Sunday Songs: 8/30/26

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.

This week: unfortunately, I’m still in a very ’80s time of my life. Plus, the Apples in Stereo take a break from the robots and take a nice dip in the ocean.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 8/30/26

“Love, Try Not To Let Go” – Julia Jacklin

That soft shade of pink on Julia Jacklin’s face on the album cover of Pre-Pleasure couldn’t fit this track more. Setting aside the association of pink and romance, that blush color feels exactly the hue that “Love, Try Not To Let Go” is shaded in. Easygoing percussion and piano soundtracks Jacklin’s feathery vocals, as she drifts untethered from the Earth, swimming through memories and lust alike. I can’t help but be reminded of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” when listening to this track—similar beat and key, for sure. I love all of the subtle touches that Jacklin layers into this track to make the image shine with such clarity, everything from the fact that the harmonies kick in when she starts off the pre-chorus with the word “echo” (it literally makes a kind of echo!) and the swiftness that the chorus rushes from a gentle piano ballad to a quivering burst of electric guitars. At the end of the final chorus, Jacklin’s vocals fizz into static, as though everything keeping her grounded has dissolved, leaving us with her lovelornly murmuring as the track fades. It’s such a memorable indie rock track, and an excellent piece of push-and-pull between rose-colored fantasies and less-than-ideal memories.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“The Golden Age” – Beck

Beck isn’t somebody I readily associate with slow songs. Pre-Sea Change, even his more meandering songs had a hint of humor to them (see: “Jack-Ass”). His impish spirit was always there, even under layers of acoustic guitars. It’s even more jarring that, other than some EPs and B-side collections, Sea Change came right on the heels of Midnite Vultures, ostensibly his funniest, most deeply unserious album. (I can’t imagine the whiplash of going from “Debra” to something this plainly depressing.) But given the circumstances surrounding Sea Change—his breakup with then-fiancee Leigh Limon—it’s no wonder that he couldn’t summon any humor.

None, maybe, save for the title: “The Golden Age” is the exact opposite of what he’s describing. The chorus is only two lines long: “These days, I barely get by/I don’t even try.” Nevertheless, Beck’s talent translates to every emotion—he’s just as skilled with this wallowing, acoustic lament as he is cracking jokes with a fanfare of saxophones in the background. The plucks of almost country electric guitar, acoustic strums, and keyboards give “The Golden Age” an air of sunshine, but the kind of glaring sunshine that comes from listlessly staring at it, utterly unsure of your direction in life. I think it represents how much of a chameleon Beck could be in his prime—no matter the situation or emotion, he could adapt to it in his own, irreplaceable way.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“How to Be a Millionaire” – ABC

Maybe I’m just not reading the right stuff, but I swear that ABC don’t get credit for being one of the most distinctly ’80s bands to ever ’80s. It’s just so in-your-face ’80s. Sure, some of the cuts from How to Be a Zillionaire are…well, painfully so (if you’re looking for proof, there’s the extended Cold War metaphor on “Between You And Me.” Still a banger, but…it gets to a point). But songs like “How To Be a Millionaire” are just such perfect products of their time. I feel like this song sounds like being inside of a slot machine. This is a very distinctly Reagan/Thatcher-era commentary on consumerism and class inequality, with its synth chorus, and the rapidly looped utterances of “billions and billions and billions of pounds.” (It’s said so fast that it almost starts sounding like “beans.” I can’t unhear it.) But you can’t say that it’s not still relatable today—and not undeniably a genius pop song: “I’ve seen the future, I can’t afford it/Tell you the truth, sir, someone just bought it.” Surely this isn’t applicable to anything today…

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“River Deep, Mountain High” (Ike & Tina Turner cover) – Erasure

Being a musician with an already-established career in the late ’80s must’ve been nuts. At any moment, your song could get sniped and covered by some gay Brits with synths out of nowhere.

Of course, “Always On My Mind/In My House” is the obvious example because it surpassed the original by miles. Ike & Tina Turner’s original version of “River Deep – Mountain High,” on the other hand, couldn’t possibly be touched by any cover—it’s just that good. But though it doesn’t reach nearly the same heights, boy, Erasure’s cover is loads of fun. I think I’ll eternally have a soft spot for it just because it’s the first version of the song that I ever heard, especially during my big Erasure phase when I was in elementary school. (And yet it took me until I was about 14 to realize that I was queer…”the closet is glass” doesn’t even begin to cover it 😭) Nothing could ever rip the synths away from Erasure, but here, they work both for and against the effectiveness of the cover—they’re gleeful, sure, but I feel like the exclusively electronic sound makes it feel slightly colder than the original, unintentionally. But “River Deep, Mountain High” isn’t cold by any means—you just need to listen to the original and hear how overwhelmingly exuberant it is. Nothing can reach the staggering heights of Tina Tuner’s joy on that song—Andy Bell and Vince Clarke came close, though. With an extended dance mix that revels in the translation of the organic to juddering synths, it’s clear that the same kind of exuberance that Ike & Tina imbued the original with was ever-present here, with Bell’s vocals soaring with every successive declaration of everlasting love. OH I LOVE YOU, BABY! BABY, BABY, BABY!

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“Submarine Dream” – The Apples in Stereo

The Apples in Stereo have such a knack for creating an atmosphere. Most of the time, that atmosphere evokes a distant retro-future full of cartoonish robots and sleek spaceships, a world flung into the furthest corners of outer space. They’ve never been ones to have their feet planted on the dull ground of planet Earth. But if there’s anywhere here on this planet that’s just as wondrous and unknown as space, it’s the ocean—so it’s no wonder that Robert Schneider and co. wrote a song about it.

“Submarine Dream” feels like their tribute of sorts to “Octopus’s Garden,” in both its imagery and its ’60s-indebted sound. I feel like Ringo would be proud. Though it’s much slower than the former, it has that same carefree joy that comes from the freedom of the sea. The sparkling synths that they usually liken to robots have now translated to the glimmer of sunlight on the waves and the shimmer of pearls under the ocean’s surface. Gently flowing at a dreamy, lazy pace, Robert Schneider’s mixture of acoustic and electric guitars, as well as their synths, vibrant as the varied colors of a coral reef, drifts along. Weightless and starry-eyed, it makes you feel all the ease and awe of the mermaid-like protagonist as she watches the delicate wonders of the ocean: “The time slips through her hands/Just like the ocean sand/And everybody knows/That’s the way it goes.”

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

BONUS DOUBLE FEATURE, BECAUSE THIS WEEK HAS BEEN HELL:

Admittedly, I didn’t have as strong of a connection to Dolly Parton’s music as many people did. But I’d be hard-pressed to think of somebody who has done the sheer amount of good in the world that she has. What a guiding light for so many, someone who shared her wealth and talent to make sure that the COVID vaccine was funded, that thousands of children in underserved communities could have books, that the LGBTQ+ and Black communities could feel accepted and welcome, and that people like her—who came from unassuming, working class roots—could be stars.

I picked this clip in particular because I remember seeing it floating around on Instagram sometime in high school. There was a tweet that went around that likened her fingerpicking the guitar with her signature acrylic nails to playing tennis in heels—and it’s spot on. Without knowing much about her, I saw that clip and thought to myself, there’s somebody who knows her stuff. Among everything, I hope we don’t pass over just how singularly talented she was. Rest easy, Dolly, knowing that you’ve done an insurmountable service to our country—and the world.

And then, as if this week wasn’t bad enough…

God. Even know, I’m struggling to find the words. Just looking at these clips is making me tear up. The Rocky Horror Picture Show is my main point of reference for the genius of Tim Curry. When my parents introduced it to me when I was 17, it was during the mire of COVID; I’d been out for about two years, but a global pandemic made it so that I hadn’t been able to engage much with a larger queer community (outside of my friends), socially and, to an extent, culturally. Something instantly clicked when I saw this film—here was a radically queer touchstone that, 50 years on, was a thing of transgressive beauty, a madcap, anything-goes film that retained a message of freedom and unconventional self-expression.

And that message applies to the rest of Curry’s long career, playing a variety of characters with an insatiable appetite for the villainous and unusual. His work created a sacred space for all of the freaks. I’m just glad that I can count myself among them. What a gift it’s been to have been moved so deeply by his art. Rest easy.

Don’t dream it, be it.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!