Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs – 10/15/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

THIS IS A CODE RED, I REPEAT, WE HAVE A CODE RED! IMPENDING BOYGENIUS BREAKDOWN IMMINENT! BRACE, BRACE, BRACE! BOYGENIUS BREAKDOWN HAS REACHED MACH 1, I REPEAT—[RADIO GOES DEAD]

…CAPTAIN? CAPTAIN!

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 10/15/23

“Powers” – boygenius

I’m writing this on the day that the rest – EP came out, and I can assure you that’s been the only thing pouring through my headphones all day. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve run through the whole thing. It’s easy to do it endlessly—only four songs, 3/4 of then in the two minute range. That’s this EP’s only crime—those three songs are just too short. Other than that, they’re so criminally flawless that it was exceedingly difficult to pick just one to talk about this week. There was the appropriate all-consuming but gentle harmonies of “Black Hole,” the painful relatability of “Afraid of Heights” (Ms. Lucy Dacus could you not stare into my soul today? Please?), and the gut-punches of “Voyager.” I was trying to have a good morning, but then, boom: Phoebe Bridgers hit me with that beautiful line about the pale blue dot. Ouchie.

But from the start, “Powers” would have always broken through as a standout amongst standouts. Led by Julien Baker, this song is appropriately the EP’s longest, and one of boygenius’ most lyrically exciting songs. It’s something that I wouldn’t have expected out of them—of all things, a superhero origin story. It’s the coolest. Who wouldn’t get that rush of excitement as Baker and company croon “Either way, I have been wondering/Just how it is that I have never heard/The tale of how I got my powers?” Leave it to a line so inviting, so promising of something cosmic, to immediately steal my heart. Over the course of the song, Baker ponders this untold tale, searching for some remnant of the event that made her extraordinary—”Did I fall into a nuclear reactor/Crawl out with acid skin or something worse/A hostile alien ambassador?” It’s the kind of subject matter that lends itself to a more pop-rock sensibility, something punchy and full of action, but the subtle rise from acoustic guitars to atmospheric, electronic background noise feels just as sweeping. As the background reaches something close to a quiet crescendo, the lyrics are all it takes to ramp up the stakes: “No object to be seen in the supercollider/Just a light in the tunnel and whatever gets scattered/Life flashing before the eye of whatever comes after.” And with a whole album about their shared friendship, how could the final lines of “The hum of our contact/The sound of our collision” not be about just that—the strange journey that led three to become one and create such meaningful music together? And to follow it with a somber, resonant chorus of brass as the EP fades out? Glorious. “Powers” really is boygenius at the height of their own powers—purely cinematic, all-consuming, and as emotional as ever. Long live the boys.

“A Wonderful Day In a One-Way World” – Peter Gabriel

It’s long overdue that I talked about Peter Gabriel 2: Scratch. I listened to it all the way through…wow, a month ago? But stubbornly, I refused to put it in because it didn’t at least vaguely fit into one of my color schemes until this week. As everything has been with my eternal Peter Gabriel summer, Scratch was a strange and jaunty little adventure. It seems to be his only album that never really produced any “hits,” as we’d define them, but it still charted to #10 in the U.K. Scratch didn’t chart quite as high in the U.S., and you can sort of see why—it wasn’t made for hitmaking. Neither was Car, but that album was just so nuts and all over the place that a hit was bound to come out when the dust settled. It’s still got that playful weirdness that Car had in spades, now with the cohesion that Car lacked. It’s still experimental and abrasive as all get-out at times (see: “Exposure,” another favorite of mine from the album), but you can see the unifying threads.

“A Wonderful Day In a One-Way World” was a surprise favorite for me, but it really shouldn’t have been. I’m not fully warmed up to prog in general, but Peter Gabriel’s late 70’s take on it has a certain jaunt to it that makes it endearing. Like some of Kate Bush’s weirder music coming out at around the same time, it’s got that hip-swaying, Bowie-inspired groove that propels it for the whole length. Something about the particular arrangement of instruments and the light, airy key that it’s in makes it feel so playful. I’d even go so far to say that it borders on sounding like a show tune. Again: not something I’m normally receptive to, but the combination of Peter Gabriel’s theatrics (no doubt leftovers from his Genesis days) and the winking spirit of the whole song make it much more fun to listen to. The wry lyricism only adds to that theatricality (“There’s an old man on the floor, so I summon my charm/I say, ‘Hey scumbag, has there been an alarm?’”) as the self-absorbed narrator makes his way through his one-way world (“Time is money/And it’s money I serve”). If there’s anything that this journey through the Peter Gabriel catalogue has taught me, is that he’s always been full of surprises, and continues to be to this day—that’s what’s made him so lasting, in my opinion. Whether he’s looking outward or inward for inspiration, he always has something new to offer. That sure is a rarity for an artist of his age.

As for me, I’m excited to see his newest surprises on tour tomorrow! Ready to cry…

“Me and Your Mama” – Childish Gambino

This is probably one of the more left-field songs that I’ve ever ended up including on these posts. I’m 100% under a rock when it comes to most mainstream music; most of what I know is a) what I remember from middle school dances (not fondly), b) random stuff I pick up from following Pitchfork and Stereogum, and c) my neighbors. It’s always just background noise for me—thankfully, I’ve matured past the “I don’t like mainstream music and therefore I’m better than anyone else” mindset that plagued me in middle school, and even though most pop/mainstream rap still remains not my cup of tea, I’ve gotten to the point where I can admit how cool something sounds. I’d be remiss if I didn’t deny that it happens once in a blue moon.

Like this. I only happened upon it because a friend of mine put it in the background of their story, but the snippet I heard blew me away. We’ll get to that a bit later. But if there’s any song that screams “album intro” louder than anything else, it’s “Me and Your Mama.” It starts off at a crawl, with some gentle, twinkling synths and a beat that doesn’t persist so much as creep up on you. There’s a nearly 2-minute wait for anything to change about this song—it takes a while to really kick in. But the payoff? Jesus, the payoff. The first time I hit the 2:01 mark when listening to this song all the way through, I swear my soul left my body. Everything about it makes it worth the wait—come on, how could that Halloween-store-skeleton laughter not immediately elevate everything? All of it—the sudden collision and time signature shift, the bass—it’s like getting an electric shock straight to the heart. And right on the heels of Donald Glover absolutely howling the rest of the lyrics. Even when some of the earthshaking soundscape fades in favor of letting a bit of acoustic guitar slip through, none of the momentum gets lost. Every line is delivered rawly, like it’s freshly covered in blood, pulsating with captivating energy. And just as it reaches its crescendo, it’s gone. Two minutes more of spacey synths, and this song drops out of existence. Poof. I can’t not see the expert craft that went into every note of this song—it’s elevated from a song to something reaching beyond an experience. It really does swallow you whole for all 6 minutes and 18 seconds. I only have a vague notion of the rest of Childish Gambino’s catalogue, but damn. That’s how you open an album.

All for a song called “Me and Your Mama.” Go figure.

“So Cruel” (U2 Cover) – Depeche Mode

I’m gonna say it: I’ll absolutely defend U2. Up to their more recent stuff, I’ll still hold that they’re an incredible band, the “we’re going to put our new album on every single apple device and there’s nothing you can do about it” incident notwithstanding. I might’ve been too young to understand the full degree of annoyance of every apple user who wasn’t into U2, but I wasn’t too young to have a ton of fun at one of my first concerts—U2, on that same tour. Even if Songs of Innocence wasn’t their best work, I can still remember how the show was just pure fun. And whoever was in charge of the visuals was putting out their absolute best work—even almost 10 years after that show, I still remember how wowed I was by them. Sure, their more recent work has gone more than a little stale, but they’re far from deserving of the “worst band in the world” title that people have foisted on them in the last 20 years or so. How is everybody putting that on them when…I don’t know, Oasis exists?

Oh, they toured together, you say?

…oh.

Anyways. I’m not necessarily here to talk about U2 themselves. Just as U2 has been the soundtrack to many a car ride in my childhood (see: at least a quarter of How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb), so too were many songs from this album of U2 covers. I’ve always been back and forth about Depeche Mode—I love their atmosphere in general, and I like some of their songs here and there. (“John the Revelator” will ALWAYS be a banger.) It’s that atmosphere that elevates their cover of “So Cruel.” The original was already chock-full of drama, and Bono’s soaring voice, as it usually does, sells it all. But Depeche Mode’s interpretation gives this drama and heartache a new flavor, taking it to goth heights that make both the heartbroken, enchanting moan of both Bono and David Gahan feel all the more palpable. The landscape of synths consumes the whole of this cover, with a murmuring heartbeat of a drum machine blanketed by a static hum of electricity that feels fizzly enough to touch. It grows sparser (and bleep-bloopier) in the chorus, but that’s exactly what it needs. Gahan’s cavernous voice needs all the more room to breathe, and it’s given that and more. It’s hard to think of anybody other than Bono who could deliver lines like “Her skin is pale like God’s only dove/Screams like an angel for your love” without sounding ridiculous. It’s an excellent cover—and a welcome surprise from my shuffle.

“More Than This” – Roxy Music

This one’s been a long time coming on one of these posts. I listened to it a ton this August, but it got lost in my desire to create a somewhat coherent color scheme, despite the chills it gives me on every listen. But now here we are, in our nice little blue period, and here we are. Perfect time for us to join hands, close our eyes, and feel like someone’s blowing a nice, big gust of wind into our long, lustrous heads of hair.

There’s few songs that I can think of that are as instantly transporting as “More Than This.” I’m not usually as receptive to that eighties, saccharine synth extravaganza, but this feels like the fleeting, sweet time capsule of that moment in time. It does call to mind that angle where the subject is blindingly front-lit, glowing from within with the wind blowing in their hair. I feel like we would all be receptive to feeling that glow once in a while, right? I wouldn’t complain. Maybe it’s because “More Than This” came before this was the concrete norm—this was 1982, and we were still a few years removed from the overlords of synthesizers and consumerism, so maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel as contrived. Somewhere in between Roxy Music and the rest of the eighties, the romantic grandeur of this song was lost—and that’s what keeps this song so powerful. It perfectly matches the starkness of the album cover; Bryan Ferry conceived of Avalon, the album where this song hails (its title track and first single), while visiting the west coast of Ireland. I haven’t been, but I can imagine that kind of stormy environment of steep, gray cliffs, the kind that have endured since time immemorial, would tend to stir that up in a person. And even though I haven’t listened to the rest of the album, that sweeping beauty shines through. As the narrator languishes in melancholy, hoping that there is something beyond this deep sorrow but being so entrenched in said sorrow to definitively say so, the instrumentals make a combination of guitars, synths, and saxophone sound as expansive as the sea. Bryan Ferry’s voice isn’t the deepest, but it hits that level of deep that sells the existential plea of it all. “More Than This” really feels romantic—not in the lovey-dovey sense, but in the 19th century poetry sense. Is it too much of a stretch to say that somebody like Shelley or Keats would have rocked with this? I’ll stand by it. Bottom line: yes, we put too much focus on old dead white guys in literature, but sometimes nobody hits it quite like certain subsets of old dead white guys. Keats knew what was up. And if this song is proof, so does Bryan Ferry.

And as a bonus, here’s the legendary Karen O’s acoustic take, from a few months back:

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!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (10/10/23) – Always Human

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Always Human came onto my radar around three years ago—probably from my fellow bloggers—but I’d forgotten about it until I came across it at my college’s library. I’m always a sucker for cozy sci-fi, and I never say no to a graphic novel, so of course I picked this book up. But while it was sweet and had some great commentary on disability, it didn’t quite scratch my sci-fi itch in all the right ways.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Always Human – Ari North

Sunati lives in a world of body modification. With simple, easy-to-use technology, she can change any part of her appearance that she wishes—even enhancing her memory so that she won’t have to study for tests. But not everybody has it as easy as Sunati. Austen has Egan’s syndrome, which means that her immune system rejects any kind of body modification. When the two meet by chance, it’s love at first sight. And although they are different in all kinds of ways, it won’t take long before they realize that they were made for each other.

Art by Ari North

TW/CW: nothing that I can find—Always Human is very gentle, and I’d be hard-pressed to find anything triggering about it. Enjoy!

Always Human is sweet. It was a soft, tender palate-cleanser, but I didn’t find myself getting very attached to any of it. It’s cute, and I’d say it’s worth a read, but it lacked the emotional weight to fully immerse myself in the characters or the world.

Let’s start out with the positives. It’s rare that fictional, sci-fi disabilities actually mirror the experience of disabled people, but Always Human did an excellent job of portraying Austen’s disability. Austen has Egan’s syndrome, a fictional autoimmune disorder where her body rejects any kind of body modification, which is central in the futuristic world where Always Human is set. Throughout Sunati and Austen’s developing romance, this novel makes the very important case that disabled people do not exist to inspire you, and that going through life as a disabled person isn’t some grand feat. It’s something that Sunati has to contend with when talking about Austen, and watching her learn made at least some of the romance work.

Additionally, I loved how vibrant the art style was! I’m not usually one for the quasi-manga style that North draws in, but every panel really did pop. The vibrant pinks and blues truly shone, which simultaneously sold the joyous glow of young love and the bright, technology-centric world that Sunati and Austen inhabit. Just like the story itself, there are no hard edges: everything is soft and cloudy, calling sunsets, cotton candy, and hope to mind. It suited the story exceptionally well—Ari North absolutely looked like she knew what she was doing.

However, there was one part of the art that didn’t sit as pleasantly with me. Although the colors consistently popped, the character movements…did not. Their poses looked so consistently stiff. And listen. I’m an artist. I get it. Drawing dynamic poses is so hard. Game recognizes game. But the characters’ movements looked so wooden, no matter what pose they were drawn in. These static poses failed to immerse me fully in the story—if they don’t look like they’re really moving, how can I believe that anything else is? I’m saying this to myself as well as Ari North: maybe a few more of those nice references on Pinterest would have livened up the art.

Always Human made the jump from WebToon to print after seemingly wild success on the former, but I’m not sure if the plot format survived the leap. The broken-up chapters would theoretically work if I were getting them, say, once a week, but all together, they didn’t feel quite as coherent. I’m all for cozy sci-fi and slice-of-life stories, but what makes the ones I like work is that there’s still some kind of end goal, however low-stakes it may be, that the characters are heading towards. Always Human felt rather meandering in that sense. It really felt like the plot was being made up as North went along, and the result was quite lukewarm. Even the romance, which the plot clearly hinged on, was set up and happened so quickly that the rest of the story didn’t hold much water. If the romance had been slowly developed over the course of the graphic novel, I would have felt much more engaged. Thus, I never really felt the emotion that North was trying so hard to get across—it all felt rushed and half-baked. Insta-love is never the answer, kids.

All in all, a light and fluffy sci-fi comic that boasted vibrant color and cogent points about disability, but felt rather stiff in both the art and the plot. 3 stars.

Always Human is the first volume in the Always Human series; the series concludes with Love and Gravity.

Today’s song:

adore this album, but also, I can’t listen to it too many times in a row, y’know?

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 10/8/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

Last week was unintentionally heavy on the sad girl fall music, but fear not! I’ve got more than a little room for joyous whimsy and glorious poetry this week. The color palette borders on my contractually obligated, monthly blue period, but I’d say it’s more periwinkle than blue. Periwinkle. I’ve always loved that word. It’s just such a delightful wonder of the English language. Plus, it reminds me of the cat from Blues Clues, which is always a plus.

Anyways, here’s Wonderwall.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 10/8/23

“Sunlight Ends” – Wilco

The time has come! Wilco’s newest album Cousin came out last Friday, and honestly? It’s such a treat. I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of my most-loved bands, but this one has some of my favorite songs that they’ve produced in the past 5 years or so. It really was a struggle to try and pick just one song to think about—there’s the ear-popping chaos of opener “Infinite Surprise” that truly lives up to its name, and the swirling explosion of color that is “Pittsburgh,” to name a few. But this one keeps coming back to me like a cat nuzzling against my leg, and who am I to deny it?

Whoever hired Traceloops for the visuals for the lyrics videos for Cousin needs a raise. The feel is so spot-on—especially for this one. The hazy, gently pulsating pops of color perfectly capture the tactile feel of the whole album. The sound production really does feel tactile in places, thick enough to pull apart and wring in your hands like a clump of wool. “Sunlight Ends” lives up to its name; from the first opening notes, lazy and tumbling over each other, it creates a hypnotic atmosphere like no other. The melody opens with all of the delicateness of a flower bud gently cracking open, shedding off bits of frost and morning dew as it awakens. (The frost from all those frozen flowers on the album cover, maybe?) It has all the sparkling haziness of seeing stars at the edges of your vision. And as with any given Wilco song, you bet that they have the poetic chops to match the song’s atmosphere in spaces. Saying that songs are just poems set to music is common enough, but it takes a lot to distinguish a songwriter as a poet. Jeff Tweedy, however, is an easy pick for a poet. There’s usually enough lines to spotlight, but…I might as well just paste in the entire song. Not only is it so well married to the music, every line is nothing short of a masterpiece. The way that the bass dips down as Tweedy sings “You dance/Like the dust in the light/And I’m following/Until the sunlight ends”? “You’re the kind of flashing sign/That only gets you lost”? The way that the carefully-crafted atmosphere subtly tears apart at the seams as Tweedy sings “And I’m lost”? It’s nothing short of gorgeous. And if it’s anything to any of you, the lyrics stood out to me so much that I nearly stopped in my tracks on my walk to the dining hall. That’ll do it.

“Here” (Pavement cover) – Soccer Mommy

Speaking of bands who’ve been cranking out fantastic music prolifically for the past few years…

My wife Soccer Mommy has had a productive few years! Barely a year after her incredible third album, Sometimes, Forever, she’s got a wonderful covers EP called Karaoke Night. It’s a lovely set of covers. Everybody from R.E.M. to Slowdive to Sheryl Crow meshes with her signature style, and she’s even managed to dupe me into liking a Taylor Swift cover. Rest assured, this is the only time I will willingly listen to Taylor Swift. (it’s a great cover, though. Sophie Allison can do it all.)

Anyone who knows Soccer Mommy well knows that the 90’s are visible everywhere on her. Even if almost all the covers of Karaoke Night weren’t from that decade, it would be easy to see the threads of many an alt-rock band from that decade rubbing off on her. And even though I’m not as familiar with Pavement, this cover was the perfect match—Allison said in a recent Instagram post that this song was her first exposure to the band, and remains one of her personal favorites of theirs. Stephen Malkmus’ laid back singing style was an easy translation for Allison, who sells every somber, quiet note. Her voice really is nothing short of luscious, and it fits with the vibrant but restrained guitars like two puzzle pieces. The whole cover has such an enchanting atmosphere for a song so full of 90’s indifference and ennui. And once the heavier guitars kick in, Allison’s voice rings stronger than ever, displaying everything that I’ve ever loved about her—the angsty soul she breathes into every note, the glow it seems to emanate, and the endearing way that she pronounces her W’s as softened V’s whenever she gets really into the lyrics. I’m glad that I’m living in this period of prolific output from Soccer Mommy, original or covers. Her music is always a gift.

“Go” – The Apples in Stereo

In the back of my mind, I always thought that this song had an exclamation point in the title. “Go!” It just seemed to be genetically embedded in the music. They do scream “GO!” like that in the chorus, anyhow. I don’t know. Just a suggestion. About 15 years too late to send my suggestions to Robert Schneider and co., but better late than never, I guess?

Exclamation point or no exclamation point, the infectious catchiness of “Go” is undeniable. From the first cry of “Go!” as the horn section kicks in, there’s nothing that can stop the runaway energy (no pun intended) of this song. It’s a song that’s just clawed its way out of a cardboard box, and will do anything to stay wild and free. Ever since I remember hearing it, most frequently in the car when I was in elementary school, it’s never failed to nudge at least one little shoulder sway out of me. It really is infectious. And the lyrics have that same air of anxious freedom—the subject is confronted with all sorts of trials (“When you go into the shop/Lady watches like a cop”) and tribulations (“She don’t like the way you look/So she treats you like a crook”), but all of them are met with a riotous burst of horns and Schneider’s rallying cry of “You know you wanna go (go, baby!)”. It’s impossible not to feel the rush of freedom from the end of the chorus: “You’re such a/Pretty, pretty, pretty little girl/Let’s blow this/Ugly, ugly, ugly little world!” And nothing beats the true chaos of the breakdown from 1:46-2:28—for a band characterized by tight, mathematical precision in every beat, they make the squealing, crunching mess of guitars, drums, and screeching flutes work just as well as anyone.

“She Flies Away With My Love” – Jim Noir

I don’t necessarily think about musical coherence whenever I put these posts together. It’s mostly just what I’ve been listening to lately, and whether or not the album covers at least somewhat fit together. But jeez..this song fits so well with The Apples in Stereo. Almost too welel. I feel like any given Apples song would fit spectacuarly with any given Jim Noir song. Like bread and butter. Peanut butter and jelly. Aziraphale and Crowley, but not before the last episode of season 2. (I’m still in pain.) Me on a Friday night and an episode of The Great British Bake-Off.

I was compelled to go back and listen to Jim Noir’s delightful Zooper Dooper EP the other day while I holed up in my dorm while a football game went on. Not that I expected anything less, but as always, it’s a pure burst of spacey, Britpop delight, served up with a side of absolute whimsy. Like half of my album/EP experiences, songs like the hopeful favorite “Map” and the oddball story of “Car” overshadowed this one, so much so that I forgot that it existed altogether. But now I’m embarrassed that I even thought of turning the other cheek away from this song—”She Flies Away With My Love” is a pure delight. Really. Again, this is your PSA to check out Jim Noir’s catalogue in general, because if you’re in gen z, chances are that he’s appeared more times in your childhood than you think. This song in particular feels sanded to smooth perfection, hitting a euphoric, whimsical balance between sharp, driving drums and bass and deliriously bubbly synths. The two parts feel like they’re in rooms right next door to each other, working in tandem but being exceedingly distinct from each other in the process. The opened-soda-can fizzing of the electronics and the pitched-up backing vocals sound miles away from the heavy punch of the drums once the verse kicks in, but they work in such harmony that could ultimately be crafted by mastermind like Jim Noir.

“Your Personal Penguin” – Davy Jones

Compared to last week, this week’s selection of songs ended up being a lot more light-hearted and bubbly, at least in terms of sound. The color scheme screams less of the decay of fall and more of fresh-washed sheets and flowers. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t end this ensemble with the epitome of comfort.

Sure. Kid’s songs are generally meant to be silly and joyous, and they generally don’t deviate from that. But there’s a certain subset of kid’s songs that go past that and remain bastions of comfort for the rest of your life. “Your Personal Penguin” crossed that threshold long ago— I mean, here I am, now in my twenties (how’d that happen, huh?), still nodding along to this sweet little tune. Say what you want about Gen Z and nostalgia, and yada yada yada (as if every generation hasn’t had some kind of romanticization of the past, and we’re only pointing the finger at Gen Z because the Internet has exacerbated how widespread the phenomenon actually is, etc.), but going back to these kinds of songs is like reuniting with an old friend. And this song really has been everywhere in my life. It soundtracked many a car ride to school when I was young, and on my 10th birthday, when I got my brand-new iPod nano (which is still kicking, somehow…thanks, Apple), I listened to this song while huddled under my grandma’s bathrobe while a thunderstorm rumbled outside. I had a Minecraft world on the family iPad where I built a house in the snowy mountains, and I tried to fit some of the lyrics of this song on a sign in front of it—the part about how “lots of other penguins seem to do fine/In the universe of nothing but ice.” (Suffice to say, it was too long to fit the whole thing on there. Pressing problems for a 10-year-old.) And yet, it took me until about a year ago to figure out that this song was based on a book—in fact, all of the songs on Sandra Boynton’s Blue Moo are. I’m surprised that I missed out on that part, but it really says something that this song gives me such warmth without the addition of the delightful penguin illustrations. Davy Jones just has that special quality about his voice—it borders on nasally, but it’s filled with such a playful, contagious joy that sets it apart—the silly smile this song wears can’t help but spread to you. The rollicking pianos and almost comically deep backing vocals make for an earnestly hug-delivering song.

And, for more joy to add to your life, here’s the song paired with the illustrations from Sandra Boynton’s original picture book:

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!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (10/3/23) – Under the Earth, Over the Sky

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I swear it’s entirely a coincidence that I’m reviewing two books that have titles separated by commas with the word “sky” somewhere in them (The other would be Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea). They’re entirely different books, but I’m glad to say that they’re equally excellent. Under the Earth, Over the Sky gives fantasy a tenderness that it’s desperately needed for years, and I am all the better for reading it.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Under the Earth, Over the Sky – Emily McCosh

Iohmar does not meddle in the affairs of the human world. He is above such things, being an ancient fae king older than human civilization itself. But when he finds an abandoned, dying baby in the borderlands between the human world and his kingdom, he takes it upon himself to raise him as his own. He names his human son Lorcan, and he takes him back to live in the fae kingdom. But Iohmar’s ancient magic has begun to wane, and with threats encroaching into his kingdom, he must do whatever it takes to protect baby Lor and the rest of his subjects.

TW/CW: past mentions of abuse/loss of a loved one, abandonment of a child, nightmares, child endangerment

I’m so sick and tired of grimdark, man. I’ll save my rant about it for another day, but I just feel like it’s a blight on fantasy, and on any genre where it’s applicable. (Life is full of joy and beauty! They can never take your joyous whimsy!) That’s why this book feels so necessary. Under the Earth, Over the Sky really did heal my soul. It may not be without its flaws, but it’s such a deeply moving and poignant tale of love beyond boundaries and parenthood.

For the past few years, I’ve found myself drifting away from most kinds of high and epic fantasy; at their very worst, they’ve just felt like the same plots coughed up over and over, but with far heftier of a page count than is necessary. But Under the Earth, Over the Sky feels like the best kind of subversion of all of the self-serious, high-and-mighty tropes that have turned me off from a fair portion of the genre. How do you make your haughty, ancient king of the fae with the wisdom of a thousand moons a genuinely compelling character? Simple: make him raise a baby. The synopsis already made this book sound endearing, but I couldn’t have predicted how much of a warm bath to the soul that this book would really be.

Of course, the dynamic between Iohmar and his adopted son was where Under the Earth, Over the Sky shone the brightest. Watching Iohmar’s cold heart slowly melt as he began to care for Lor was truly a joy, and Emily McCosh portrayed all of the ups and downs of their father-son relationship so poignantly. He was such a compelling character beyond his dynamic with Lor as well; McCosh also did an excellent job of making his life and relationships genuinely complicated, making him feel truly fleshed-out and making some of the stakes seem more real. Every part of his raising Lor tugged at my heartstrings, from the moment he realizes that he has to care for this baby, to grappling with the fact that his appearance frightens his own son. Not to praise the plague that is the Disney live-action remakes, this novel reminded me of the only good one—the dynamic between Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent and baby Aurora was similarly sweet. The fact that it’s a father-son relationship also feels so important—having a male character showing such vulnerability and care is something that we need more of, certainly.

Most of the other character interactions were similarly comforting and cozy. I especially loved the dynamic between Iohmar and his wife Rúnda; they were so quietly devoted to each other, and their gentle love fueled the already heartwarming feel of this novel. The interactions between Iohmar and the humans he encounters along the way were similarly poignant. Not only did they serve to drive home the rift between Lor’s human and adopted fae identities, Iohmar’s subtle changes in how he dealt with humans was so tender and indicative of his shifting character. Strangely, even though there weren’t as many characters, subtle interactions like these were what made the world feel lived-in—it didn’t take a lot for this world to feel populated, which helped immensely with my feeling of immersion.

However, as well fleshed-out as many aspects of Under the Earth, Over the Sky were, the subplots surrounding the main plot felt rather rushed. Although the stakes of Iohmar’s magic rotting were clear and tangible, the aspect of the rippling felt like it barely held any weight. They weren’t as well established at the start of the novel, and that lack of immersion felt like none of it was really serious—it really did feel like an afterthought. That part was resolved in a similarly messy way, but at least it got somewhat neatly swept under the rug. It was an interesting enough concept, but a lack of context and fleshing-out made it feel almost meaningless.

All in all, a refreshingly cozy and tender story of parental love and changes of heart. 4 stars!

Under the Earth, Over the Sky is a standalone, but Emily McCosh is also the author of All the Woods She Watches Over, an anthology of short stories and poetry, and the ongoing In Dying Starlight series.

Today’s song:

live laugh Lisa Germano

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 10/1/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

OCTOBER! Crunchy leaves and warm coffee and leather jackets and Halloween. That’s the most wonderful time of the year, if you ask me. And for the occasion, I’ve got a fall-colored graphic, complete with some sparing mentions of autumn and Lisa Germano.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 10/1/23

“The Deal” – Mitski

I went into The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We with my expectations low—as much as I like Mitski, I was prepared for another Laurel Hell that I didn’t necessarily regret listening to, but only came away liking about half of the songs. But I’ve seen consensus among diehard Mitski fans and people like myself, who know a handful of Mitski but nothing expansive—we’re all starting to agree that this album might just be her best work yet.

After several years of turmoil that saw Mitski on the verge of leaving the music industry altogether, The Land is Inhospitable sees her reclaiming a space for herself, while reckoning with the past that led her to silencing herself as she tried to endure the trials of being a musician in this creative climate. The whole album is full of some of her most grand, expansive soundscapes, more haunting and commanding than anything she’s produced in years. It feels like Mitski letting herself go, haunted by the multitude of ghosts and hounds at her back, but unleashing years of feeling and fury. Take this song, my personal favorite of the album (“My Love Mine All Mine” was a close second). As she describes a Robert Johnson-esque deal with the devil “on a midnight walk alone,” we discover that the deal was never to see her soul for fame or talent—it was for someone to take the burden of her soul away from her (“will somebody take this soul?”) The whole song is a harrowing plea for peace, no doubt taken from many sleepless nights. As ever, Mitski’s voice soars to meet every sky-reaching promise, unfolding like an ornate wedding dress with its ribcage-echoing depth and weight. And this song is the exact reason why I feel like The Land is Inhospitable is her most adventurous album yet. The instrumentals are truly mercurial, shifting from simple acoustics to an abrupt, all-consuming cacophony as the chorus kicks in, barely contained. And speaking of barely contained, can we talk about how beautiful the outro is? It’s my favorite kind of barely contained chaos, as though Mitski is scrambling to keep the battering drums and frantic movement under wraps before the song ends, but can’t help but let some of it pour through the cracks. I can’t help but be reminded of 1:53-2:34 of “Via Chicago,” with its moaning guitars disguising Glenn Kotche’s explosive outburst of drums. (It’s 100% worth putting a Wilco concert on your bucket list just to witness that live. Trust me.) And of course, it mirrors the line “your pain is eased/but you’ll never be free.” It always lingers.

Either way, I’m glad that Mitski is starting to heal, and that we have this excellent album to show for it. She deserves more than all the weirdos screaming “MOMMY” at her constantly. The horrific curse of making emotionally vulnerable music your brand, I suppose.

“Born For Loving You” – Big Thief

I’m still newish to Big Thief, but this song delightfully baffles me. I almost thought it was a cover—it seems simultaneously harmonious and out of place next to all of the other Big Thief songs I’ve heard. Somehow, I love that about this song.

“Born For Loving You” feels timeless in its warm simplicity. At its heart, it’s an earnest, folksy love song, plain about its intentions and the smile on its face. But it’s doesn’t bear that kind of earnestness that makes you cringe from the manufactured nature of it—there’s so much about this song that’s genuinely endearing to me with each subsequent listen. Adrianne Lenker frames the premise of the song in a tender collage of vignettes, from “After the first light flickered outta this motel/1991, mama pushin’ like hell/Tangled in blood and vine” to splashes of blissful childhood: “From my first steps, to my first words/To waddlin’ around, lookin’ at birds.” Every time I listen, I can’t help but imagine the fading graininess of old home movies, of giggling, squinty-eyed babies taking their first steps out into the summer grass as their parents follow in their footsteps, arms outstretched. Lenker delivers every line with a straining waver, with the band gently painting soft, acoustic brushstrokes behind her. It’s a song for peering out the car window at a sunset, letting the wind play with your hair as you think about all the things that led you to be here, right here, with the people that you love.

“The Darkest Night of All” – Lisa Germano

I know you’re all sick of me heralding the coming of sad girl fall since August, but since it’s actually fall now, I’ve got an excuse. Nothing says fall like a black-orange color scheme and some good, old fashioned baby doll heads.

After YouTube practically pied me in the face with this song, I couldn’t help but listen. For the first few times, “The Darkest Night Of All” felt like either an opening or a closing track. Turns out that I was halfway right—this song closed out her 1993 debut Happiness (touché), and even without knowing anything else from the album, this song does its job better than any other could. Even though it’s clear from the lyrics that she hasn’t nailed her darkly clever style completely, it’s evidence that Lisa Germano’s skill at crafting a vivid atmosphere was always there. This song couldn’t have been named anything else—it really does feel like watching a starless night from out the window, bleary-eyed and wishing for sleep to come. With its echoing, gauzy synths wrapping their arms around the track, it feels like the cool tucking of a too-thin blanket over your head. You can’t picture anything but sleepless darkness when this song plays. Germano’s younger voice, thin and breathy like tissue paper, can’t help but make me think of Julien Baker—I don’t know if she listened to her, but I can’t get the resemblance out of my head. Paired with Germano’s gentle piano playing and mournful accordions, “The Darkest Night of All” sits in a strange limbo between a lullaby and a dirge, cloaked in nighttime either way. And what a way to close out the album—the fading synths and her final whisper of “the night” like a secret in your ear?

“Easy Thing” – Snail Mail

Nothing like a new(ish) Snail Mail song to make my day. Even if it’s a demo, there’s nothing better.

Lindsey Jordan described “Easy Thing” as “a track that didn’t make the cut, but holds a special place in my heart.” And the more I listen to it, the more it feels like the bridge between her two albums. It’s bathed in a the cool breeze of autumn, lazily meandering around, anchored by Jordan’s plaintively plucked notes on the guitar. The lyrics meander over to the bitter, love-gone-sour malaise of Valentine (“making out’s boring,” “was there really something/or were we just drunk?”), but the delicate, meticulous guitar work reeks of the shining melodies of Lush. You could have placed this somewhere between “Stick” and “Let’s Find an Out” and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. And although I love this song dearly, I can see why it never made the cut; it doesn’t necessarily tread any new musical or lyrical ground that wasn’t already in Valentine—the same lost love, the same reminiscing. I could see why it would have gotten lost somewhere between “Madonna” and “c. et al.” But it’s a song that still deserves to see th light of day, but standing alone was the best choice for it to sprout. Now the only question left is where it’ll fit amongst the other Valentine demos on this EP.

“Come On (Let the Good Times Roll)” – The Jimi Hendrix Experience

Yep. Time for an emotional shower. I didn’t think about the order when I was making the graphic, but this is probably the best possible palate-cleanser for the lethal Mitski-Lisa Germano beatdown. Am I not merciful?

Even though I’m always mad about how stingy the Hendrix estate has been with lending off the rights to his music (every day, I not only wish for a world in which the Doctor Strange movies were actually as weird as they were meant to be, but also for a world where Jim Hendrix was their soundtrack), maybe it’s for the best that the MCU never corrupted this particular rush of late 60’s, pure, classic rock straight to the soul. This one would’ve fit right into one of the Guardians of the Galaxy movies, but again: I’m glad this song isn’t associated with Chris Pratt making some corny “it’s behind me, isn’t it…😳” type of joke after getting into some comical alien shenanigans. (Can you tell that I’m bitter about Marvel? No? Blame Disney. I’m suffering over here.) Either way, this song—and most of Jimi Hendrix’s body of work in general—feels somehow pure, like it came into being with every note in the riff already glitteringly mastered. I’ve used the “Athena bursting forth from the skull of Zeus” metaphor to death in reference to Super Furry Animals, for the most part, but if anyone else is deserving of it, it’s certainly Hendrix. The sound production feels thick enough to stretch my hand through, and each lightning-fast note ripped in the dazzlingly intricate riffs feels like the most intentional thing on Earth, just for a few minutes. It’s a 4:09 stretch of speedy blues that you can’t help closing your eyes and smiling along to. Jimi just has that effect.

BONUS: I meant to put this in last week…oops. Either way, boygenius released a gorgeous animated music video for my favorite track off the record, “Cool About It” (which I talked about back in April). The animations are by Lauren Tsai. Have a watch! (Who else is very normal about the fact that they’re releasing another EP on the 13th??)

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!

Posted in Sunday Songs

September 2023 Wrap-Up ☕️

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Saturday, bibliophiles!

It’s finally fall! September has been busy for me, but it’s all worth it to see the leaves starting to turn.

Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

September always ends up being kind of hectic for me, and college has certainly exacerbated that. Working out your schedule while trying to work on yourself is always a fun time. But it’s been nice, all things considered. Between the homework, I’ve had a few days where I could soak up the sunshine with an iced coffee and enjoy the last few dregs of warmth. Said dregs of warmth were too hot for my liking (why is it in the 80s at the end of September WHY), but luckily, it’s supposed to start feeling like fall sometime next week. I also declared a women and gender studies minor along with my creative writing major, so I’m super excited for next semester!

Reading and blogging-wise, it’s been slow going, but I’m now in a good place to start writing more regularly, which is always nice to have back in the routine. It’s the first time in years that I’ve been behind on my Goodreads goal, but I purposefully made it lower since college is a thing that exists in my life now. Plus, I got to re-read The Martian Chronicles for a science fiction class that I’m assisting, and any time that I get to read Ray Bradbury is a win.

Other than that, I’ve just been trying to squeeze in time for drawing, listening to all of the wonderful new music that September had to offer (Shakey Graves, Mitski, Soccer Mommy, Wilco—all excellent), watching even more Taskmaster (SEASON 14 NOW!), and waiting for the day when I can finally break out all of my fall outfits.

READING AND BLOGGING:

I read 15 books this month! (16, if you count me reading Palmer Eldritch twice. Readability was never a concern for Philip K. Dick.) It was always going to be a shorter reading month since I’m still settling into college, but I read more than I thought I did! I’ve been able to read some great books. I tried to throw a few books for Latinx Heritage Month and Bisexual Visibility Week into the mix.

2 – 2.75 stars:

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch

3 – 3.75 stars:

The Shamshine Blind

4 – 4.75 stars:

Translation State

5 stars:

The Martian Chronicles

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH (not counting re-reads): Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea – 4 stars

Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea

POSTS I’M PROUD OF:

POSTS FROM OTHER WONDERFUL PEOPLE THAT I ENJOYED:

SONGS/ALBUMS THAT I’VE BEEN ENJOYING:

:,)
walking to class while listening to A Tribe Called Quest is one of life’s many simple joys
love is stored in The Cure
such a gorgeous album
SO much good music coming out this September
I feel like this has to be Mitski’s best work yet
MY WIFE HAS A COVERS EP

Today’s song:

Wilco’s new album is gorgeous, this has been a PSA

That’s it for this month in blogging! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (9/26/23) – Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Fingers crossed, I should be able to keep up with at least these reviews and my Sunday Songs now. Plus, I’ve read some good books lately, and I’m itching to write a full-length review! Especially about this one. I’ve seen it here and there on the blogosphere, and it’s getting average reviews on Goodreads as of now; I don’t usually gravitate towards historical fiction, but Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea was such an engrossing read!

Enjoy this week’s review!

Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea – Rita Chang-Eppig

The pirate Shek-Yeung has a reputation that precedes her. After her husband is murdered by a Portuguese sailor, she takes it upon herself to do everything in her power to take his fleet for her own, starting with marrying her husband’s second in command and having his son. With the ship under her iron rule, she becomes just as feared as her husband once was. But as the Emperor of China begins a crackdown on piracy and her crew begins to turn against her, Shek-Yeung must grapple with the power that is slipping through her fingers—and taking care of her new son.

TW/CW: blood, gore, near-death situations, descriptions of illness, loss of loved ones, misogyny

I love a good swashbuckling pirate book, so I never considered that a more grounded pirate story could possibly exist. And it does—its name is Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea, and it has just as much of a punch and importance, even if it lacks the conventional adventuring that typically comes along with pirate stories.

I’m not usually much for historical fiction; it’s not a genre that I typically gravitate towards, but if I pick it up, it’s usually because it’s intertwined with another genre (fantasy, etc.). Literary historical fiction, even less so—that usually brings to mind the thousands of WWII novels with the exact same font that I always have to reshelve at the library. But Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea occupies a very unique niche. It has all of the diligent research and worldbuilding of any good historical fiction, with a fair dose of drama and an emotional core that sets it apart from the often distant literary fiction novels that I can think of. Even though I know next to nothing about the time period in which its set (listen, I took AP World History online, you can understand my situation), Chang-Eppig clearly put so much time into fleshing out Shek-Yeung’s world—and all of it paid off.

On that note, I’ve seen a lot of complaints about this book having dry writing. At times, the worldbuilding and negotiations did trail in the slightest, but to me, this novel was just the right amount of captivating. Even with all of said drama and heavy plot points, the writing felt cinematic—I don’t mean that in the way of a blockbuster, but of that special kind of Oscar-winner that you actually watched and enjoyed. It knew when to hold its breath and let the silence fill the page, and it knew when to make your emotions swell. I wouldn’t call it perfect, but it’s impressive enough that I’m wowed by the fact that this is Chang-Eppig’s debut novel. I’d gladly watch a movie adaptation of this book.

The characterization in Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea was just as stellar as the other aspects! Shek-Yeung was such an expertly written protagonist in almost every way that I can think of. Chang-Eppig captured every aspect of her personality effortlessly; she lives at that intersection of aging and legacy where she isn’t as physically strong as she was in her youth, but she’s just as fearsome and skilled as she was back then. She’s been beaten down by the trials of womanhood and the shadows of her past trailing her, but is slowly learning to love again. Every part of her was nothing short of captivating, and she was the perfect emotional core for the story, even if she was reluctant to show her own. The side characters were just as wonderful as well, and the perfect foils to Shek-Yeung. Yan-Yan was my absolute favorite. She was just the sweetest…my girl needs a hug

That being said, I feel like more could have been done with Shek-Yeung’s character development at the end of the novel—and the ending of the novel in general. Throughout the novel, Shek-Yeung basically had that mentality of “we’re all just meat sacks on a floating rock and we’re all just animals that don’t care about each other” (it’d be insufferable on any other character, but…she’s a middle-aged pirate in the Qing Dynasty who’s just witnessed the brutal murder of her husband, I can at least kind of see it in her case). But most of the smaller arcs with her seemed to be leading up to her learning how to heal and love again, what with her son and with the rest of her crew (esp. the more optimistic Yan-Yan). But even after the climactic events of the last part of the novel, she hardly seemed to change. It just didn’t make sense for her, who’d been so well-written up until this point, to suddenly go static. Most of the ending felt rushed in general—it felt ambiguously but not necessarily in a literary way, but more in an “I don’t know how to end this book, so I’m going to write a few more sentences and call it a day” kind of way. It just felt like such a disservice to what was an otherwise stellar novel.

All in all, a beautiful historical drama with some of the most well-written characters I’ve read in a while. 4 stars!

Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea is a standalone; it is also Rita Chang-Eppig’s debut novel.

Today’s song:

favorite song from this album!!

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

Posted in Uncategorized

Sunday Songs: 9/24/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

Guess who’s back! Here I am again, and I think I’m almost ready to get back on my somewhat-normal blogging schedule. While I was away, I still made the Sunday Songs graphics, but I just posted them on my personal Instagram; even though I never wrote about them, I think they’re all cool and that you should listen to them, so here are the songs for most of September:

9/3/23:

9/10/23

9/17/23

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 9/24/23

“On the Floor” – Perfume Genius

No, sorry, this isn’t the J-Lo “On the Floor.” I doubt that one’ll end up on one of these posts. Listen, I had a group project in my freshman year of high school where my friends and I had to make a version of it about reflexive verbs for Spanish II. You can understand why I’m not too keen on revisiting it.

Instead, have a wonderfully bubbly song that has no connotations about group projects for Spanish class! Huzzah! Back in June, I saw Perfume Genius open for the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and while nothing can come close to the performance of the latter, I still came away with a few excellent Perfume Genius songs in my back pocket. The grinding indie chug of “Describe” overshadowed the few that I downloaded, but the other day, “On the Floor” came on shuffle right before I was about to pack things up for bed, and I couldn’t help but have an impromptu, one-woman dance party in my dorm room. Under the glow of my rainbow lights (I feel like Mike Hadreas would approve), I felt a rush of fizzy joy, like the pop of a freshly-opened can of soda, bubbling up in me as the notes filtered through my headphones. Ever since, it’s never failed to put a smile on my face. It has the same effect as a lot of Japanese Breakfast songs have on me; from the glistening guitars to the ethereal harmonies in the chorus, every part of “On the Floor” seems to glitter. It’s a song coated in colorful lights, twinkling like the panels of a disco ball as Hadreas sings of what he drescibed as “that maddening, solitary part of desire.” It’s a song laden with no shortage of obsession and longing, but coated in the most joyous façade of pop, impeccably polished. In stark contrast, the video feels…very Perfume Genius, from my limited scope of his work, but doesn’t mesh as much with how I perceived the song? “On the Floor” seems more suited to scenes of a club bathed in pink and purple lights, as opposed to a sweaty Mike Hadreas rolling around in the dirt with a lover that fades away like the breeze (like the crush he describes projecting onto). You do you, I guess.

“Kind Ghosts” – Sparklehorse

Ouchie.

I don’t have much experience with listening to posthumous albums, save for David Bowie’s Toy, and even in that case, it was more that Toy was fully recorded and then shelved while he was still alive, while Sparklehorse’s Bird Machine was never finished in his too-short lifetime. And even though my reputation for sad bastard music precedes me (be grateful that these posts never originated when I started listening to Radiohead), Bird Machine hurt to listen to. I can’t rightly say if my tolerance for sad music has faded since then, but if I had to sum it up, sometimes it helps to have the feeling of being consumed by sound. For a lot of artists in that vein, the spectrum of all that kind of all-consuming sound is somewhere that you can lose yourself in; on the one end, Radiohead felt like being transported into a haunting, alien landscape, a whole dimension where I could detach myself from the earthly world. (High school does that to a gal.) Right on the other end, Julien Baker’s first album, Sprained Ankle, was just the right amount of raw and vulnerable to feel as though the music was watching over me as I grieved. Even though I will always champion narratives of hope and the value of love, I’m not about to discount the times in which sad music is exactly what I needed. Healing should always be the goal, and I am better for having healed from what Baker was there for me with, but there’s something to be said for, in her words, “giving the sorrow some company.” And even though I only break out the specific “sad bastard music” playlist for that reason, sometimes it’s just simply feeling the sweeping swell of emotion surround you. I feel it with non-sad music as well (ever heard of Hunky Dory? Talk about sweeping), but the thread here is that I can’t not feel everything—good and bad—like a tidal wave some days. Thus, I gravitate to songs that make me feel that way. Big feels need company.

But here, it’s hard to lose myself. It’s not that it isn’t “sweeping” by my wobbly definition, but a song like this is almost impossible to separate from Mark Linkous’ circumstances. “Kind Ghosts” is a truly gorgeous song, with buzzing-insect effects on Linkous’ voice and a distorted, ethereal hum that permeates every note like moss growing over stones. And like an insect, it has the delicacy, the fragility of a dragonfly’s wing, a transparent wavering that catches the light. Like most of his other works, the lyrics balance woodsy, quaint nonsense with plain ol’ gut-wrenching devastation. “I came to drink more whiskey than water” and “I’ve swallowed a phantom/And I forget how to breathe” leave no room for misinterpretation, but even such sense-defying oddities as “I hung my wolves up high in the pine trees/Like cannonball sails they wouldn’t stay hung” sound just as plainly tragic. I doubt any listener could ever fully separate this lyricism from the absence that Mark Linkous left too soon in this world; some of Sparklehorse’s similarly atmospheric works of art are the aforementioned kind I can lose myself in, but Bird Machine will always be a hard record to swallow. Painfully beautiful, but necessary nonetheless.

Here. Come sit next to me. Grab a tissue. Send your thank yous to Mark.

“Déshominisation (I)” (from Fantastic Planet) – Alain Goraguer

Alright, who ordered the weirdest possible palate-cleanser?

I’ve had the honor of being the learning assistant for a science fiction class this semester, and that’s meant that I’m getting to read and watch a whole lot of wonderfully bizarre (and nostalgic—we love my man Ray Bradbury 😔✊) stuff. Early on, we watched this for homework; I had a vague feeling beforehand about remembering seeing something about giant, blue, French aliens with soulless red eyes somewhere (probably on one of my Pinterest deep dives), but nothing could have prepared me for this movie. The animation is nothing short of gorgeous—all hand-drawn, incredibly detailed, and full of vibrant color at every turn. But it’s…yeah, it’s more than a little bit of a trip. There’s random interludes with alien creatures eating each other (I’m certain that they all would have given me nightmares as a kid), an uncomfortable amount of alien boobs, and far too many lingering shots on said soulless red eyes with nothing behind them for comfort. It’s beautiful, but in the way that makes your head hurt—I’m still not entirely sure what I watched, but…I liked it? Yeah, I liked it.

Nothing added more to the surreal nature of Fantastic Planet more than Alain Goraguer’s score; most of it is a recurring motif of experimental jazz, which really does put you in the mind of “what did I just watch?” It all screamed Pink Floyd to me, which, since Dark Side of the Moon came out in the same year as this movie, makes sense. I can’t help but think of “Time” whenever I hear anything from this score. This movie seems like it would be on that kind of prog-rock wavelength. That’s what made it the perfect atmosphere for this film—the proggy, spacey theme that runs through the whole score marries perfectly with the oddball, alien landscapes that we traverse through. It’s a bizarre movie. I certainly don’t regret watching it.

“Limbo” – Shakey Graves

Looks like somebody was enjoying himself in quarantine, huh? Enough to crank out at least thousands of possible combinations for this album? Seriously, go play around with the Movie of the Week section of the Shakey Graves website. My first go at it generated a cover of David Bowie’s “Five Years” as a part of the soundtrack… :,)

But even without all that insanity, Movie of the Week is nothing short of excellent. Even though the second half lags slightly, I wouldn’t call a single track off this album bad. But, sadly, it’s really the first half that carries it—aided by the album’s singles, the fantastic “Lowlife,” and this absolute stunner of a song. Clocking in at nearly 7 minutes long, none of that length ever feels real—if I had to make an estimate, it sounds more on the 4-minute side. But I’ll always be grateful that we get all 6:40 of “Limbo” in all of its utterly cinematic weirdness. The beginning is deceptively unassuming, clunking in with distorted piano chords and Alejandro Rose-Garcia singing each word with gentle restraint. But right around the 1:10 minute mark, “Limbo” erupts into a shock wave of humming synth that could only find a place elsewhere if elsewhere was the outer space exhibit in a museum. It’s a song that looms, casting its shadow over your in waves of colorful static, blinking in and out of focus. And even if this song didn’t explicitly reference limbo, it would still be fitting for the soundscape that Rose-Garcia has created; between the discordant marriage of every instrument and effect and the gremlin-ish, artificial harmony alongside his voice, it really does feel like slipping in and out of some wild hallucination, toeing the line between reality and delusion. Shakey Graves knows the unsteady cradle of limbo, and they play it well.

“Veronica” – Daddy Issues

I heard this song in the background of a video, and after I found out that the band was called Daddy Issues, I was prepared for the rest of the song to not be up to pat. We get it, you edgelords. And although I’m still rolling my eyes at the band name, the timeless catchiness of this song makes it slightly better. Guess that’s just the kind of thing you have to name your punk band. It was bound to happen eventually.

“Veronica” feels like a song lost in time. It has that bright, pop-rock flavor that could have made it a cult hit if it was included in an 80’s teen movie. But it lacks just enough polish to make it land somewhere between 90’s riot-grrrl, grunge, and alt-rock. It wouldn’t have even been out of place sometime in the 2000’s, spoken in the same breath as Giant Drag. And here we are in 2015, where Daddy Issues married all of those elements and came out the other side with this. In theory, it shouldn’t stand out from any other song of its breed. You know the drill: She’s Veronica. She’s gorgeous. She’s fierce. She’s a little crazy. She’s off to steal some hearts. She’s gonna take over the world. You wanna make her your girlfriend. You wanna make out with her. But there’s just something about Daddy Issues that makes you believe every word of it, even though you’ve heard it a thousand times. Maybe it’s the mercurial lilt of Jenny Moynihan, effortlessly shifting from delicate high notes to delivering the grungy punch this song needs. Or maybe it’s the way that it all feels so precise, like it was floating in the ether all along, waiting to be discovered. Either way, it’s an undeniable earworm. All of you directors trying to put together a soundtrack for a teen movie: get over here, what are you doing?

And there’s no way that this whole song isn’t a Heathers reference. “She’s teenage suicide”? Come on.

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!

Posted in Mini Reviews

MINI REVIEWS | Birthday Books (Gifts + What I Blew my Paycheck On)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

It might still be a week or so before I completely return to some semblance of my normal schedule, but I’m starting to get to the point where I know where I’m going and what I’m doing. And as much as I hate the constant home football games we’ve been having, at least it means that my already quiet floor is even quieter, so I can get my homework done in a serene environment—and write these reviews as well!

Since my birthday last month, I’ve taken all of the books I got—ones that I bought on my birthday and gifts from family—back to my dorm, where I slowly (yes, slowly, settling into college is weird) devoured them over the course of several weeks. I’m happy to say that it was a fantastic batch—not every one was the best book I’ve ever read, but it’s chiefly in the 4-star range. I got a 5-star book out of these as well! And now they sit proudly on my little dorm bookshelf, ready to be reviewed.

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BIRTHDAY MINI REVIEWS

Verse, Chorus, Monster! – Graham Coxon

from Goodreads:

Verse, Chorus, Monster! is the memoir of iconic British musician and Blur co-founder Graham Coxon, charting a life of music, fame, addiction and art. Before the noise and clamour of the Britpop era, Coxon was a shy Army kid tempering his anxiety through painting and a growing love of music. As he honed his artistic skill at school, his band with school friend Damon Albarn, fellow student Alex James, and a drummer called Dave Rowntree began to get noticed. But there are things they don’t tell you before you get famous. There are monsters out there. And some may even be lurking inside yourself.

☆

TW/CW: substance abuse/addiction, themes of mental health issues

I’ve been trying to branch out into more nonfiction over the past few years, but even if I wasn’t, I would have picked this up eventually either way. My Blur awakening back in 2021 made sure of that. So of course I was excited to see that Graham Coxon was coming out with a memoir—he’s always struck me as such a sensitive, creative person, and Verse, Chorus, Monster! fortunately cemented that, for the most part!

I always have a lingering fear that celebrity memoirs will somehow ruin my image of them, but with this one, I still hold that Graham Coxon seems like such a deeply insightful and sensitive soul. This glimpse into his mind was all at once raw and touching; the frequent sections about his struggles with anxiety and alcoholism were difficult to read, but I’m so glad to have verbal confirmation that he’s been getting better as of late, and that he’s starting to work on himself in that respect. Beyond that, there’s just so much about this memoir that was immediately endearing. The insight into one of the main creative forces behind one of my favorite bands (and a fantastic solo artist in his own right) was fascinating to hear from the front lines, and I loved the pieces we got of his creative process—opening the book with the spark of inspiration that lead to the hook of my favorite song (“Tender”) was the quickest possible way to win me over. And it’s easy for memoirs to have a sense of humility that’s manufactured, but Coxon’s personality really did come off as genuinely humble.

All in all, an excellent memoir by a truly admirable creative force—and a refreshingly humble one. 4 stars!

This is How You Lose the Time War – Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

from Goodreads:

In the ashes of a dying world, Red finds a letter marked “Burn before reading.”

So begins an unlikely correspondence between two rival agents in a war that stretches through the vast reaches of time and space.

Red belongs to the Agency, a post-singularity technotopia. Blue belongs to Garden, a single vast consciousness embedded in all organic matter. Their pasts are bloody and their futures mutually exclusive. They have nothing in common—save that they’re the best, and they’re alone.

Now what began as a battlefield boast grows into a dangerous game, one both Red and Blue are determined to win. Because winning’s that you do in war. Isn’t it?

A tour de force collaboration from two powerhouse writers that spans the whole of time and space.

☆

TW/CW: blood, violence, murder, self-harm, descriptions of bodies/corpses, torture, poisoning, war

Hoowhee, brother. This one was good.

Time War had floated on the edges of my radar for years ever since it came out, but I ultimately decided to pick it up on the recommendations of one of my professors and one of my best friends. And their high praise—and the high praise of so many others—was more than well-deserved.

For such a short novella, Time War packs a truly unforgettable gut punch, vibrant and rich with emotion. Who knew that these two characters identified only by colors would consume so much of my days when I read this? I can’t praise this book enough. The prose is beyond rich, truly enchanting and expansive, fitting for the cosmic scale that this story is set in. It has an almost gothic sensibility to it, even with the firmly sci-fi trappings—what’s more romantic, dramatic, and emotional than two lovers reaching for each other across the vastness of space and time itself? But even with this grand scale, This is How You Lose the Time War is one of the most deeply human stories that I’ve read in ages. It taps into that innate desire to love and be loved, or even to just have someone to talk to as the world around you is collapsing. In spite of the grand, cosmic conflict and multiple universes colliding, nothing can come in the way of our desire for love and connection. It’s one of those stories where plot details—names and how this time-spanning war started—mean nothing in the face of the deep resonance of the characters.

Hold me. I need a minute…

What else is there to say? Go read this, what are you even doing? 5 stars!

A Memory Called Empire – Arkady Martine

from Goodreads:

Ambassador Mahit Dzmare arrives in the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire only to discover that her predecessor, the previous ambassador from their small but fiercely independent mining Station, has died. But no one will admit that his death wasn’t an accident—or that Mahit might be next to die, during a time of political instability in the highest echelons of the imperial court.

Now, Mahit must discover who is behind the murder, rescue herself, and save her Station from Teixcalaan’s unceasing expansion—all while navigating an alien culture that is all too seductive, engaging in intrigues of her own, and hiding a deadly technological secret—one that might spell the end of her Station and her way of life—or rescue it from annihilation.

☆

TW/CW: themes of colonialism/imperialism, murder/attempted murder, violence

College isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but man, it’s fun sometimes. I got an A on a literary theory assignment where I compared this book to an essay we read in class. I love being an English major.

If the fact that I used A Memory Called Empire for a literary theory assignment doesn’t make you think that there’s a ton of great stuff to chew on in this book, I’m not sure how else to convince you. It’s fantastic space opera, but it errs more on the side of a political thriller—a common enough combination these days, but one that was so well-executed in this case. Reckoning with the history of colonialism in science fiction has been on the rise—and for a very good reason—but A Memory Called Empire had such an interesting take on it. This is the first of these kinds of novels that I’ve seen tackle the seduction of colonialism; along with the actual murder mystery afoot, Mahit Dzmare is also being pulled—both physically and mentally—into the clutches of the reigning Teixcalaanli Empire, and is being groomed into the ruling culture as she tries to stay afloat and protect her space station from imminent colonization. The character work is nothing short of excellent, the worldbuilding is top-notch, and the suspense is palpable from start to finish. It’s all a treat.

This book has gotten quite a lot of hype over the years, but it really is all that—alluring, suspenseful, and nothing short of insightful. 4 stars!

The World of Edena – Mœbius

from Goodreads:

Stel and Atan are interstellar investigators trying to find a lost space station and its crew. When they discover the mythical paradise planet Edena, their lives are changed forever. The long out-of-print Edena Cycle from Moebius gets a deluxe hardcover treatment! Moebius’s World of Edena story arc comprises five chapters–Upon a Star, Gardens of Edena, The Goddess, Stel, and Sra–which are all collected here.

☆

TW/CW: nudity, mild sci-fi action

I’ve been meaning to get into Mœbius for years now; ever since I reactivated my pinterest and went on a deep dive of sci-fi art, I’ve been drawn to the enigmatic, meticulous, and downright wondrous quality of his art. (I feel like it would’ve happened eventually—turns out that he was a major influence on Tony DiTerlizzi, and especially his inking style in the Search for WondLa trilogy, which has shaped me beyond repair.) I started here with Edena, and I put it on my birthday list.

I still hold that he may be one of my favorite artists. His style is so ethereally captivating, and I found many a piece that I’ve used for my desktop wallpaper in the past few years inside Edena. His landscapes are instantly transporting, and there’s not a single character design lacking in whimsical charm. The story itself…slightly less so? It’s like a sci-fi Yellow Submarine, but if the script was due in an hour and he’d forgotten all about it until then. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable; Edena apparently started out as a car ad (???), and then it took on a life of its own, completely unplanned. There’s inconsistencies aplenty with both the story and the art, but for the most part, it was just so wild that I enjoyed the ride. If it gives you some idea of what happens, Mœbius pulls the classic “IT WAS ALL A DREAM” move that ends up resolving (if you can call it that) the whole mess. It’s nuts. But there were so many pockets that I wished we could have explored more. There were some super interesting gender themes going on—I wish we got to know why Stel and Atan were on their gender-neutral hormone supplements, for a lack of a better word, but the resulting transformation into their Adam and Eve roles (hence the name) was so fascinating, especially since this only came out in the late eighties or so. (Of course, Atan/Atana effectively becomes a damsel in distress post-transformation, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Ouch.)

In short, The World of Edena was beautiful, if not a bit of a mess. Luckily, the mess was endearing, for the most part, or at least fun. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!

Firekeeper’s Daughter – Angeline Boulley

from Goodreads:

As a biracial, unenrolled tribal member and the product of a scandal, Daunis Fontaine has never quite fit in—both in her hometown and on the nearby Ojibwe reservation. When her family is struck by tragedy, Daunis puts her dreams on hold to care for her fragile mother. The only bright spot is meeting Jamie, the charming new recruit on her brother’s hockey team.

After Daunis witnesses a shocking murder that thrusts her into a criminal investigation, she agrees to go undercover. But the deceptions—and deaths—keep piling up and soon the threat strikes too close to home. How far will she go to protect her community if it means tearing apart the only world she’s ever known?

☆

TW/CW: racism, murder, sexual harassment and assault, misogyny, rape, death, gun violence, descriptions of injury, substance abuse

Originally, I put off reading this book because a) I’m not usually much of a YA mystery/thriller person, and b) the mountain of hype was certainly intimidating. I ended up reading Warrior Girl Unearthed because the plot fascinated me more from the start, and I loved it so much that I ended up buying Firekeeper’s Daughter after all. And, once again, I’ve been struck with the luck of hyped books being all worth the hype.

Every part of Firekeeper’s Daughter is excellent, from the effortless way that Angeline Boulley weaves a scene and setting together to the never-ending suspense that kept me guessing for page after page, twist after twist. Making a setting as tangible and populated as hers was is no easy feat—and it suited every other aspect of this book in every conceivable way. You can’t have a corrupt, hidden history of a town without the town itself. The sense of community—and the rifts driven into it—were some of the best I’ve seen in YA fiction in quite a while. Part of that wouldn’t have been possible without Boulley’s equally excellent character work; Just like their community, every character feels nothing short of authentic and multilayered. This all made the twists so much more effective—with such layered characters, I learned to expect the unexpected. And even with the ongoing expansion of diversity in YA as a whole, I feel like I haven’t seen as many novels centering Native American or Indigenous characters and stories, so I’m glad that this book exists in that sense as well. (Shoutout to Darcie Little Badger and Moniquill Blackgoose as well!) And Daunis is mixed-race as well! Yay!!!

If you’re questioning whether or not Firekeeper’s Daughter is worth the never-ending hype: trust me, it’s worth a read. 4 stars!

Ammonite – Nicola Griffith

from Goodreads:

Change or die. These are the only options available on the planet Jeep. Centuries earlier, a deadly virus shattered the original colony, killing the men and forever altering the few surviving women. Now, generations after the colony has lost touch with the rest of humanity, a company arrives to exploit Jeep–and its forces find themselves fighting for their lives. Terrified of spreading the virus, the company abandons its employees, leaving them afraid and isolated from the natives. In the face of this crisis, anthropologist Marghe Taishan arrives to test a new vaccine. As she risks death to uncover the women’s biological secret, she finds that she, too, is changing–and realizes that not only has she found a home on Jeep, but that she alone carries the seeds of its destruction. . .

☆

TW/CW: death, violence, animal death, gore

I picked this one up after how much I loved So Lucky, also by Griffith. Thing is, I had no idea that a) this book was written almost 30 years before So Lucky (although this cover should’ve tipped me off to that), and b) that, even with the genre difference, that this would be a very different kind of book. At this point, nothing tops So Lucky for me, but Ammonite was still a fascinating book in its own right.

If you’re going into this book expecting what most would consider traditional science fiction, you’ll be sorely disappointed. Most of it follows Marghe, who is tasked with delivering a vaccine to an isolated colony of women whose community was decimated by a mysterious illness that wiped out all of the men. At its heart, Ammonite is firmly a survival story; it’s a story of the wilderness, of venturing into the unknown, and adapting to the world around you. There are moments of suspense, moments of tenderness, and moments of absolute fear. Another reviewer described it as “Dune but gay,” and other than the more traditionally sci-fi elements of the former, the comparison was spot-on. Ammonite also has the fact that it’s much slimmer than Dune going for it, but given how long Dune is, that’s not saying much. But I think what has seemed to make this book so groundbreaking is its take on gender dynamics. The cast is entirely women, but when all of the men are taken by the illness, the remaining women don’t automatically form a pacifist, hippie commune; there are flawed women, there are good-hearted women, there are warlike women, and everything in between. This banishing of broad generalizations about gender, I think, is what makes Ammonite feel so ahead of its time.

Sidenote: this was written in the nineties, so Nicola Griffith had to have known about goth people…right? Just saying, calling the barely-described alien megafauna “goths” made me envision a giant, towering version of Robert Smith, not, y’know, whatever she wanted us to picture.

All in all, a very unique take on sci-fi and survival with some groundbreaking gender dynamics that have held up for the past 30 years. 3.5 stars!

Abe Sapien, vol. 4: The Shape of Things to Come – Mike Mignola

from Goodreads:

A mutated Abe Sapien fights carnivorous monsters crawling out of the desert sand, a fortified militia that’s walled Phoenix off from the rest of the world, and a vicious zombie swarm, while a mad necromancer rises over the monster-infested ruins of Seattle. Collects issues #6-#7 and #9-#11 of the series.

☆

TW/CW: gore, blood, violence, racism, body horror

I haven’t caught up on the actual Abe Sapien series since…[checks notes], eight grade, I think. Jesus. I just remembered flying to New York when I was about 14 and reading the first volume. But even then, I think I subconsciously chose a good place to pick up with it, since there’s a pretty clear gulf between the first three and vol. 4—before and after Abe gets mutated, shot, and quits the B.P.R.D. Just another day at the office for the guy, y’know?

Suffice to say, I was somewhat disappointed by this volume. It was still enjoyable, and even though I was never the biggest fan of Fiumara’s art, the more stylized look suits Abe’s stretched-out, mutated form. Other than that, there wasn’t a whole lot here that I found terribly memorable. Abe goes through the exact same arc as Hellboy upon leaving the B.P.R.D., but it never seems to culminate in much development on his end. Plot-wise, it’s the same ol’, I’m afraid—Abe goes into a random, apocalypse-ravaged town in the middle of nowhere, and, surprise surprise, it’s time to fight some zombies and witness a copious amount of fungus-related body horror. Somehow, the latter works better when it’s the whole B.P.R.D. trying to deal with it—the group dynamic is what makes B.P.R.D. consistently shine, and as much as I love Abe, I’m not sure if he could carry a story like that when it’s the same format they’ve been using on and off for several years. Abe is one of my favorite Mignolaverse characters, and it’s such a shame that he’s never gotten to shine as much in his solo comics. And judging from the reviews on the later volumes, it seems like the quality tanked until we got the band back together for The Devil You Know. Shame.

All in all, an entetraining trade, but one that ultimately did a disservice to one of the Mignolaverse’s most beloved characters. 3.25 stars.

Today’s song:

I swear, this has to be some of Mitski’s best work in YEARS

That’s it for this batch of mini reviews! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Books

YA Books for Bisexual Visibility Week (2023 Edition) 💗💜💙

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Saturday. bibliophiles!

We’ve come around again to Bisexual Visibility Week, which lasts from September 16 – September 23rd! September 23rd is also recognized as Bisexual Visibility Day. And to celebrate, I’ve rounded up another batch of some of my favorite bisexual books that I’ve read in the past few years. Even though I’ve been out as bisexual for nearly five years, seeing myself represented in that aspect of my identity never ceases to warm my heart. I’t’s hard to match the feeling of being seen, really seen, like some of these books have made me feel. But like my last post about Latinx Heritage Month, I wasn’t able to compile a list last year since I was still settling into college. So I prepared a post in advance so I can share my favorite bisexual books that I’ve read since my last post. (And although I’m trying to add more age ranges to these posts, almost all of the ones I wanted to highlight ended up being YA books, so here you are.) Enjoy!

For my lists from previous years, click below:

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR BISEXUAL VISIBILITY WEEK (2023 EDITION)

CONTEMPORARY/REALISTIC FICTION:

PARANORMAL:

FANTASY:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are your favorite bisexual books? Let me know in the comments!

Today’s song:

loving this album

That’s it for this year’s bisexual visibility week recs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!