Veni Vidi Vicious) plus Scott Weiland's "Lady, Your Roof Brings Me Down" and "Divider," with part of "Barbarella" (from his first solo album, 12 Bar Blues)
thrown in for good measure. Again, a certain Sheryl Crow sound is
evident, as well as a touch of Fiona Apple. The best thing is that
everyone can relate to the lyrics. For example, "Gambled every bit of
sense I had, / And now I've lost it all to you" and "I watch the faces
as they pass me by; / I'm hoping that I'll see you." Basically, it's one
of the most perfect break-up songs ever.
I hope you'll check Elson's work out; she's really very good, and I think we can expect more good music from her in the future.
This may or may not turn out to be the year of the listicle for Cate Is Miles Away. I'm on a solid roll already, what with three of them in January and now this piece. But I'd like to think this one serves an actual purpose: spreading the word about my upcoming chapbook, Boomerang Girl.
As of yet, we haven't started typesetting or designing because the publisher, Tiger's Eye Press, must first edit and release the latest issue of Tiger's Eye Journal, which I personally can't wait to read. But in the interest of looking toward the future, I wanted to share something with you that I made for my cover artist so he could get a feeling for what influences my work.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Boomerang Girl playlist.
There are days when I think I could live with listening to nothing but The Ghost Who Walks for the rest of my life. While "Pretty Babies" would fit into this list as well, I chose to include "Dirt" instead for the absolutely epic lines, "Here she comes; it's killing time. / Flames are burning behind her eyes." It's my go-to listen when I really want to be a badass.
For many years now, STP has been my favorite band. Not a traditional choice, perhaps, but Scott Weiland's voice and Robert DeLeo's bass make me feel better when I'm down. "Lady Picture Show" fits in pretty well with some of the themes I explore in my poetry, and particularly with the Boomerang Girl pieces.
Who among us has never felt the need to reassure ourselves, saying, "It's going to be all right?" The Lucy Nation has embodied that in this song of self-assertion and strength. Sometimes I wonder if it really is all right now, and this song helps me work through that.
I love this song so much that I decided to pull a line or two from it as an epigraph to the chapbook. Feel free to speculate about which section I chose. (The whole thing is quotable from top to bottom, so good luck.)
Apple knows her way around songs about relationships. From her first album to now, she's been exploring the different aspects of love, and I adore how this shows two different approaches to it: on one hand, the girl who's melting, and on the other, the one who's burning.
Even if this is a slightly incomprehensible song, it's so spot-on that it doesn't matter. Bowie's voice and music transcend the sometimes wacky lyrics and makes me feel like he's singing directly to me. (How cool would it be if he was actually doing that, though?)
We all grew up listening to--and occasionally loving--Elton John. I'm no exception to this. For me, though, the moment I grew really attached to him was when I first listened to Songs from the West Coast start to finish. "Original Sin," in particular, crept into my brain and set up camp. It's a gorgeous love song that hearkens back to John's earlier work in the best way.
Meg White may not be the greatest singer (or drummer) in the world, but when she does sing, I feel deeply connected to her because of the vulnerability in her voice. On an album full of standout tracks, this one is especially great and important, at least for me.
I know people overuse this phrase, but Mandy Moore is--and always has been--criminally underrated. The whole of Wild Hopeis a great album that showcases her range of musical interests and helps her shed the teen singer image with which she started. In a perfect world, everyone would know at least this track of hers, which is a little bit haunting and so relatable for women of a certain age.
Who would have thought a Pink Floyd sample could be put to such use in a techno-acoustic hybrid tune? This is one of my all-time favorite songs, and I think that I've referenced it many times in my own work, either consciously or not.
Dwight Yoakam is incredible, and he--like any good country artist--really gets the intertwined ideas of heartbreak and revenge. In this song, he says everything I'm trying to say in the final poem of Boomerang Girl, which y'all will just have to wait and read someday soon.
"Just a Girl" has been popping up on my iPod often recently. Every time I hear the song, two things happen:
1) I'm thrown right back to high school, when Gwen Stefani was one of my role models (to be fair, she still is).
2) I think about how deadly accurate the lyrics are.
Let's have a listen, shall we?
There are so many great lines to choose from. Maybe you relate when Stefani sings, "What I've succumbed to is making me numb." Peggy Orenstein, author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, may have felt that way, so she pushed back against the princess complex springing up in our culture. Or perhaps Stefani speaks to you when she says, "Oh, I'm just a girl--my apologies." Madonna expressed a similar sentiment with "What It Feels Like for a Girl" several years after "Just a Girl" debuted. For me, it's a different line, though.
At the heart of "Just a Girl" is the observation that "they all sit and stare with their eyes." Presumably the "they" in question is men, and the male gaze is often a topic of discussion in pop culture, from the recent controversy surrounding Blue Is the Warmest Color to Cate Blanchett questioning a photog about his pan of her dress on a red carpet and much more, stretching back to time immemorial. It even has its own portion of a Wikipedia page.
I won't lie: I like attention as much as the next person, and sometimes I've been known to seek out the male gaze. This is natural, I think. But there's a difference between wanting to show off and being leered at. The first arises from my own power. The second arises from someone else claiming power. This is unacceptable.
There is a greatdeal of advice on the Internet about how to regain your power and stop being a victim. While I admire those trying to empower their fellow humans, I feel we need to change the system entirely. Teach your sons not to gape at girls walking past. If you find you do it yourself, look away. Smile politely but don't freak us out, because we live in a world where women often do not feel safe. Louis C.K. has a good take on this:
Sure, he's wrapped this truth in comedy, but it is still a fact. Note that C.K. is NOT saying that all men are violent rapists, but that when it comes down to statistics, men are more of a threat to women than women are to men in a physical sense. Women are trained to always be on high alert around men they don't know--or even men they do know--because our society refuses to teach everyone the same thing: don't hit, don't rape, don't abuse. When we stand on more equal ground on that front, C.K.'s comments will fade into irrelevance. Speaking of which, I think now is the proper time to point out that "Just a Girl" came out in 1995, and not much has changed in the intervening 18 and a half years. As a woman--nay, as a HUMAN--that bothers the shit out of me.
You've all been put on notice. It's time for us to change.
I had a tradition on my first blog, What We Covet, of starting each new year off with a playlist of music I intend to take with me throughout the year. As with the previous lists, the songs were culled from my current collection. Most aren't recent, but
they certainly sound good to me, and that's really the goal of any
playlist I ever make. They come to you in no particular order. I hope
you'll check them out, if you're not already familiar with them. Enjoy!
1) "Last Night a DJ Saved My Life," InDeep
The first I ever heard of this song, it was because Madonna had sampled it for use on her Sticky & Sweet Tour. I enjoy it not because of Madge, but because it speaks to something in all of us: the feeling we get when we're a little bit lost and need help pulling ourselves up.
2) "Personal Jesus," Depeche Mode
When Johnny Cash covered "Personal Jesus" on American IV, I started to realize that my strange attachment to Depeche Mode is not that unusual, after all. This is an interesting track in its original form, and Martin Gore swears it's about Elvis and Priscilla Presley, which adds another layer of intrigue. I'm a fan of the way DM draws on Bowie here, of course, and the way they were so often ahead of the curve.
3) "Love Is a Losing Game (Demo Version)," Amy Winehouse
While I've never been overly fond of Amy Winehouse, I do appreciate her vocal skill. The stripped version of "Love Is a Losing Game" is particularly effective and affecting, and I could listen to it many times in a row.
I'm what you might call a casual fan of Fiona Apple. I have all of her studio albums, but I don't follow her career and will likely never see her live. However. There is at least one song on each album that speaks to me as a female, a writer, and this is the track I love off of The Idler Wheel. The layering and consistent fervor are both incredible. I feel you on this one, Fiona. I feel you.
5) "Electric Feel," MGMT
MGMT is very hit-or-miss for me. Having said that, I am a huge devotee of "Kids" and "Electric Feel," both from Oracular Spectacular. "Electric Feel" is a song both for the car and the (chill) dance floor. I love listening to it when I walk to work.
6) "Venus," Lady Gaga
I hate to admit this, but I'm not much of a fan of ARTPOP as an album. There are, however, a few standout tracks, and this is one of them. The contrast between the verses, the bridge, and the chorus shows a certain amount of artistic growth, yet the song is still sing-along-able, and that's a feat in itself.
8) "Wrecking Ball," Miley Cyrus
Haters to the left. For one thing, Cyrus is much better than you think she is, as we hear in this song. For another, YOU try being a Disney star. See how well it works out for you when you come of age and try to become your own person. Besides which, we've all been where she is in this song. Try to deny it.
I invite you all to make your own playlist for the coming year, and share it with me if you're feeling confessional!
Welcome to the fifth and final installment of my Madonna series!For Part 1: An Introduction, click here. For Part 2: Tracks 1-4, click here. For Part 3: Tracks 5-8, click here. For Part 4: Tracks 9-13, click here.
***
Of course, Madonna
is well-known for drawing inspiration from other people--Marilyn Monroe in the
“Material Girl” video (Like a Virgin),
Andy Warhol on the cover of True Blue,
ABBA on “Hung Up,” and so forth. Why should she not also reference herself,
then? After the success of Ray of Light,
Madonna became much better at doing this, perhaps because she had integrated
her previous work and was fully self-actualized for the first time in her life.
Prominent examples show up in obvious places, such as when she was on The Confessions
Tour and folded part of the chorus of “Where’s the Party” into “Music” (Music) for an interesting mash-up.
Sometimes, though, it is harder to determine at first blush. There are not
always easy answers, like when a semi-continuation of “Borderline” (Madonna) makes an appearance in “Push” (Confessions on a Dance Floor).
To this day,
however, Ray of Light remains the
best synthesis of Madonna’s early career as well as an indication of what would
come in the future. Rich Cohen argues that “Fashioning images: images that riff
on Scripture, images that riff on junk, images that riff on other
images--that’s been her genius.” But for this listener, it is Madonna’s ability
to riff on herself that defines her. Confessions
on a Dance Floor may be the best distillation of her musical efforts, but Ray of Light is a greater definition of
who Madonna is, has been, and will be.
***
Thanks for reading along! I hope you enjoyed this commentary, and I'd love to hear what you think about it. Comment below or e-mail me: cateismilesaway@gmail.com.
