Songs of the Week 11/03/2023

This is pontification station. Enter at your own risk.

PIN IT DOWN | Madison Cunningham One thing I absolutely wouldn’t have predicted from seeing Hozier live was loving the opener. That’s not so much a jab at Hozier as it is the crowd he draws—while there are obvious exceptions, there’s definitely a non-negligible “gay thespians who love Percy Jackson” contingent that would love someone equally Broadway to take the stage. So, firstly, my apologies go out to Madison Cunningham for scoffing “of course it’s some girl named Madison Cunningham” when I learned she’d be the opener. In my defense, my girlfriend and I were able to name three different Madison Cunninghams we also knew, none of whom would later be dubbed “one of the greatest creative minds of [their] generation” by Hozier himself with Red Rocks Amphitheater as his witness. Of course, I don’t think I need to defend myself for automatically cocking an eyebrow at that, but while I can’t verify if the hype is real, I certainly can attest that “Pin It Down” has not left my head in nearly three weeks. This song is just a great groove, plain and simple—after the guitar starts its repetitive, skeptical riff, everything falls into place in such a satisfying way. Though Cunningham’s vocals aren’t quite Feelies-breathless and nervous, the way each line leads into the next without room for pause creates this fantastic, contained feeling—not quite claustrophobic when the rhythm feels so easy, but still tied to a steadily-rolling track. Speaking of Cunningham’s voice, which was a powerhouse live, its strength still shows even in this subdued setting. Sure, the appropriately uncanny video, featuring Cunningham cohabitating a kitsch-infested house with smudgy mannequins, is about as disaffected-TV Girl-hipster as it sounds, but there’s still a real push to her words. Maybe that’s why this tight-knit piece sounds so consistent even in sections where instruments drop out—I go a little nuts for the part where everything but the drums abruptly stop, or how effortlessly a more expansive statement like “Well the pain that we hold so dear / Looks so small and vain from here” inflates into a big, weary emotion before getting sucked back into the song. It’s a great rock song, plain and simple, so much so that it’s got me wondering about the formula for my own song preferences.

As much as I love song pairings, they don’t always come to me immediately—then, “Pin It Down” came along and broke the record, as I’m struggling to keep this one to five pairings (and good ones, too). I noticed, then, that three of these potential candidates had come from a single Songs of the Week post on 09/02/2022—probably the most cohesive musically to date—and had a crisis about if I’m actually predictable. While this style certainly doesn’t encapsulate my music taste, something about grooves that fit together like a gearbox must really scratch an itch for me, which I think is fascinating to find out. I hate doing that contrived “what do you think?? Post your comments down below andbesuretolikesubscribeandhitthatbellsoyoudon’tmissanycontentinthefutureIamtheonlyartistwhoseworkyouareallowedtoconsumeandyouhavetopayattentiontoonlymeevenaswearepresentedwithastaggeringcornucopiaofinternetpablum” thing (I hear that all the time), but I’d genuinely love to hear from anyone else who’s got a handle on a style they predictably love. As gross as it is to reduce oneself to variables, I’m definitely always intrigued to learn about the ways I work. Anyways, since we’ve already got three pairings lined up, I’d also like to shout out some honorable mentions if you’re really looking to curate this specific vibe. While instrumentally and tonally different, Big Thief’s “Time Escaping” [Reviewed 09/02/2022] (to this day my favorite song the band has released) has moments that almost feel as though they’ve branched from “Pin It Down,” only adding even more well-oiled instruments to the machine. On the other end of things, Esmé Patterson’s “Out the Door” [Reviewed 06/30/2023] is a little looser, but still has a similar uptightness that I really enjoy.

Pairs Well With: “Distraction” (Ty Segall) [Reviewed 09/02/2022], “A Tip From Me To You” (Jack White), “Avant Gardener” (Courtney Barnett) [Reviewed 05/05/2023]

FOUR KINDS OF HORSES (BRIGHTSIDE MIX) | Peter Gabriel So, I swear I don’t post here exclusively to brag about live shows, but the second of three amazing concerts I caught this October was the inimitable Peter Gabriel, and let me state for the record right now that it had me seriously regretting my lukewarm early reviews of i/O’s first singles. While the full album hasn’t yet released, seeing Gabriel perform a show of primarily new material was undeniable proof that his gravitas transcends relevancy. Even at seventy-three, he was able to stroll onstage and capture the entire Ball Arena with several minutes of monologue before the music had even begun. Certainly, that’s a kind of trust that’s earned over decades, yet I find something about his cadence so naturally pensive and wise, which is only compounded by his humbleness. I mean, the man started his show with a mini-lecture on the panspermia hypothesis and caught a meteor from the air to light the campfire of life on earth, stepping into Prometheus’s shoes, yet not for one moment did it feel like an overindulgent spectacle. Simply put, the man is as close as they come to a modern shaman—he’s spiritually sound, but educated in the outer world’s goings-on, and he clearly balances one foot within and one foot without. As artists go, he borders on unparalleled, ascending to the same pantheon as David Bowie and Kate Bush, although he’s distinctly earthier than either. How fitting, then, that i/O reportedly looks to the future, creating an optimistic myth for the information age wherein we mature to match our technology and create a symbiosis with an AI oracle—a “Panopticom,” hence the song [Reviewed 01/20/2023]. It’s a concept I’m quite happy to have the context for, as I found the idea of a positive panopticon puzzling in my initial listen—leave it to Peter Gabriel to convince me a surveillance state is good. That’s a joke. In all seriousness, though, it’s an admirably optimistic decision to portray a positive outcome of these violating growing pains we find ourselves amidst—especially one that doesn’t ignore the obvious horrors we must first outgrow if we’re to reach the other side.

That’s where “Four Kinds of Horses” comes in—an incredibly foreboding piece about the ideological indoctrination it takes to make a terrorist. Though Gabriel claims this is sort of an odd duck on the album, having initially been pitched for Richard Russel’s Everything Is Recorded and laying dormant for almost a decade, this concept to me slots in as a perfect shadow to the optimism of “Panopticom.” As always, Gabriel’s well-rounded influences were above my pay grade—though I had assumed that the title was a biblical reference, “Four Kinds of Horses” actually pays homage to Hany Abu-Assad’s anti-terrorism film Paradise Now and the Buddhist lesson of the same name. As the Dōgen institute puts it:

According to the Mahayana Parinirvna Sutra, the first horse is like the person who accepts the Buddha’s teaching when he hears of [the suffering of] birth; the second horse is like the person who accepts the Buddha’s teaching when he hears of birth and aging; the third horse is like the person who accepts the Buddha’s teaching when he hears of birth, aging and sickness; the forth horse is like the person who accepts the Buddha’s teaching when he hears of birth, aging, sickness, and death. […]

[T]he Buddha explained that the first horse is like the person who realizes impermanence when he hears that someone in another village died; the second horse is like the person who sees impermanence when he hears that someone in his village died; the third horse is like the person who realizes impermanence when his parent dies; the fourth horse is like person who doesn’t realize impermanence until he faces his own death.

In the context of radicalization, this framing could, I think, be seen two ways: one being that “Four Kinds of Horses” is an examination of varying moral fortitudes, and the other (which I find more likely) being that “Four Kinds of Horses” instead juxtaposes this Buddhist lesson with justifying violence. It’s far easier to sacrifice a stranger than one’s own neighbor, let alone oneself, making it much easier to escalate until the danger has grown too close, and the lesson is learned too late. Even so, I’m not totally willing to let go of the “four horsemen of the apocalypse” connotations, if only because it makes weighty proclamations like “this is how you travel / if you live to see the world explode” all the more chilling.

Musically, this song isn’t quite as dark as its lyrics, which might be why I’ve been listening to it so much. The song’s rhythmic finger-snaps might initially sound cheesy, like you’re about to get jumped by greasers with cigarettes rolled up in their sleeves. Still, I’d argue that they work in tandem with the somehow-funky bass to give “Four Kinds of Horses” an attitude—a sound that’s a Peter Gabriel signature (see “Growing Up”) made new in this context. Together with the solemn, rasped, and whispered vocals, it becomes a bitter “I told you so” that reeks of karmic consequences, especially as the tragic strings sweep in. It’s a well-mixed eeriness that, like Kate Bush’s “Heads We’re Dancing” [Reviewed 12/30/2022], goes down like a sinking heart saying “this was a mistake I should have seen coming.” While “Heads We’re Dancing” always has tears streaming down my face by the end (I can’t even think about it), “Four Kinds of Horses” always stays simmering, even when the strings get serious. It’s an ominous atmosphere on par with Nine Inch Nails’s “The Four of Us Are Dying” (considerably scarier, but only because I vividly remember listening to it while finishing Pet Sematary)—an odd couple on the outside, but shockingly, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve found the two similar. Ever since my Dad pointed out that the bass in “Exposure” sounds so The Fragile-era Nine Inch Nails, I keep noticing more and more unlikely similarities. I say fuck it, make a collab happen. There might be more overlap than meets the ear.

Obviously, more dark Peter Gabriel would be nothing short of a blessing, which is why I’m as excited as I am surprised that the version of “Four Kinds of Horses” released is labeled “Brightside Mix,” meaning things could get a lot scarier. In my past reviews, I’ve neglected to mention a lot about what makes i/O such a conceptually exciting album—in accordance with the moon imagery, there will be Brightside and Darkside mixes of each song, perhaps hinting at a Hyde hiding in Gabriel’s vision for the future. Also in accordance with the full moon, Peter Gabriel has been releasing ten-minute peeks into not only his writing and recording process, but that of the artists he’s collaborated with along the way. I don’t want to get Panopticom-parasocial or anything, but the man exudes as much humbleness as he does humanity, and these eloquent insights are well worth a watch.

Pairs Well With: “Growing Up” (Peter Gabriel), “The Court” (Peter Gabriel) [Reviewed 03/03/2023], “The Four of Us Are Dying” (Nine Inch Nails")

BE ALL THINGS | Chelsea Wolfe My Mom sent me an episode of the podcast Pathways, which lead me to a Joseph Campbell lecture, which lead me to a William Blake Quote from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, and I promise I would string more accreditation to that if I could: “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.” The truest art, literature, and myth is, as Campbell here discussed, tearing away the wallpaper to reveal what is, not what should be. Since I started getting serious about English classes, I’ve argued for the utilitarian value of art as a vehicle for expressing societal ills and political ideation in the language of feelings—something most folks are more receptive to than a straight-up lecture—but this last lecture of Campbells was perhaps the first time in a long time that I realized this isn’t all that art is functionally meant for. We live in an increasingly conscious culture, so spiritually detached that our own dreams, our psychological immune system, are dismissed by many as inscrutable nonsense. Even our art has to justify itself within a utilitarian context, as I once felt the need to—even trying to wrap my ideas around an existing ideology in some cases, as though an anchor to conscious conflicts was ever necessary. Campbell, of course, is right, at least to my mind—for millennia, art as mythology has been, at its core, a reflection of the timeless human experience, not the squabbles we will lose to time. “Conscious” art—art made to comment on sociopolitical happenings in day-to-day life—will always have its place, certainly, but what speaks to me is the art Blake dreams of: a flash of infinity.

In the exceedingly disappointing age of the multiverse, when the entertainment industry realized this deeply existential concept would make for a really good money printer, I’ve seen a lot of depictions of infinity that just weren’t up to snuff, in my book. They’ll have a long, high note harmonizing with a long, low note, show clips of kids playing, of a fern unfurling, of sex, of fungi blooming, a shot of the ocean for good measure, of war, of politics, of peace, of art, and then it’ll cut back to the action with a teary-eyed, epiphanic witness changed by this glimpse of the universe. I know it sounds cynical, but after seeing this concept done well so many times, it’s a shame to see it get diluted by copycats who know the material, but don’t feel it. Seeing infinity not as terrible, not as beautiful, but just as “it,” I guess, recently had me thinking about the way I process terrible and beautiful things as an adult. I was never indifferent towards the Rocky Mountains as a child, yet even though I was lucky enough to grow up in and around them, I’ve only ever been truly moved by them as an adult—I’ve been driving I-70 for years, so why do I only now choke up cresting the hill and seeing the sheer peaks approaching? The same goes for Louis Armstrong’s classic “What A Wonderful World”—that is a pure and innocent song, so why does apocalypse media just love to use it? I think it’s for the same reason tragedies hit so hard even without explicitly referencing the beautiful normalcy they’re breaking. Even if there’s always an inherent resonance in us, I think we all have to grow into the beautiful and terrible alike, because both require the kind of perspective only age can give. I can only hope to appreciate these glimpses at the infinite more as I accumulate perspective to compare with, and when I someday face infinity for good, it will be more beautiful and terrible than anything I’ve ever witnessed. People often portray omniscience and immortality as boring, yet through this framework, I find it hard to believe the sensation would be predictable. Then again, once everything is one, and there is no other with which to compare it, won’t infinity just revert to that childhood “it” all over again?

Okay, that’s enough pontificating. For those of you that are still with me: Chelsea Wolfe, right? God, I love Chelsea Wolfe. While her upcoming album, She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She, seems to be something of a sonic return to form (I have lots of thoughts coming in two weeks), I always find myself listening to her goth-folk departure Birth of Violence in the fall these days, and perhaps the most stunning piece to come from it, “Be All Things.” For such an evocation of the infinite, this song, like its album companions, stays fairly stark for most of its runtime, and yet I always have to blink tears away by the end. Like seeing the mountains at home again, “Be All Things” hits such an ethereal spot because of the perspective it creates within its own confines. I’ll always praise Wolfe’s spectral voice, here in particular sounding like whistling wind, but where it usually contrasts abrasive, metal instrumentation, she is here only backed by plucked guitar and groaning cello. Not only does this speak to the power of her presence, but in this case, I think it’s also a thematic device, creating a vacuum for a singularity to explosively fill. Of course, even the violence of this song is graceful, again like the wind, and when these ending harmonies hit, it is a truly transcendental experience. Just as the emptiness is juxtaposed with this fullness, there’s also a comparison made with the high and low harmonies of Wolfe’s vocals and the cello, which wail through the serenity like a wisp of eternity. Truly, the only complaint I have about this song is that it ends far too early—just as the harmony happens, it’s over, without a moment to wallow in the emotions blasting mere seconds ago. Then again, for now, maybe a glimpse at infinity is enough—a perspective to help appreciate the finite.

Pairs Well With: “Birth of Violence” (Chelsea Wolfe), “King of the Mountain” (Kate Bush) [Reviewed 11/11/2022], “Interlude” (Leith Ross) [Reviewed 08/25/2023]

BODY MEMORY | Björk Nine minutes of Björk is not for the faint of heart, especially knowing that this had to be whittled down from twenty. Also, she says the word “Kafkaesque,” so don’t tell me you don’t know what you’re in for. I mean, look at her Utopia bat flesh face.

After my more or less chronological listen through Kate Bush’s entire discography, I feel like I’m cheating when I piece together the stories of other singular artists by listening to disparate songs out of order. The Björk journey I was hoping to embark upon this year after listening to her latest album Fossora (starting Christopher Nolan style) has been far more disjointed, and still, I’ve since only listened to Vespertine in full. When someone’s art is wrought from such soul-stuff, their linear, personal history becomes pretty crucial to understanding their discography, which comes with its own, icky quandaries—like, real life is just Björk spoilers, and that sucks for all parties involved. Still, if you’ve been following Songs of the Week through 2023, we’ve begun to piece together these last three albums backwards, all of which hinge on her hurt and healing after a heartrending divorce with artist Matthew Barney. Last time we talked Björk, we examined her recent, unconscious-stirring song “Victimhood” [Reviewed 09/08/2023], a dissection-quest into the archetypes residing in the human psyche to finally purge the scabbed divorce trauma that had come to define her, even long past her healing. Earlier still, we talked “Family” [Reviewed 2/10/2023] the raw, animal grief initially following said divorce that defined Björk’s scariest album, Vulnicura. This week’s pick, from the in-between album Utopia, serves as a transitional form: a healing song, but one still tied to victimhood.

I’d venture to guess that “Body Memory,” though not quite as earthy as the later Fossora, was probably the most deeply psychological that Björk had dug at that point. As we’ve discussed with Peter Gabriel’s “Digging in the Dirt” [Reviewed 08/12/2022], I really resonate with symbolism that says the further one ventures outward into nature, the further one digs deeper within themselves, reaching an equally untamed and instinctual place. It can feel predatory and perilous at first, like the wolverine-sounding growls early on in “Body Memory,” but unlike backcountry camping unprepared, there is nothing to fear from returning to one’s base, bodily functions. That’s what I love about “Body Memory”—for a nine-minute song that spirals out into neuroses, it offers a constant, simple reset in the chorus: “then my body memory kicks in.” In her interview with Pitchfork, Björk (rhyme!) calls “Body Memory” an intentional counter to what she felt was the most painful song on Vulnicura, “Black Lake.” As she says:

“Black Lake” on Vulnicura was the darkest and saddest I’ve ever gone. “Body Memory” is a reply to that. It is my manifesto. My subconscious was like, “OK, I’ll let you write the saddest song ever for 10 minutes if you then write something to counter that.” And then this song came out all in one go. Each verse is about big things in life : destiny, love, sex. It’s a bit big-headed. It’s about, “OK, how am I going to live the second half of my life ?” It’s a new territory, a door that’s opened.

…and like, I’m not endorsing self-therapy, but wow, right? What incredible willpower to create. I feel like this is the psychological equivalent of the action hero badass who cauterizes their own wound and keeps going. At the same time, this is so much less repressive than sucking up the pain: it’s like a conscious factory reset (though, as “Victimhood” laments, even this was still reacting to her trauma rather than returning to the Self that has always been beneath). Musically, this swatting away of neuroses is reflected in the misaligned percussion of late Björk, which reminds me of the avant-garde drumming in Lamb’s “Cottonwool.” I certainly felt the moments of clarity in my body, too—my favorite moment is at 5:36, when everything else cuts as the choral harmonies blossom into every available silence. Chills. The Hamrahlid choir’s performance (reportedly recorded at Björk’s own cabin—can you imagine how bizarre that must have been?) is reminiscent of Vespertine’s lovestruck, trip-hop atmosphere, yet here, these high-and-low harmonies are far more evocative of infinity, just as in “Be All Things.” While I still think Chelsea wins this one, Björk’s undeniably feels deeper; more dreamlike. It’s such a packed song that I almost regret writing about it having only listened twice—I have a distinct feeling “Body Memory” will come to mean a lot to me.

Pairs Well With: “Black Lake” (Björk), “Cottonwool” (Lamb), “Body and Soul” (Love & Rockets) [Reviewed 11/04/2022]

MEANT TO BE | Wilco Okay, last October concert I brag about today, I promise. My Dad, sister, and I literally ran inside the Mission Ballroom to claim spots at Jeff Tweedy’s feet, and it couldn’t have been a better view (not like that) for quite possibly the best Wilco show I’ve ever seen. I like to think I’m someone who’s very new-music-positive for established artists, but another theme this week appears to be rolling back initial skepticism about new albums, because… yea, I sheepishly saw this coming: Cousin was great live. Once again, perspective was the key, something I should’ve predicted for being all about playlist pairings. Much as the first single, “Evicted” [Reviewed 08/25/2023], wasn’t offensive, it felt like if they’d averaged every Wilco song to make this piece. Sure, that’s not great if you’re expecting some new era exploring art-pop, but when the band jumps from “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” straight through “Evicted” to “Side With the Seeds” without missing a beat, the album feels a lot more like family. That’s not a one-off, either—even more so than Peter Gabriel, this set was about letting new material coexist with the classics like they were always meant to. As bold as it might be to pick four of the first five songs from their most recent albums, Cruel Country and Cousin, each was performed as though there were already decades spent practicing, which immediately earned my respect. There’s a delicate balance to be had between reinventing one’s voice and still maintaining said voice—one I’m still not so sure I understand—and as mature musicians, it’s no wonder Wilco stays solid through this struggle.

“Meant to Be,” Cousin’s closer, was one of my favorites from the first listen, though it’s all the more exciting when enmeshed with older material. Somewhere between the tenderness of “Quiet Amplifier” and the joyousness of “Dawned On Me,” “Meant To Be” for me bottles a sort of celebratory catharsis—the sort of frosty happiness I used to feel as a kid when winter break began, even when it felt like I’d only just gotten a handle on the semester. It’s a three parts sweet, one part bitter bookend to the album that lyrically echoes the opener, “Infinite Surprise” [Reviewed 10/06/2023], since I’d interpret both to be about the steadfast, laborious love of a long-term relationship. While Jeff Tweedy’s the perfect, empathic fit to write this sort of song, its meaning could very well apply to longtime Wilco fans just as well (but I promise we’re not going all Misery here). After the initial fireworks of resonating with a person or a band, it can sometimes seem disquieting when, on the surface, they don’t always understand you like they did in that first spark. Even so, “Meant to Be” patiently remembers that, with the right connection, the reason for that resonation will always be there, even if you don’t always recognize it.

Pairs Well With: “Quiet Amplifier” (Wilco), “Dawned On Me” (Wilco), “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” (Bing Crosby covering Henry Hall)

THE WEDDING PICTURE | Bo Bartlett I’m not one for realism, especially of the American variety, but I was instantly struck by Bo Bartlett’s “Wedding Picture” the moment I saw it in the Denver Art Museum’s Disruption exhibit (DAM!). Maybe that’s because this painting is, like, eight feet tall and the length of a good-sized wall (not your urinal divider types), but I also like to think there’s something eerily enchanting imbued in this moment between moments. DAM’s official caption for this picture immediately characterizes the groom’s expression as a “possessive glare,” doubled down by the storm front entering from his side of the frame while the bride focuses “on the task at hand,” but even this feels like an over-description. To me, what’s so stark and off-putting about this piece is its ambiguity—maybe even its liminality, if you like (ooh la la), but I’m not sure I do. To me, the groom’s expression may well be nothing but an RBF—maybe he’s tired from having photos taken all throughout the biggest day of his life, maybe he’s scrunching his nose from the chilly breeze sweeping through, maybe he’s resting his face from smiling for the photographer I can’t help but imagine in my position, or maybe there really is something more sinister simmering beneath the surface. We just don’t know, right? This is just a picture, and one that I like to think was taken by accident. That’s because what first drew me in was not the groom’s absent glare, but the bride, who I at first thought had been caught blinking. It appears she’s actually just cutting the cake (straight between the bride and groom’s little effigies, which is soooo spooky), but there’s an element of honest unpreparedness about whatever she’s doing that makes this whole scene feel as if it isn’t meant to be viewed through this snapshot. Again, maybe something unsavory is stirring, but can we ever know from this fleeting glance that we’re too eager to read into?