Tag: 2025

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 6/1/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and more importantly, HAPPY PRIDE!! I’ll have more specifically pride-related posts coming soon, but for now: remember that no president or legislation can unmake your queerness. No one has that power over you. You are loved. You are cherished just the way you are. 🌈 I hope this week has treated you well.

This week: PLEASE NO NO NO I’M SORRY I KNOW PRETTY MUCH REPEATED THE SAME COLOR SCHEME WITHIN THE SPAN OF TWO WEEKS I’M SORRY PLEEEEEASE…does it help that I’ve double-dipped on St. Vincent for pride?

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 6/1/25

“Shoot Doris Day” – Super Furry Animals

Three years after listening to it, I’d still put Rings Around the World as one of my favorite albums of all time. Still around #9, though I think things have shifted slightly in my lineup. I can’t make any promises, but I might revisit this post one of these days. Back then, I described the sound of the album as fully-formed, “like Athena bursting out of the skull of Zeus.” Admittedly, I do go crazy with the flowery language, but for once, I actually stand by it. Rings Around the World is one of those albums that makes you think it just sprung out of nowhere. It’s a living, breathing being of an album, so cohesive yet so readily embracing of every possibility. Like turning a Doobie Brothers-like melody into full on EDM in the course of seven minutes. Super Furry Animals are seriously something special. Just when you’ve thought they’ve got a pattern going, Gruff Rhys and company pop out new twists like whack-a-moles, ready with another kick to the senses.

“Shoot Doris Day” is one of those tracks, and no, Gruff Rhys isn’t out for blood (though Doris Day was alive and well when Rings Around the World came out)—it’s the camera form of shooting, thankfully. And like the high-drama cinema that inspired some of the lyrics (Rhys said he simply added them in to match the cinematic nature of the intro), the intro speeds out of nowhere, bursting into a swell of strings and clattering pianos, yet it fades away to acoustic guitars in mere seconds. The best quality of Super Furry Animals, to me, is their uncanny ability to keep their listeners on their toes. “Shoot Doris Day” is a song that repeatedly gives the listener a false sense of security, then pulls the rug out from them several times over. Rugs upon rugs upon rugs…until the disparate elements are reunited at the 2:07 mark, a swirl that meshes naturally as the song finally allows you to let your guard down, in time for an anthemic sway with equally anthemic lyrics: “I’ve some feelings that I can’t get through/I’ll just binge on crack and tiramisu.”

…as one does.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Light Years from Home – Mike Chen – a book with two distinctly different genres that clash in surprising ways.

“Cissus” – David Byrne & St. Vincent

Another St. Vincent song that she…did not play live when I saw her, and probably won’t again unless she teams up with David Byrne again. Five years after Love this Giant soundtracked the early days of lockdown, I discovered Brass Tactics, an EP of remixes and live performances from the tour, as well as this outtake. With the same brassy march, David Byrne and Annie Clark take their keen teamwork to an unassuming image. I fully thought that, given the imagery of the album, there would be some strange turmoil at the heart of the song. But no, the cissus in question is a kind of vine, and one that Byrne and Clark chronicle as it grows and crawls over a stone wall. Their lyrics have the feel of Victorian poetry as they describe its journey: “Cissus, you keeper of the shadows/Scaling my stone, terrace aswarm in summer.” In their shared language, the gradual crawling and blooming of the cissus vine becomes a kind of heroic march worthy of a flag-bearing procession. And it absolutely is—there’s nothing I like more than when artists turn something as mundane as vines crawling up a wall into a brass-helmed display of utmost grandeur.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Taproot – Keezy Young – as the subtitle says, this graphic novel is “a story of a gardener and a ghost,” and there are vines aplenty.

“For the Cold Country” – Black Country, New Road

I’ve had a surprisingly good streak of opening bands at concerts this year. Now joining the ranks of Hana Vu (for Soccer Mommy) and Tyler Ballgame (for Shakey Graves) are Black Country, New Road. They’d been floating on the edge of my periphery from years of pretentious music memes on my instagram explore page, but I never showed an interest in them. I was at least intrigued when they came onstage…with a lute, a saxophone, a keyboard tuned to sound like a harpsichord, and enough recorders to imitate a 5th grade recital. I fully thought that there was about to be some Arcade Fire funny business afoot, but boy, was I wrong. Mostly. I could not get on board with the recorders. But I can’t deny that Black Country, New Road are a talented bunch. At worst, they veer towards the proggy, “Dibbles the Dormouse Has Lost His Lucky Handkerchief (Movements I-IV)” for me, but at their best, they’re a truly inventive, adventurous group of musicians.

A comparison that sprung to mind after hearing all of the harpsichord tomfoolery was, of all bands, XTC. Sonically they’re fairly different, but Black Country, New Road take the same approach of modernizing a distinctly British, pastoral flavor into their music. Modern subjects rub shoulders with medieval ones, and it all has the misty feeling of drifting over the English countryside in the melting stages of late winter. Forever Howlong, has its ups and downs (one down namely being the recorder ensemble on the title track), but “For the Cold Country,” both live and in the studio, feels like the summation of the best of the band. Beginning with an “Abbey”-like chorus of vocalists Georgia Ellery, Tyler Hyde, and May Kershaw, the track meanders as it tells the acoustic, fog-touched tale of a wandering knight laying down his arms and wandering across the countryside. As the track progresses, it becomes a more orchestral march, the vocals galloping like the patter of horse hooves. But what made “For the Cold Country” my favorite of their songs is the cinematic sweep that comes in at the 2/3rds mark—as the knight confronts the ghost of his past self among frigid waters. The acoustic guitar creeps back in, only to give way to an explosive swell of instrumentals that seem to shake the dirt beneath the foundation that the song built, accompanying an unexpected storm and flashes of lightning. Live, it really felt like something had possessed the audience, all bathed in warm light as all of the instruments howled, but what pulls it all together is the feeling of being on a journey—pretentious as it is, I can’t deny the chills when it was all over, feeling as though I’d just been on a trek through freezing rain and snow. Forever Howlong is a solid album if you’d like to give it a go—again, even if it’s not fully for me, it’s a delightfully inventive and fun entry into 2025’s musical history.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Godkiller – Hannah Kaner – all of the characters in Godkiller certainly join up in a similar arc to this song, but I thought particularly of Elo, a knight who gives up his former mantle.

“Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” – The Police

I’m struggling to write anything terribly flowery or excessively pick apart the lyrics, because some songs just defy analysis. It’s not that “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” is some overcomplicated epic—it’s the exact opposite, and yet it’s just a perfect song. It’s a hit that deserved every minute of airplay it got in the ’80s and in my dad’s car when I was a little kid. As with what I’ve heard of…well, every Police song back in the day, this song went through more lives than your average cat, and the studio probably looked like one of those cartoon fights where there’s a squiggly ball of dust with several hands sticking out (and Stewart Copeland’s drumsticks) when they were recording it. Yet what came out is, fully acknowledging the cliche, absolutely magic. Some songs just instantly capture a kind of unbridled joy and innocence, and you can’t help but be taken along for the ride, no matter what state you’re in. Everything about it is so bright—the tone of the steel drums in the chorus, Sting’s ecstatic vocals, Copeland’s pattering drumming, the guitar tone…I’m not even a Police superfan, but I might go so far as to say that this is one of the more pure love songs of the ’80s. The lyrics are so timelessly starry-eyed—it never feels cloyingly sweet, but how can “Do I have to tell the story/Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?/It’s a big enough umbrella/But it’s always me that ends up getting wet” not charm you? It’s given me a warm, fuzzy feeling since childhood, and time has never dulled that magic.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Roll for Love – M.K. England – a pure, sweet love story with both romantic and fictional magic (in the form of DnD).

“Sugarboy” – St. Vincent

Two weeks of these posts since I actually saw St. Vincent, and now I actually have a song that she played to show for it.

I kind of hated MASSEDUCTION when it came out. To this day, I’m still firm in the belief that it’s St. Vincent’s worst album. Half the fandom might want to put my head on a pike for that, but for a singer with an established trend of matching albums to personas, there wasn’t much that was her about the album. The more I think about it, I can’t help but correlate that with the alienation and lack of personhood she felt at the time, what with being in a multitude of ill-fated relationships, namely with Cara Delevigne, the latter of whom caused British paparazzi to scout out the Clark family home in Texas to find out who she was and why she was dating a famous model. That disregard for her privacy and mental health resulted in an album that musically feels like it lacks a self. Peel back the latex and heels, and Annie Clark was hardly there—she was a shell of herself, clearly. Don’t get me wrong—there are some tracks on MASSEDUCTION that I frequently revisit to this day (see: “Hang On Me,” “Pills”) and even though 14-year-old me thought that this album was the letdown of the century, I still have a fair deal of nostalgia attached to the songs I liked.

“Sugarboy” was not one of those songs. For a while, I vaguely remembered it as one of the worst of the bunch, and it faded into mental obscurity. However, seeing it live has completely reoriented the song for me. Even though the MASSEDUCTION era was in the dust for both times I saw it live, “Sugarboy” transcended the ’70s setpieces of Daddy’s Home and was practically made for the rabid anger and fear of All Born Screaming. On the former, the backup singers lifted the lights off of the set pieces and waved them around like giant glowsticks as the song devolved into chaos. This tour didn’t see as many theatrics, but it was one of the most energetic songs of the setlist, which, given All Born Screaming, is really saying something. Upon reflection, this might be one of the best songs on MASSEDUCTION. The narrative of the album clearly has a through line, starting with a flicker of hopeful romance (“Hang On Me”), then immediately going into debauchery, drugs, sex, and materialism (“Masseduction“-“Los Ageless”), and then into the drawn-out crash and burn that ends with the harrowing “Smoking Section.” As the climax of the overindulgence, “Sugarboy” embodies the whirlwind of all of it, a kind of manic chaos as she both uses others and is in turn, used herself. The breakneck pace of the music, along with the shrieking, autotuned chorus behind her, feels like a fast-forwarded shot through a trashed ballroom—everything is in disarray, and the red smeared on people’s faces makes it impossible to tell blood from lipstick. The desperate cries of “I am a lot like you!/I am alone like you!” in the chorus are needles through the mindlessness, cries for help amidst the all-consuming sea of overindulgence. Even the studio version feels like being dragged along at inhuman speeds, ricocheting off the walls as the synths thrum through your ribcage. Like the lyrics say, she’s “hangin’ on from the balcony” (a reference to show antics that she frequently used to do), but her fingers are barely holding on from the adrenaline.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Fireheart Tiger – Aliette de Bodard – “Oh, here I go/A casualty/Hangin’ on from the balcony/Oh, here I go/Makin’ a scene/Oh here I am, your pain machine…”

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 (5/27/25) – Light Years from Home

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I’ve had several of Mike Chen’s novels floating around my TBR for quite some time. I’d forgotten that I’d read a short story of his in From a Certain Point of View: The Empire Strikes Back, and I figured I’d give his novel-length writing a try. Plus, I was just in a sci-fi mood (as I always am). Despite the flaws that dragged down the premise, Light Years from Home was an ambitious novel that blended genres and didn’t shy away from being messy. Whether it successfully cleaned up its messes, however, is up for debate.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Light Years from Home – Mike Chen

15 years ago, the Shao family was thrown into disarray. Jakob, the only son, and their father disappeared. Their father later returned, dazed, disoriented, and convinced that he and Jakob were abducted by aliens. He died soon after.

Jakob has been missing for over a decade now. Sisters Evie and Kass haven’t spoken since the incident, with Evie diving into alien conspiracy theories and Kass throws herself into her work and caring for their aging mother. But when Jakob returns, parroting their late father’s theories about alien abduction, the sisters have no choice to bury the hatchet and reunite. As Jakob’s story grows wilder and the rift between the sisters widens, they must contend with the possibility that all of this may be true—but can Jakob be trusted? And if his story is true, what does it mean for the fate of Earth?

TW/CW: death of a parent, grief, dementia themes, substance abuse (smoking, drinking)

In the acknowledgments, Mike Chen says that this story was initially inspired by “Red” by Belly, and I’m tempted to give it another half a star just because I’ve never heard anyone outside of my immediate family or Pitchfork talk about them. The title also makes me think of The Rolling Stones’ “2000 Light Years from Home,” but that’s a vague enough title that it could be a reference to a lot of things. Although Belly didn’t save every flaw, Light Years from Home is a solid meld of science fiction and realistic fiction.

Light Years from Home has one of the most compelling beginnings of a book that I’ve read recently. You’re thrown right into the action aboard a Seven Bells spaceship in a classic space opera setting. Jakob cradles his alien comrade in his arms as they die, and thus begins his perilous quest back to Earth. But the reader and Jakob are the only people who know about this—the only other character who did (their dad) is notably dead. It would’ve been easy to just have the characters not believe him, but Jakob is already established as an unreliable person—his real life experience sounds suspiciously like an outrageous lie he would’ve told in his college days, which gives the characters both more obstacles to overcome, but more of their messy family dynamic to dissect. In terms of plot, Light Years from Home was a great study in not taking the easy way out—everything was messy and tangled, making for a book that had lots of drama and hurdles to pick apart.

Every single member of the Shao member was on the obnoxious, insufferable side (save for maybe Evie), but Chen did a great job of capturing the complicated family dynamic in the novel. Fifteen years after Jakob’s abduction, the wounds remain raw, and not a single member of the family has recovered from the fallout. Although I wasn’t satisfied at all with the character development of…well, any of the family (I’ll get to that later), Chen did an excellent job of weaving together all of the contrasting beliefs, motivations, and traumas that each family member had. All of them dealt with Jakob and their dad’s disappearance and death, respectively, in wildly different ways, and their coping mechanisms butted heads over the course of the novel. Even though this was ultimately handled poorly at the end, I did also appreciate the sensitive depiction of their mom’s dementia; Chen did a very respectful job of depicting the emotional impact of her memory loss and not being able to recognize her own children.

For all of the focus on the messy Shao family, the promised character development that their dynamic hinged on was not delivered on. There should’ve been plenty of conflict with Jakob reckoning with the man he was on Earth versus the man he was while serving in space with the Seven Bells, yet none of that happened. All of his character development happened off-page, resulting in a character that came off more flatly than I think was intended. Likewise, Kass and Evie were set up for significant development, but nothing happened with them either. Evie’s beliefs were reinforced and she and stayed static throughout the novel, not giving up her fantasies of aliens for the sake of the family. The closest Kass got, if you could call “okay, I guess aliens do exist” character development, was a brief revelation that even though she’s a therapist, that she doesn’t know everything about herself or her family, and that she shouldn’t pretend to know everything. That last half of my sentence amounted to about a paragraph around 50 pages before the novel ended, and it felt like entirely too little too soon. In the end, the character development was a jumble of unfulfilled promises—we got the shells of what could’ve been nuanced characters, but despite the bizarre journey they went on, they came out the exact same as they were before.

Also…I’m sorry, what the hell was that ending? Somehow, it was one of the most anticlimactic parts of the whole novel, and weird in ways that didn’t make sense. Jakob returns to the Seven Bells, but there’s hardly any fanfare or even extended moments of grief from the sisters, even though their brother has just decided to spend the rest of his life in space and never see them again. There wasn’t nearly enough emotion to it, and nor was there page time—this moment only gets around 4-6 pages tops. Instead of an emotional resolution with her daughters, the mom somehow un-dementias herself and remembers everything, and is also eerily content with her only son’s decision to spend the rest of his life in space. It all just felt so rushed and emotionally stunted compared to the rest of the novel, and not nearly as detailed as it needed to be. Weird is the only way to adequately describe it. I felt lost, but also robbed of what could’ve been something so bittersweet. I feel like it’s partially a side effect of none of the characters having any character development, but it felt like such a lack of a resolution. It was practically a non-ending.

All in all, a sci-fi/realistic fiction blend that embraced messiness in both plot and character, but had significant trouble with cleaning it up. 3.5 stars!

Light Years from Home is a standalone, but Mike Chen is the author of several novels. He has contributed short stories to From a Certain Point of View: The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, and the full-length novel Brotherhood to the Star Wars universe. He is also the author of We Could Be Heroes, Vampire Weekend, Here and Now and Then, A Quantum Love Story, and many more novels for adults.

Today’s song:

NEW MARY IN THE JUNKYARD WOOOOOOOOOOO

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: 5/25/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

This week: it’s all a trick question. I saw St. Vincent last week, but did she play the song I’m writing about this week? No. Did she play the David Bowie song I’m writing about this week, though?

…yup.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 5/25/25

“Heartthrob” – Indigo De Souza

Two years on the heels of All of This Will End (I say that like I’ve listened to it…I’ve listened to about half? Good stuff, though), Indigo De Souza is back with a new album out this summer, Precipice. I don’t know if I’m committed enough to listen immediately (I might go for Any Shape You Take first). To be honest, after briefly hearing whatever the hell that disastrous, autotuned misfire that was WHOLESOME EVIL FANTASY, I was hesitant to see what De Souza had done next. Thankfully, it was far from that. The album cover’s gorgeous, too—the naked skull creature is having its beach episode!

As cheesy as the music video is, “Heartthrob” seems for all the world to be a moment of healing for De Souza, and I’m so happy for her. The chorus of “I really put my back into it” describes the throttle of this track, a more pop-rock offering with trembling vocals but no shortage of determination. The pre-chorus describing De Souza’s experiences of abuse are jarring against the otherwise sunny, bubbly feel of the track, and yet that’s the point; De Souza said that they wrote the song about “process[ing] something that is often hard to talk about—the harmful ways I’ve been taken advantage of in my physical memory. ‘Heartthrob’ is about harnessing anger, and turning it into something powerful and embodied. It’s about taking back my body and my experience. It’s a big fuck you to the abusers of the world.” That passion radiates through every inch of the track through wavering warble and cheerleader-like shout, which De Souza delivers in equal measure. More than anything, “Heartthrob” feels like a release, an outpouring of joy, anger, and passion, a bubbling bottle uncorked. I can’t help but love the rallying cry of “I really put my back into it”—maybe it’s not my favorite song in the world, but for all of the unoriginality plaguing our landscape, it’s refreshing to see people like them pouring it all into their art.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Luis Ortega Survival Club – Sonora Reyes – A story of feminist resistance and reclaiming your body and identity in the face of abuse.

“Oh My God” – St. Vincent

I had the absolute privilege of seeing St. Vincent for a second time last week. I know I’m obsessed, but it was seriously breathtaking—the setlist was incredible, her stage presence was so captivating, and her guitar playing always knocks me off my feet. I was right near the third row, and I nearly had a heart attack when she started crowdsurfing during “New York”…never thought I’d find myself getting choked up by that song (it’s nowhere near my favorite), but to be so close to her and in the presence of so much love and togetherness began to heal a part of me, if only for a night. Sure, the loungy rendition of “Candy Darling” she did at the end was a bit of a misfire, but if that was the worst part of the night, then it was a concert I’ll never forget.

So without further ado, here’s a song that…she didn’t play, and I suspect that she probably won’t revive unless she willingly goes into her deep cuts. A bonus track from Actor that was also released along with the “Marrow” single (which she did play that night and absolutely annihilated), its deceptively quiet intro hides a suppressed, roiling storm. Like much of Actor, it hides dread and unpleasantness beneath a veneer of delicate woodwinds and finger-picking, but conceals a spreading rot beneath it. The dread veers into focus with Annie Clark’s chorus of “‘Cause when the drink goes in/The devil comes out” after detailing all of the dishes gone without washing and the bathwater gone cold while she’s still in it. A faintly “Via Chicago”-like drum fill patters as the chorus grows in intensity, a chanting of “Oh my god” that never loses its delicacy but turns more from an indifferent remark to a quietly horrified exclamation, as though she sees the landscape of dying houseplants and unmade beds before her. Given that this was a bonus track, it seems that even then, this was a time that Clark wasn’t keen on returning to, but I do find some comfort in the fact that presumably, given that there’s around 16 years behind it, this is something that Clark has deliberately put in the past; MASSEDUCTION saw her dealing with substance abuse and other issues more upfront, but even that’s an era that seems behind her, even if All Born Screaming found her in a darker but seemingly different headspace. I’m glad that she was able to exorcise “Oh My God”—sometimes, you have to extricate those things from your life, but hiding the track in plain sight seems a strategic way to not return to a time you’re not keen on revisiting.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

So Lucky – Nicola Griffith – “Oh My God” matches the dread of the protagonist, Mara, picking the pieces of her life after losing everything, as well as the lingering feeling that her life is in danger—from herself and from outside forces.

“Cry for Me” – Magdalena Bay

Everything I’ve heard about Imaginal Disk has been nothing short of worship: album of the year (2024), modern classic, cult classic…the list goes on. Imaginal Disk feels inherently tied to hype for me, even though I’ve only heard this song. Again, outsider perspective, Magdalena Bay just seemed to spring up out of nowhere. Before this, I’d only heard a handful of reviews several years ago, a remix they did of Soccer Mommy’s “Shotgun” (not a huge fan, honestly) and this interview they did with Stereogum ahead of Imaginal Disk talking about how much they love the weird CGI in the music video for Peter Gabriel’s “Steam” (which, honestly, so based of them. They really just said “let’s dress Peter up like Jack Nicholson’s Joker and then put his face on as many objects as possible. I don’t care if they’re ungodly cursed.” I love it so much.). There’s also a concept and a narrative I’m missing here—something about a person rejecting some sort of disk put into their head by aliens?—but I’ll do my best.

I was floundering for comparisons for “Cry for Me” at first, but then it hit me. Imagine if the Cardigans had access to 21st century technology in the ’90s, and then imagine them taking that and making some kind of weird disco. They’ve got their uber-’70s violin piano flourishes and bass lines paired with the most modern-sounding, cinematic synths. What’s cooked up is bizarrely good—the at first disparate contrast of Mica Tennenbaum’s air-light voice and the oily chrome of the synths makes for something that works together in surprising harmony. The disco bit sometimes veers into too much for me, but I can’t deny how deliciously catchy “Cry for Me” is—the song’s title is uttered like a seductive plea to cross into a world where everything is glittering and perfect, but once you bite into the fruits, the venom starts pumping through your veins. The crunching, bubbling shift in synths at the 2:00 mark make you feel like you’ve turned a corner on some kind of theme park ride—into what, you’re not sure. For the rowers keep on rowing, and they’re certainly not showing any signs that they are slowing…

BONUS: who the fuck let a keytar in the—oh, okay. Just this once. I’ll allow it. Maaaaaaybe. Magdalena Bay recently covered “Ashes to Ashes” on Triple J, and even though it’s up there with my favorite Bowie tracks, they clearly get how weird of a song it is:

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Drunk on All Your Strange New Words – Eddie Robson – again, I’m not entirely clear on the concept, but if you want alien revelations with unintended side effects, look no further…

“Flowers on the Wall” – The Statler Brothers

Sometimes you remember certain songs at times that are too perfect for words.

“Last night, I dressed in tails pretending I was on the town/As long as I can dream, it’s hard to slow this swinger down/So please don’t give a thought to me, I’m really doing fine/You can always find me here and having quite a time…”

Depression, self-isolation, and making up scenarios transcends time, but getting this song absolutely hooked in my head while I was about a month into lockdown had to be divine intervention. Or something. Minus the more ’60s language, this could’ve been the contents of a long-distance FaceTime call right smack in the middle of 2020. I have a specific memory, give or take five years to the day (I’m just glad I can put some distance from it) of hearing nothing but this song in my head while I was supposed to be recalling something or other about U.S. History for the APUSH exam…a single essay question that I did on my laptop in my bedroom. (Don’t worry, I got a 4. I wasn’t really in dire straits.) Yes, feelings aren’t inherently attached to history, but “Flowers On the Wall” bottled something so succinctly and charmingly. Once it invited itself into my shuffle after years of not thinking about it, that feeling never went away—in a good way. Despite being so pandemic-feeling it never got sullied by it. I’ve never been one for this almost hokier country sound, but it fits the kind of exaggerated state that the narrator’s in—it’s exactly how I’d expect the inner voice of someone who spends their days playing solitaire and dressing up in a tux, never once leaving the house. It’s the catchiest song about extensively denying that you need to touch grass. Truly timeless.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Ministry of Time – Kailene Bradley – what else is there to do when you’re [checks notes] a time-displaced polar explorer from the 1840’s who really shouldn’t leave the (21st century) house?

“DJ” – David Bowie

Diversity win! Bowie is breaking his and her heart!

“DJ” has been on the brain because, back to St. Vincent, they played this song not once but twice before she came onstage. Taste, especially from someone who has said that there’s no one she’d put above Bowie.

From Lodger, “DJ” retains some of the theatricality of his glam days, but well past the Ziggy Stardust days. He’s long shed that persona, as well as the abysmal leanings and drugs of the Thin White Duke, closing out the Berlin Trilogy with a slicker flourish that led into the ’80s (see: “Boys Keep Swinging”). It’s got a critical, sardonic eye that he retained from his earlier ’70s songwriting, magnifying the role of a DJ who becomes so swallowed in his career that he becomes it: “I am the DJ/I am what I play/I’ve got believers/Believing me.” According to Bowie, it was his take on the disco culture that had overtaken the ’70s: speaking to Melody Maker, he said, “The DJ is the one who is having ulcers now, not the executives, because if you do the unthinkable thing of putting a record on in a disco not in time, that’s it. If you have thirty seconds silence, your whole career is over.” Yet it’s so easy to see the through line back to himself—persona or not, you don’t have to chip away at much to find the one true Bowie within.

Even if “DJ” didn’t also spell out David Jones’ initials, this fear of becoming inextricable from his music and celebrity was a constant fear of his in the 1970s. 1979 saw Bowie recovering from his devastating cocaine addiction, and that almost-separation from it makes “DJ” feel like a less fatalistic version of “Cracked Actor,” in which he saw his future self as a washed-out, middle-aged actor relying on his past fame to pay the bills.”DJ” sees him inching away from “Forget that I’m 50/’Cause I just got paid” territory, but no less critical—and almost fearful—of being on the precipice of losing his career thanks to one less hit and being seen only as a vessel for the music. In the music video, he’s passed around by fans in the middle of the street; some hug him and seem to make genuine conversation, while others simply try to give him a kiss on the cheek (BRO?? not to get all gen z with it, but did he WANT that??). It’s all at once tenderly human and a little eery watching him weave through the crowd, some seeing a human, others seeing a celebrity. No matter the disaffected sarcasm in his words and lyricism, Bowie’s always there.

As for the music video…I don’t think there’s really any bad Bowie videos I can think of, and even the really bad ones are at least hilarious. But this one seems to fall on the wayside, and I don’t see why! The way that Bowie drapes himself down the blue shutters, the demolishing of the DJ equipment, the proto-Trait pink boiler suit/gas mask combination…he could work anything. Well…okay, definitely not this. Almost anything.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Death of the Author – Nnedi Okorafor – another work about the line between the author, their work, and how the two are interconnected, no matter the perceived separations (and the complications that arise from 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!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/20/25) – Rebel Skies

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Update: I do have something nice to say, so I’ll say something. Beyond the heinous Studio Ghibli AI trend (and if anybody here thought that was “cute,” even when the White House twitter did it, get thee away from this blog), people tend to narrow Studio Ghibli down to a very shallow, cutesy aesthetic that discounts the heart of Hayao Miyazaki’s incredible visions. Rebel Skies was one of the few pieces of media inspired by Miyazaki that clearly gets him—rich worldbuilding with whimsy and darkness in equal measure. Yet even if you take that comparison away, Rebel Skies is a YA book to be reckoned with, full of heart, spirit, and skyships.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Rebel Skies (Rebel Skies, #1) – Ann Sei Lin

In the Sky Cities, no one is more revered—and feared—more than Crafters: those who possess the power to draw magic from paper and make creatures come to life. Kurara, a young servant aboard a flying ship, has barely honed her powers, only using them for party tricks. But when her best friend, Haru, is revealed to be a Shinigami—a creature made of paper—and grievously injured, Kurara flees to a skyship in order to find answers. There, she hones her Crafting with Himura, an ornery Crafter with secrets of her own. As she gets to know the motley crew of her ship, Kurara discovers that Haru’s identity isn’t the only secret that’s been kept from her—and that there are enough to bring down the Empire.

TW/CW: fire, animal death, torture, death, descriptions of injury

Ann Sei Lin seems to know as well as anyone that we need a bit more whimsy in YA fantasy. The edgelord stuff has gotten boring. It’s fantasy, come on now! I get that if magic was the norm, people might not be impressed by it, but there has to be some wonder in your life, right?

First off, the worldbuilding was tons of fun! Though the Studio Ghibli-inspired elements are plentiful, if I had to summarize the world of Rebel Skies, it wouldn’t be with that. If anything, it’s more of a steampunk version of Kubo and the Two Strings. You’ve got Nausicaä-esque airships and floating cities (which both felt very Philip Reeve as well) combined with paper-based magic, and all of the possibilities you can think of along with it—paper animals, paper people, and monstrous paper beasts. (Oh, and the paper animals can talk. Gotta toss some talking animals in there.) I’m not usually one for steampunk, but this isn’t your garden-variety “slap gears and tiny hats on everything in Victorian England and call it a day” steampunk—not only is the world inspired by Asian cultures (mainly Japan), the blend of magic and machinery married easily, and often whimsically. Though the colors I imagined trended towards rusty and earth-toned, Lin couldn’t have made her world more vibrant—and multilayered; not only were there base-level divisions between the people who lived on the ground and the people who lived in the sky, there were all sorts of customs, stereotypes, and quirks that were given to each, which in turn influenced how all the mismatched patchwork of characters interacted with each other.

For me, it doesn’t get much better than the worldbuilding informing the themes of the book. Not only did I love all of the intricacies of the paper magic in Rebel Skies, I love how Lin used it to explore the theme of autonomy, and especially the lack of it. Kurara herself has been ordered around as a servant, and she sees the same thing being done to the magical beings around her; she sees how Himura treats Akane, his shikigami fox, and questions whether or not he’s really so content to devote his entire existence to serving Himura. Add that to the visceral trauma of discovering that her best friend is made of paper and has been seemingly puppeteered from afar, and the reigning empire is performing cruel experiments on its shikigami, and Kurara’s ultimate motive to both her personal journey and her journey to wrong the rights of her world lies in autonomy, and having a reciprocal, ethical relationship to her magic. It’s an excellent metaphor and an excellent addition of nuance to the worldbuilding—if the world relies on unbalanced relationships, how can I shift them so as not to do to others what others have done to me?

You all know by now how much of a sucker I am for a good found family story, and while Rebel Skies didn’t completely fulfill that promise, I love the group dynamic between all of the characters. Even though the subplot of Sayo and Kurara warming up to each other felt a bit rote, I liked the progression that their characters had. Kurara and the rest of the pirates were lots of fun, and they gave the skyship a lively, lived-in feel. I’m also a sucker for the trope of older, gruff characters taking excitable younger characters under their wing; Himura was a solid addition to the canon, but I feel like he’s hiding too much to truly be a mentor to Kurara. I’m interested to see where it goes in Rebel Fire, but my gut says that it’s going to be some kind of subversion. We’ll see. Either way, Rebel Skies’ motley crew lived up to its description, making the setting all the more lively and adventurous.

As someone who read voraciously in my childhood and longed for some kind of bridge between middle grade and the too-broad age range of YA (12 to 18 is so arbitrary and baffling, you’ll not hear the end of it from me), Rebel Skies automatically won me over. It’s categorized as YA, but it feels right in the middle of MG whimsy and adventure and more YA stakes and themes. Kurara, even as a teenager, has a childlike sense of wonder, and although some of her interactions came off as slightly more childish than her age, it hits a charming balance of innocence and discovery that feels like the ideal bridge between the age jump between the two categories. As a longtime YA reader, it hits a natural sweet spot, but in its balance of darker, more YA elements with the same kind of voice as older MG, Lin has written a book that could serve as both a younger YA reader’s introduction to the genre and an easy pleaser for the YA reader.

That being said, the one major flaw in Rebel Skies is that I didn’t see why Himura’s POV was necessary. He was a solid character, but this novel was clearly Kurara’s story. I enjoyed hearing his voice and Lin wrote it well, but I don’t think his input to the story served a purpose other than giving his side of events…that we’d already been shown through Kurara’s POV. We get that Kurara’s been slow in her training, and then Himura repeats it as such. We do get plot information that we wouldn’t have otherwise gotten from Kurara, but if that’s the only reason that Himura gets his own chapters, then what’s the point? There could be multiple interesting ways for Kurara to get this information that could deepen or complicate the relationship she has with Himura—she could overhear a conversation or sneak a look at some of his documents, for instance, and he could catch her in the act, adding more conflict to the plot. Again, he was a perfectly fine character, but aside from the interludes, Rebel Skies wasn’t meant to be a dual-POV novel. It’s the Kurara show, c’mon!

Overall, a memorable fantasy book with lush worldbuilding, a lively cast of characters, and a unique voice that balances middle grade adventurousness with the more matured nuance of YA. 4 stars!

Rebel Skies is the first book in the Rebel Skies trilogy, followed by Rebel Fire and Rebel Dawn. Rebel Skies is Ann Sei Lin’s debut novel.

Today’s song:

I’m totally new to BCNR, but I saw them open for St. Vincent the other night, and they were great performers!! this was probably my favorite of theirs.

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: 5/18/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

This week: do

you

SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

THAT I’M SCARED

AND I’M LONELÆEEEEEEEEEEE

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 5/18/25

“Innocence” – Björk

Saying that a certain Björk album feels bolder or more in-your-face than others feels redundant because most of them trend towards that direction. According to Sonic Symbolism, Volta was about being upfront, brightly-colored, and loud—in her personality, in her life, and in her political views (see: “Declare Independence”). Volta’s still in the weeds as far as my album bucket list goes, but I love the distinct flavor of it—flat neons and confidence. “Innocence” is a whole feast for me to pick apart in terms of sound. It stomps all over the place, leaving an asymmetrical trail in its wake, angular and herky jerky, but never more sure of itself. It’s the kind of song that makes me think that Björk’s suit on the album cover (designed by Bernard Willem) is about to turn into some kind of mech suit with flag-shooting cannons for hands. This is one of the songs on Volta that was produced by Timbaland, giving it a chrome-like sheen that could almost be pop, but could never deny the inherent weirdness that is Björk. At the beginning, the synths speed up as though winding up for a punch. The angular rhythm is an ouroboros, constantly made and remade again against Björk’s smoother vocals. There’s even a bit at 2:13 that I swear sounds like the Severance elevator noise. Every listen brings something new to the table—there’s all manner of Easter eggs lying around.

Lyrically, I can’t help but think of Debut. “Innocence” is a reckoning with the fearlessness of youth: “When I once was untouchable/Innocence roared, still amazes/When I once was innocent/It is still here, but in different places.” It’s hard not to think of the 1992 Björk that sang of “go[ing] down to the harbor/and jump[ing] between the boats” and ecstatically declaring that there was more to life than this. But the kind of confidence that she maintains at the time of “Innocence” is balancing that excitable youth with the fears that came as she matured: speaking to The Sun, she called the song “A handshake with fear.” For her, fear makes fearlessness even more tantalizing—now that she’s known the grips of it, she appreciates it even more. Even so, it’s still an extreme, but so is fear: “Fear of losing energy is draining/It locks up your chest, shuts down the heart/Miserly and stingy/Let’s open up: share!” Man. Did I need to hear that…for the millionth time. I feel like I’m the reverse, somehow. Of course, I’m not nearly at her maturity level, but I’ve been cautious my whole life. Still am. Fearlessness is freeing, and I only find that I can appreciate it when I have those fears right in front of me: I can see them, acknowledge them, and throw them to the wind, if only for a moment.

BONUS: The video above isn’t the official music video, but the 1st place winner of a fan contest that Björk held to make a music video, created by Fred & Annabelle. Here is the 2nd place winner for the video contest, made by Roland Matusek (Björk Kart?)

…as well as Björk talking about the inspiration behind the animation contest:

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Battle for WondLa (The Search for WondLa, #3) – Tony DiTerlizzi – “When I once was fearless/Innocence roared, still amazes/Untouchable innocence/It is still here, but in different places…”

“Sweet Thing” – David Bowie

It’s been about a year since I finally listen to all of Diamond Dogs in full, and I’m still blown away by how much David Bowie’s storytelling had developed. Throughout his life, Bowie accumulated an extensive library, often bringing books along with him to read on tour. (If you’re interested, John O’Connell compiled a list of some of the books that impacted him the most in Bowie’s Bookshelf. It’s a great read.) The more I think about it, the more I realize that Bowie approached songwriting like an author—whether or not there was a linear narrative, like the story of Hunger City in Diamond Dogs, he had not just melody in mind, but the exact emotion to wring out of which characters and when, and which motifs and allusions to scatter throughout. Obviously, these elements can exist outside of the realm of literature, but it’s so distinct from any given Bowie lyric, much less “Sweet Thing,” that he was a literary-minded man. No wonder I connected with him instantly.

In terms of Diamond Dogs’ tracklist, often with songs that are directly chain-linked to the others, I’m partial to “Future Legend/Diamond Dogs” (my favorite album opening of all time…nothing will ever go harder than that), but “Sweet thing” is the emotional core of Bowie’s narrative, without a doubt. Take a look at the first verse: “It’s safe in the city/To love in a doorway/To wrangle some screams from the dawn/And isn’t it me, putting pain in a stranger?/Like a portrait in flesh, who trails on a leash?” MAN. Glam rock had roots in theatre and the dramatic from the start, but this is one excerpt from Diamond Dogs that would have felt right at home on stage. As one of the entries in Bowie’s failed 1984 musical adaptation, it’s a loose twist on the ill-fated romance between Winston and Julia in Orwell’s novel; Bowie had to make some changes after the musical was dead in the water, rendering the characters nameless and the woman, seemingly, into a prostitute. Under the watchful eye of the “knowing one,” a kind of panopticon surveillance a la Big Brother, the narrator and the prostitute share painful, ill-fated, but fleeting love: “I’m in your way/And I’ll steal every moment/If this trade is a curse, then I’ll bless you/And turn to the crossroads…” With the imagery aplenty of doors and doorways, it’s an affair steeped in transition, an air of impermanence and separation present in every bittersweet moment. Bowie sells it all with one of the album’s most heart-wrenching moments: he draws out “Will you see/That I’m scared and I’m lonely?” with a stabbed, bleeding heart, hand outstretched, with full on musical theater drama. Yet never once does it feel false—Bowie can’t help but let some sincerity slip through the metric ton of personas and fiction. Alan Parker’s guitar soars in true glam-rock fashion, and somehow, the saxophones never feel out of place; Bowie’s world is all brass, rust, and forbidden love—a world fully realized that burst from the shell of Orwell to become a myth all its own.

BONUS: for the full experience, here’s the full story, told in a joining of “Sweet Thing,” “Candidate,” and “Sweet Thing (Reprise)”:

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Rakesfall – Vajra Chandrasekera – the 1984 pairing has run its course at this point, so here’s a story of epic-like love spanning across space and time.


“Pet Rock” – L’Rain

Another amazing find from my dad, “Pet Rock” thrives on being propped up. The music video shows a variety of pet rocks being set up and placed around a miniature dollhouse fitted with all manner of retro furniture, tiny instruments, and mini versions of L’Rain’s album I Killed Your Dog. (Now that’s a title for you…what’d you have to do that for??) The music thrums with distortion, barely contained chaos with a bubbly, Crumb-like atmosphere, faintly on the verge of psychedelic collapse. Taja Cheek’s vocals, like Lila Ramani, flicker in and out of clarity—the only time a finger pokes through the haze is when the guitar, before the instrumentals start unraveling, almost tricks you into thinking that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Like the dollhouse, “Pet Rock” has the feeling of a neon-colored haunted house (new Meow Wolf concept?)—everything appears structurally sound, but there’s all sorts of weirdness drifting just out of earshot.

The lyrics take a similar turn: after speaking of being propped up like said rock “Why would you go without me?/And make me something else?”), the lyrics go from a faint dread to something outright sinister: “Like a dead girl with shades on/Propped up by captors/I’m fine/I’ve got no one to talk to.” HUH?? Cheek told Alternative Press that the story was inspired by “an old story I’d been told about a woman who was riding the train but looked strange, and the reader eventually figures out that she’s dead, with glasses on, being propped up by the people that seem to have harmed her.” There’s a solid manipulation metaphor for you—rock or human, you’re not alive, just a nice little dolly to be moved around the dollhouse in whatever way suits you.

It’s just a rock! Or not quite, this time? Rocco takes a stand?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Ninth House – Leigh Bardugo – “Like a dead girl with shades on/Propped up by captors/I’m fine/I’ve got no one to talk to/It’s all my fault, I know…”

“Blossom (Got To Get it Out)” – Komeda

I seem to gain a tolerance for more uptight songs once I get older, but in retrospect, “Blossom” gets less uptight the more I listen to it. Sure, it’s about as high-strung as The Feelies, but it’s got this ’60s girl group feel to it that makes it inherently more playful. Komeda seems to fall into a kind of indie, ’90s niche taking their cues from the bubblegum pop from the ’60s (see also: The Rondelles); it’s jangly as all get-out, and features an almost Fred Schneider-esque chorus of spelling out “B-L-O-S-S-O-M” like a cheerleader’s chant. I’d argue that Komeda’s voices aren’t quite as enthusiastic as their forebears (and the instrumentals), but it’s got that vibrant, candy-colored spirit of the ’60s with a distinctly ’90s production—it’s much more fun now that I’ve revisited it.

What makes this song infinitely better for me is the fact that, under the title “B.L.O.S.S.O.M.,” this song was on Heroes and Villains, an album of songs inspired by The Powerpuff Girls, alongside The Apples in Stereo, Devo, Dressy Bessy, and Frank Black…what a time to be alive. This version is re-recorded, sped-up, and drum-machine-ified, and doesn’t resemble a whole lot about the original. The more electronic version isn’t jangly at all, but the very early 2000’s, rapid-fire instrumentals mesh with the 2d, supersonic speed of the Powerpuff Girls. I’m partial to the original, but at least you’ve got this absolute banger from The Apples in Stereo, right?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Ocean’s Godori – Elaine U. Cho – vibrant, fast-paced, and with the kind of spaceships I can imagine blasting Komeda through their speakers.

“High” – The Cure

I wasn’t here to witness it, but it must’ve been such a jarring shift in the ’90s when the Cure became more embraced by the mainstream. My parents talk about how maddening it was to have their special, alternative music be ignored or made fun of in the ’80s and then all the normies started singing along to “Friday I’m In Love.” Jeez. The Cure could always make an incredible pop song, but it never ceases to baffle me that they went from being relatively underground to selling out arenas in such a short period of time. Now that rock is less adjacent to the mainstream these days, I can’t say I’ve had an experience that mirrors it. The only thing I can think of is all of the members of boygenius getting huge, but they aren’t nearly as weird as the Cure were. The eternal battle: wanting people to appreciate your weird music, but wanting to gatekeep it at the same time…

I can’t fully grasp the kind of frustration my infinitely-cooler-than-me in their ’20s parents had when Wish came out back in 1992. I fully adore “Friday I’m In Love,” even though I can recognize that it’s leagues less weird than the more creative parts of their catalogue. But if the fact that I remember “High” to this day must prove that they weren’t all that resentful. “High” was a mainstay throughout my childhood in many a car trip—I distinctly remember mishearing “licky as trips” as “licky as chips” (those damn Brits) and Robert Smith meowing (can you really have a Cure song without it?). I’m charmed to this day about the way Smith makes adjectives into nouns with each lyric—”sky as a kite” or “kitten as a cat” makes perfect sense in his lingo. What strikes me now is that The Cure, even at their darkest, always kept true to having emotion at their core. They were dramatic and goth, but they were always in touch with whatever was at heart, and painted it in every complicated color. “High,” like “Friday I’m In Love,” is proof that they can be just as sugary and playful as they can be brooding and raw, but to an extent, all of it feels true to them. Like the subject, who’s “happy as a girl/limbs in a whirl,” “High” is The Cure in a dreamy, lovelorn state, adrift in the clouds in the throes of ecstatic love. It’s not their most emotional love song, but it’s got a similar purity as “The Perfect Girl” or “Just Like Heaven”—”High” feels like a spiritual successor of that emotion, even if it’s not fully on the level of the latter two to me. To this day, this track remains as warm as sand between my toes or afternoon sunlight heating up the glass of the back seat of a car.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Across a Field of Starlight – Blue Delliquanti – “And when I see you take the same sweet steps/You used to take, I say/’I’ll keep on holding you in my arms so tight/I’ll never let you slip away…'”

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 (5/13/25) – The Knockout

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I always feel bad whenever I come back after period of hibernation only to come back with a negative review. I just have to get it all out sometimes! I’ll probably have something nice to say by next week.

Say it with me, kids: just because a book has diverse representation doesn’t erase the flaws in its writing! Sadly, The Knockout was not the one-two punch that the title promised: it tried to hard to sound hip and teenager-y, and nosedived spectacularly.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Knockout – S.A. Patel

Kareena Thakkar knows her power. She’s been building up her skills in Muay Thai, and she’s good enough to qualify for the US Muay Thai Open—an event that could take her to the Olympics if she wins. But even though it’s where her passion lies, Kareena is divided between her Muay Thai world, her peers’ desires for her to be traditionally feminine and act the way a good Indian girl should. With her ill father and the Olympics on the line—as well as a cute boy, Kareena must decide which world she’d rather stay in—or if she needs to divide those worlds after all.

TW/CW: bullying, terminal illness, misogyny, medical content

Look. I read YA frequently, knowing that it’s a market of books about teenagers mostly written by adults. Even by that standard, I haven’t read a book so deeply how do you do, fellow kids? as The Knockout in some time. I wanted to badly to root for Kareena, but her insufferable voice—and by extension, Patel’s writing—made it a real ordeal.

Kareena’s voice was the most glaring issue that The Knockout had. Firstly, she didn’t sound or act like a 17-year-old. If anything, between her language and her maturity, she sounded closer to 13 or 14. The kind of stiff, teen movie comebacks she doled out to her bullies were nowhere near the kind of experience a person would have at 17—especially someone who had been through as many struggles as her. In my experience, what you need to do when writing teenagers (or any character who’s younger than you) is to emphasize how you (or your peers) remember feeling—what you’d prioritize, what was important to you, how you would react to situations, etc. Writing like a teenager is about the emotion, because there are a lot of them running around your brain at that age. Sure, it’s hard to nail the voice, and granted, I don’t have the age distance from Kareena that Patel has. But there’s lots of easy ways to not do it, and some of those are a) extensively leaning on what you think is “hip” slang, and b) automatically skewing the character’s voices as young as possible within the teenage range. Between the unnecessary censorship of cursing here and there and her childish outbursts, Kareena was not believably 17. Additionally, Patel’s insistence at integrating what she thought to be “current” Gen Z slang was painfully bad. If anything, it dated The Knockout leagues more than making it relevant. It’s not the teenage experience, but instead the teenage movie experience, simply parroting what adults think teenagers sound like. It positions itself as current and relatable while never encapsulating what it was like to be a teenager, making what should’ve been the heart of the novel hollow.

As with Kareena’s supposed 17 years of age, I was never convinced of the stakes in The Knockout. When Patel established how good Kareena was at Muay Thai, all it did was make Kareena feel unnecessarily overpowered. I normally only say that about fantasy or sci-fi novels, but she was just too good to the point that every fight she did seemed to be a fleeting moment of struggle before she absolutely pummels her opponent. This continued throughout the duration of the novel. Even though Kareena had the Olympics on the line, I never once got the sense that this was hard for her. Her training seemed to be the only time she struggled—other than that, she just flew through the US Muay Thai open without a problem. If she actually experienced tangible setbacks within her practice or the Muay Thai open, I would’ve been more motivated to root for her. Yet everything seemed to be handed to her on a platter, making the stakes feel almost nonexistent. I knew from the start that Kareena would get everything that she wanted, and while I appreciate the value of having diverse characters succeeding in their narratives, it made for a book with no stakes.

Bullying is a major plot point in The Knockout, but I don’t think that Patel succeeded in making all of it completely believable. As far as Kareena getting bullied by her other Indian-American peers for not being “Indian” enough went, that was one of the few parts of the book that was successful; unlike the main plot, it gave Kareena’s struggles some tangible weight. However, I wasn’t fully convinced that her doing Muay Thai was something so outrageous that she thinks that she’ll be bullied by the whole school for it. I get that it’s not a traditionally feminine sport, but with the way that Kareena talked about Muay Thai, you would think that she’s coming out of the closet. Even with the cliched interactions between Kareena and her peers, I just couldn’t imagine her being bullied for it, and not just because if someone were to slam her into a locker, teen movie-style, she’d slam right back. Kareena being a Muay Thai champion didn’t feel nearly as dirty as a secret as Patel lead us to believe, which made some of the novel’s more personal stakes less believable as well.

Additionally, I have mixed feelings about the romance between Kareena and Amit. It didn’t fully sidetrack the book for me, but I wasn’t fully invested either. I did like that Amit was instrumental in helping Kareena reconnect with parts of her Indian culture, but I don’t think he had much of a personality beyond what he did for Kareena. They seemed to have almost all the same interests, and Amit didn’t have anything to distinguish himself other than not doing Muay Thai. He was just a blank slate with similarities to Kareena baked in so that there could be some instant “chemistry” between the two of them. The only tension in the romance was when Kareena met his more traditional family, so the tension didn’t even lie with him—it was all outside factors that threatened the integrity of the relationship. The only differences I can really think of about Amit and Kareena is that he comes from a more traditional family and he’s…well, a different gender. That’s it. He wasn’t a person, he was just a boyfriend. I do think that this kind of story is good with a romantic subplot, especially considering that it’s YA realistic fiction, but like almost everything else in The Knockout, I could not get invested whatsoever.

That being said, I do have some positives for the book. I’ve seen a lot of books, especially YA ones, where the main character has to choose between their traditional culture and the more “appealing” American culture. The Knockout, by contrast, had Kareena be raised by two parents who weren’t connected to their culture in a conventional way—they were flexible with letting their daughter be who she wanted to be without sacrificing their Indian heritage in the process. Kareena was disconnected from her roots in some ways (which she begins to remedy in this novel), but both she and her parents emphasize that there’s no single way to be Indian. I can’t speak to any cultural accuracies, of course, but I loved this as a message for a YA book in this context—there’s no one way to be any identity, be it in terms of gender, ethnicity, race, or anything else. Paired with the expectations of femininity that society puts on Kareena, it’s a wonderful message. I also really liked that Kareena had a combination of multiple interests that weren’t traditionally feminine—in addition to Muay Thai, she’s also passionate about computer science. Sadly, all this was overshadowed by the flaws in most of the novel, but if you took all that away, at least The Knockout has something beneficial to say. I just wish it was said in a less cliched, more authentic way.

All in all, a book with a positive message if you soldiered through it, but was bogged down by childish dialogue writing and characters (even by YA standards) and a lack of all-around believability. 2 stars.

The Knockout is a standalone. She is also the author of several books for teens and adults, including Isha, Unscripted, The Design of Us, First Love, Take Two, The Trouble With Hating You, Sleepless in Dubai, My Sister’s Big Fat Indian Wedding, and the Venom series (A Drop of Venom and A Touch of Blood).

Today’s song:

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: 5/11/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! First off, a very happy Mother’s Day to my wonderful mom. She inspires me to be a better and more creative person every day, and I don’t think I’d be putting pen to paper (in the drawing and writing sense) nearly as much without her guidance and creative inspiration. So thank you for all your support, hard work, and love. I am so, so lucky. 🩵

School’s out, and it should be back to our scheduled programming soon enough. Of course, every time I take a break, I end up rambling tenfold to make up for the absence…apologies in advance. This is what happens when you let me get ahold of a new Car Seat Headrest album.

Since I’ve been in the finals doldrums for a bit, here are my graphics from the past few weeks:

4/27/25:

5/4/25:

This week: BRO DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE THIS IS RESPECTABLE STREET! 🫵😂

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 5/11/25

“Reality” – Car Seat Headrest

The more I think about The Scholars, the more I realize that this is the extreme of Car Seat Headrest’s qualities. Will Toledo has always been a scholar, and a deeply self-indulgent one. I don’t mean that derogatorily at all—his songs are just packed to the gills with references: often Biblical and also encompassing musical and literary greats. Although his life is still interwoven within the narrative (“Is it you or the sickness that’s talking?” on “The Catastrophe [Good Luck With That, Man]”), The Scholars is a veritable library in and of itself.

Not only are the usual suspects of Biblical references and allusions to music and literature, and Toledo’s past work are there, but The Scholars is Car Seat Headrest’s furry rock opera, an omniscient epic taking place at the fictional Parnassus University. There’s a full summary of it in a libretto that’s only available if you buy the vinyl, but thanks to the saints at Genius who, I’ve been able to piece together some of the narrative; it consists of vibrant characters coming out of the closet to their parents, participating in various subcultures around the college, a rival clown college, and a band of punk troubadours. All this culminates in [checks notes] the Dean of Parnassus University getting poisoned after the students from the rival clown college invade. It’s a trip…but I wish it was more readily available! When I say that The Scholars is self-indulgent, I love it in the sense that Will Toledo has created such an inventive, sprawling world between the notes of this album, and that he’s let his ambition run wild, in terms of the scale of the story and the prog sensibilities of the album. He clearly appreciates the value of letting people solve riddles and puzzles, but he’s left hardly any clues to piece together the narrative if we don’t have the libretto. I’d just like it to be more accessible—not in the sense of being more “listener friendly,” but in the sense that I want to actually be able to access the story. There’s clearly so many layers to The Scholars, and I’m dying to know more of the nuance.

That being said, even if you don’t know the story of the Rise and Fall of CCF and the Clowns from Parnassus University, The Scholars is a treat. For the first half, I was almost duped into thinking that the band had almost dipped back into Teens of Denial territory, which was twofold. On the one hand, Teens of Denial has a deeply special place in my heart, a staple of my fourteen-year-old girlhood and one of my favorite albums of all time. After the missteps of Making a Door Less Open, The Scholars is a return to form in some ways. As good as the first half was, I was afraid that it was too much so—even with the rock opera behind it, songs like “Equals” did rather feel like the same stories of drugs and regret that populating Teens of Denial. Yet after “Gethsemane,” “Reality” takes a turn into the more sprawling—and always fascinating. Trading off vocals between Toledo and Ethan Ives, it plunges into pure, 21st-century rock opera, complete with the avalanche of drama and pounding guitars that comes in at around the five-minute mark. I swear that some of the chord progressions remind me of “Cosmic Hero,” another one of my favorite epics from the band, but it’s painted into an unending landscape. Through all eleven minutes, I get the feeling of the culmination of all of the story’s events before the climax—it’s a drawn-out feeling, but one of certainty: they can’t escape what they’ve made, and they must move forward with acceptance of their fate; the whispered utterance of “no stage left” feels like an admittance that they can’t see what they’ve done, but there’s no escape from the consequences: they can’t see the audience. I’m circling back to self-indulgence, but the term sounds so negative: this just feels like Toledo unleashing the multitude of narratives within him. Is it easy to sit down and listen to songs that are nearly 20 minutes long? No, even for me. Yet as esoteric as it is, “Reality,” and this album, is worth your while, if you’ve got the time to set aside. Bottom line: be self-indulgent with your art. It doesn’t matter if there’s a small audience or no audience—you create what you think the world is missing, and the right people will find it.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Scholars 28-page libretto, only available when you purchase the vinyl – not trying to be snarky about it, genuinely. But heck, it’s pretty much a play in and of itself, complete with stage directions in the liner notes.

“Respectable Street” – XTC

This has to be the first Britpop song.

It’s long been accepted that XTC helped mold the Britpop movement as we know it—in fact, he almost had a direct hand in it, as he was Blur’s first choice to produce Modern Life is Rubbish; he produced a handful of the original mixes before departing from the project. But XTC made Britpop 12 years earlier. As much as I adore Blur’s sound and lyrical style from Modern Life up until about The Great Escape, hearing “Respectable Street” makes me realize exactly where they were coming in. I wouldn’t go so far to call some of it a rip-off…well, I almost would. I love Blur too much for that. Blur did develop their own style within this method, but at first, their claim to fame was largely due to songs like these. Not only does this song take a microscope to the arbitrary hypocrisies littering an uptight, quintessentially British neighborhood, but Andy Partridge has the vocal swagger to carry it all. Damon Albarn had the looks, but the line delivery is all Partridge, full of snark and with a cheeky wink as he lays out all of the double standards and not-so-well-kept secrets: “Sunday church and they look fetching/Saturday night saw him retching over our fence.” Of course, almost half of the jabs got butchered by the radio edit (“Now they talk about abortion” was replaced with “absorption,” which makes no sense, but…not a whole lot sounds like abortion, I guess?), but no amount of censorship would dull Partridge’s signature, acerbic style. Piled on with in-your-face production and the quick strikes of guitars, and you’ve got a song that inspired a generation—and hasn’t gotten the least bit old.

Also, about the promo above: I just know that set sounded heinous…I’m gonna go out on a limb and say, however talented all these guys are, that most of them did not know how to play cellos or violins. Definitely the point. Still, it must’ve sounded like middle school band practice in there…

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Mrs. Caliban – Rachel Ingalls – nothin’ like an escaped frog creature to spice up your respectable street, eh?

“Puerto Rico Way” – The 6ths

Stephin Merritt’s writing continues to be something to behold. Even though Mark Robinson (of Unrest fame) is at the vocal helm here, this is one of the 6th’s songs that’s most indicative of Merritt’s ability to not just set a scene, but make something so objectively seedy and nasty-sounding into the most cheerful, sun-bleached indie pop you’ve ever heard. Take the first few lines:

“The sun pissing in the streets/Of some hungover place/Dances with two left feet upon her face/But soft! She is fast asleep/Beneath her mosquitoes/You would never want to know what she knows…”

First off, the imagery of the sun “pissing in the street” is a stroke of genius, evoking the lazy way that sunlight bends and dapples along the subject’s face—something so objectively beautiful turned wayward and gross, an effect that’s stacked once the drunkenness is emphasized by it “dancing with two left feet.” The environment in “Puerto Rico Way” is so bloated with alcohol and oppressive heat, but it carries itself like all of Merritt’s indie pop songs—with more confidence than it should have, given the disappointing, warmed-over love he often writes about. On the track list, it rides the high of “Here in My Heart,” which could add to the cheeriness, but this track carves out a slice of hope, even if Martina doesn’t accept the narrator’s dance, in this “hungover place.” (The drunk, free-spirited, redheaded Martina does read like a manic pixie dream girl, so maybe it wasn’t meant to be after all. Martina’s so crazzzzzzzy! Love her!!!) The admission that “Oh love, it would’ve been ideal” implies that no, she didn’t, but that indie pop-timism (I’ll see myself out) creates a wrapped towel of sunburnt nostalgia, a photograph bleached in the sun, of a fleeting dance and a fleeting girl.

…AND A BOOK GO WITH IT:

The Monstrous Misses Mai – Van Hoang – “She’s drunk every single day/She’s young most of the time/She’s spent all of the rent on her decline…”

“Sheela-Na-Gig” – PJ Harvey

It’s always fascinating to look at songs that seem ostensibly quite feminist, but had none of that intention behind them. Take “Army of Me,” a song that I’ve always interpreted as being about feminine resistance, but was more about Björk trying to get her lazy brother to get up and do something with his life. The lyrics are quite self-empowered, easily interpreted as women breaking free from male-ordered subservience. The feminist leanings are there, but it’s only a sliver of the truth. Do I still feel empowered when I listen to it? Of course. But it’s not the whole story.

The same is true of “Sheela-Na-Gig.” The title references a type of Celtic fertility figure, an image of a laughing woman posing with her genitalia bared outwards. As such, the narrator goes through a sort of comedy of errors as she gets rejected over and over after flaunting her sexual qualities to no avail (“Look at these/my childbearing hips”). It’s easy to take it as a kind of internalizing what men want in women, exhibiting it, and then being turned away when it’s not to their standards; there’s an element of slut-shaming in the male figures not wanting the narrator because she’s “unclean.” The chorus of “Gonna wash that man right outta my hair” (interpolated from South Pacific) is empowered, especially after being kicked to the curb so many times by judgmental men. But PJ Harvey never intended it to be feminist song: as she told Melody Maker in 1992, “I wanted that sense of humour in the song…being able to laugh at yourself in relationships. There’s some anger there but, for me, it’s a funny song. I wasn’t intending it to be a feminist song or anything. I wanted it to have several sides.” And there is something funny about that—if you’ve been rejected with all of the repetition and swiftness of Wile E. Coyote falling off a cliff, all you can do is look back and laugh.

It is a sort of death of the author situation; “Sheela-Na-Gig” hasn’t necessarily been lauded as some feminist anthem (and Harvey said in the same interview above that she didn’t want to be “lumped in” with more forwardly feminist bands), but even a quick glance at any reviews of the song shows that’s how many people tend to take it. In the context of PJ Harvey’s other songs, which are incontestably about misogyny and her struggles as a woman in a male-dominated industry (and world) (see: “50ft Queenie”), “Sheela-Na-Gig” seems to fit into that puzzle. I don’t want to wave that over people’s heads like they interpreted it incorrectly, either—it’s not like I got the aspect on my first listen. (I credit that to Trash Theory.) Personally, I didn’t think all of it was necessarily funny at first, although being as Gen Z as I am, I’ve only heard the phrase “childbearing hips” used sarcastically, so I took that as such. After going through literary theory, I’ve definitely been on the fence-sitting side as far as whether or not to go full death-of-the-author on any given song; the reader’s interpretation does shape the work, but I find it foolish to take it without considering the author’s intent. With “Sheela-Na-Gig,” I think there’s a lot that can be empowering, but what may be most empowering to me is finding the humor in being a woman. The semi-autobiographical narrator swings and misses repeatedly, but doesn’t let any judgement get under her skin. All of the ferocious power chords signal that she’s ready to dust herself off and try again. In the present moment, the narrator hasn’t yet learned, but the fact that PJ Harvey has looked back and learned herself seems more the point to me: having the self-awareness to feel bad for your past self, but be able to laugh at their mistakes. There’s power in being able to look back and laugh instead of wallow in sorrow—when you’re a woman, it’s all you can do sometimes. It may not necessarily be feminist, but it sure is a part of life.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Shit Cassandra Saw – Gwen E. Kirby – chronicling the varied experiences of women with wry humor—and honesty.

“Ate the Moon” – Tunde Adebimpe

It’s been almost a month since Thee Black Boltz came out, and the question remains: is this enough to sate us through the dreaded TV on the Radio drought? For the most part, I’d say yes—but it’s a separate, branching effort. Though it proves that Tunde Adebimpe was the beating heart of the band, he’s more than formidable on his own, minus Dave Sitek’s production and piled on with more synths. Though it’s not without its misses, Thee Black Boltz feels like Adebimpe stretching his fingers out in all different directions, but never stretching them beyond what makes me come back to TV on the Radio so often.

With a central theme of overwhelm during times of crisis and searching for light—creativity—amidst the choking smog, Adebimpe turns to synths and more danceable beats (see: “Somebody New,” a bolder, dancier gamble that mostly paid off in spite of the autotune) in order to pull through. “Ate the Moon” is about that overwhelm, if the title doesn’t already clue you in. Swallowed by anxious spiraling and visions of horror, the narrator scrambles for answers, but finds only regret: an echoing, childlike voice proclaims after the “the man who ate the moon” chorus that “and he choked, of course, because he bit off more than he could chew. Such a dummy!” “Dummy” echoes and is pitched down as it fades out, distorted into a trickster baring a triumphant, toothy grin as it disappears into the darkness like the Cheshire Cat. “Ate the Moon” certainly has some of what I think the albums pitfalls are: the lyricism is on the simpler, more obvious side. Not inherently a drawback, but after something as rawly and artfully written as “Tonight,” it feels cheap for him to rhyme “fire” and “desire” for the millionth time. It’s like Jeff Tweedy using someone being “cool enough to be ice cream” as a metaphor after being such an unparalleled poet otherwise. But like “Ice Cream,” it’s easy to love “Ate the Moon.” With the instant hit of Adebimpe’s boxing gloved punch of a voice and the synths and guitars that have been sewn into an electronic gestalt, it’s one of the most unique songs on the album, an adrenaline-pumped trip into the downward spiral of autonomy-less fear.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Death of the Author – Nnedi Okorafor – “Seems I was iII-prepared/For the fall that finds me here/Sad extremes running through my head/Knocked my blues into the red…”

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

Posted in Books

The Bookish Mutant’s Books for AAPI Heritage Month (2025 Edition)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Monday, bibliophiles! I’m not fully back on schedule yet (still in the process of cleaning up my dorm), but I figured I would put out this post for the occasion.

Here in the U.S., May is Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month! Among the many histories that America has been attempting to erase is that of the AAPI (Asian American and Pacific Islander) community, even though they are a critical part of our country’s history. We’re so quick to dismiss the discrimination of Chinese immigrant laborers in the late 1800’s, the Japanese internment camps, and the bigotry faced by South Asian Americans, whether or not they were Muslim, as part of the rampant Islamophobia post-9/11. This history may not be in the spotlight as far as discrimination targets, but just because it’s getting less press doesn’t mean it’s there. Just look at Maggie Tokuda-Hall, who received requests from her publisher to remove specific mentions of racism from the author’s note of her picture book, Love in the Library, which takes place in the Japanese internment camps. (Good on her for not taking the licensing deal. Another reason to love Tokuda-Hall, who appears on this list!) Erasing the horrors of discrimination and racism from our shelves only serves to raise an uneducated, uncritical generation—the opposite of what we need right now.

Looking back on my previous lists, I noticed something. I’ve neglected the PI in AAPI, and that’s a mistake on my part. Books by Pacific Islanders rarely seem to get the spotlight, even during AAPI Heritage month, but that still doesn’t excuse me overlooking that part of the acronym—and the world. This is the first year that I actually do have a few great recommendations from Pacific Islander authors, but please let me know if you have any more recommendations! I’m on the lookout.

For my past lists, click below: 

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR AAPI HERITAGE MONTH (2025 EDITION)

FANTASY:

FICTION:

SCIENCE FICTION:

NONFICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of the books on this list, and if so, what did you think of them? What are some of your favorite books by AAPI authors?

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Monthly Wrap-Ups

March/April Wrap-Up🪻

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Thursday, bibliophiles!

Here’s my favorite flower emoji. Pick it if you like—it’s for everyone to enjoy, but it’s not real, no damage done! Keep it for the road:🪻

You’ve probably noticed by now that I’ve gone into my finals hibernation. The only reason I’m popping on right now is because this post is mostly pre-written, so I’ll probably be radio silent for another week or so. March and April have been topsy-turvy—despite the veil of illusion that is the internet, I’m always on the verge of freaking out about the news. I’ve had my fair share of spirals. I repeat to myself: I do what I can. I can freak out, but I can never give in to fear. Easier said than done, but I’m trying here. I’m donating when I can. I’m getting the word out. And when I actually have the time, I’m keeping up with reading diversely and reviewing intersectionally. The sun is out, the weather is warmer, and I am trying to soak up as much of it as I can.

Today’s my last official day of my junior year of college. I’ve got finals ahead, but I’ve got the humanities blessing of having no in-person finals, just papers to turn in. They’re all longer than I’d care to write, but thankfully they’re all about things I enjoy. I’ve done a lot of writing about science fiction, especially cozy sci-fi and how it’s a counter to sci-fi convention of how everything has to have the universe at stake. It’s worth it to tell stories where, to take Kurt Vonnegut at his most literally, all the characters want is just a glass of water. Quiet stories of kindness are not naïve—they teach us to dream about worlds where everything around us is kinder.

As I look back on junior year, I see a fishbowl with pebbles strewn across the floor, but the goldfish flopped back into what was left and did its very best to thrive. I took on a hefty workload while juggling a metric ton of anxiety, and it’s been an uphill battle to stay mindful and stay present. But I am learning. I’m getting better. I really think I can see clear signs that I’ve gotten better this semester. Sure, I had the workload, but I was able to, y’know, get out and realize that there are people and places beyond my bed and that the voices in my head are full of shit. I stepped out of my comfort zone…within bounds. I expanded the zone, shall we say. I went to some new restaurants and got a tad more social. Most of all, I tried to embody the joy that I don’t see in the word around me. I know there are plenty of lazy people using “joy as an act of resistance” as an excuse to do absolutely nothing to counteract the hellscape around us, but it’s true. When people are unironically saying things like “the sin of empathy” and not even stopping to think about what the hell they’ve just said, being joyful and showing those in power that you won’t bend to their tactics is as powerful as any protest. So keep on finding and being the joy.

Today, I group-hugged some friends of mine after class. Two of them are graduating seniors, and today was their last ever day in undergrad. In an attempt to adjust my position, I ended up jostled to the center of the hug. It embodied the feeling that I hope to give to myself and others: being surrounded by love on all sides. Junior year’s out the window. Onto better things Thursday.

Let’s begin, shall we?

MARCH READING WRAP-UP:

I read 13 books in March! I focused mainly on books by women for Women’s History Month. I also got into a major sci-fi stint (they never go away, every other reading mood just happens in between them), and read some new greats by familiar authors!

2 – 2.75 stars:

A Children’s Bible

3 – 3.75 stars:

All Systems Red

4 – 4.75 stars:

Bowling with Corpses & Other Strange Tales from Lands Unknown

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH – The Last Gifts of the Universe – 4.75 stars, rounded up to 5

The Last Gifts of the Universe

REVIEWS:

BONUS:

SUNDAY SONGS:

APRIL READING WRAP-UP:

I read 16 books in April! Trust me, I have genuinely no clue how that managed to happen. “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,” or something? We’ll see if I can actually keep up the momentum. Either way, April was a mixed bag—some absolute hard-hitters, but also my very first DNF of the year. (Sorry, The Phoenix Keeper. I just feel like there’s millions of better ways to describe the pale white MC than having skin like “gossamer.” With all of the mythical creatures, I was starting to think that she was one too, given that word choice…)

1 – 1.75 stars:

The Phoenix Keeper

2 – 2.75 stars:

The Queer Girl Is Going to Be Okay

3 – 3.75 stars:

Roll for Love

4 – 4.75 stars:

You Sexy Thing

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH: The River Has Roots – 4.5 stars

The River Has Roots

REVIEWS:

SUNDAY SONGS:

Today’s song:

remembered this song out of nowhere yesterday…this song was on a birthday playlist that my dad made for me, and I had it on my new iPod. it’s still kickin’ to this day, somehow. fond memories abound…

That’s it for the second wrap-up of the year! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 4/20/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and happy Easter for those celebrating! 🐣 I hope this week has treated you well.

This week: stories from concerts, songs I heard before concerts, and songs that enticed me because of a cat on the album cover.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 4/20/25

“DOA” – St. Vincent

I’ve got a confession to make. As die-hard of a St. Vincent fan as I am, it took me some time to warm up to this song. I never hated it, but it wasn’t an instant favorite. I haven’t seen Death of a Unicorn yet (though the trailer intrigued me…), but something that always bothers me about songs made for movies and TV is when they obliquely reference either the plot points of the movie or how the characters are feeling. Hot take, but it’s part of why I didn’t care for the original soundtrack of Arcane—it basically did that for most of the character’s conflicts and arcs. (That, and it’s a matter of my music taste. Don’t let that deter you from watching Arcane though, it’s a breathtaking show! Having Im*gine Dr*gons do the theme song was just the worst possible decision they could’ve made. Just skip the intro.) You can make a song subtly extrapolating on a movie’s themes and have it fit naturally! (See: “Strange Love,” “Sticks & Stones”) Hell, she’s done it before with the original songs for her concert-film-turned-thriller The Nowhere Inn! Granted, I haven’t seen the movie, but opening the song with “Right as I had stopped believing in miracles/In comes a unicorn right in front of me” is…right there. So is the unicorn, I guess.

From then on out, “DOA” easily saves itself. It’s an absolute ’80s freakout from start to finish. The synths are so dense and bubbly that St. Vincent’s voice easily drowns in them—it’s like they’re the main vocal, and that kind of chaos, especially towards the latter half, is what makes the song so rich. “DOA” leads me to believe that somewhere, there’s a better, kinder alternate universe where MASSEDUCTION sounded more like this. It strikes the balance that album never got, with lightning-quick synth palpitations duel with Annie Clark’s classic, punchy guitar breakdowns. Piercing yelps cut through the dense, purple fog shrouding the song—again, I haven’t seen Death of a Unicorn, but it certainly brings to mind what I might feel if I was being pursued through the woods by a dubiously carnivorous unicorn. Given the film’s purported balance of campy concepts and dark execution, “DOA” is the perfect merging of the two aesthetics.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Catherine House – Elisabeth Thomas – a similarly out-of-time feel, as well as dabbling with strange, magical substances.

“Skully” – Jawdropped

No way, I’d never listen to a band just because I saw a picture of them where one member had a Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space shirt. Me? Nah, never. I’m a woman of taste…it was the album cover and the shirt that convinced me to at least listen.

I heard of Jawdropped by way of Stereogum; they reviewed the first singles off of their forthcoming debut (!!) EP, Just Fantasy, and I figured I might as well give it a go. Thankfully, they’ve got more to them than just a cute sphinx on their album cover and one guy with a Spiritualized shirt! I keep coming back to “Skully,” the opening track, which is about as propulsive as an opening track can get. It’s truly one of those songs where they’ve mastered how to make guitars cascade down like an avalanche on the first go, which is something not every band can say for themselves—especially not on a debut EP. Between the instrumental chaos of the chorus, they ease the verse into calm, a beast of burden tugged out of a sprint, in order to let the harmonies of Roman Zangari and Kyra Morling take the spotlight. But it’s that colossal cascade that makes “Skully” so excited; they don’t strike me as particularly similar to Spiritualized (this may be a bit too loud for shoegaze), but Jawdropped has a similar quality of encasing the listener in a fizzling, crackling bubble of sound. For all of 2:48, you’re cocooned on a moment’s notice—and it’s a cocoon worth revisiting time after time.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Ones We’re Meant to Find – Joan He – “I wait for you like a dog/Anxiously pacing/But you’re here when things fall apart/It’s just your nature/ We’re always stuck at the start…”

“Miss You” – The Rolling Stones

If I just put this song on in the background, I can ignore the cringy, “hip” lyric videos that The Rolling Stones started putting out after their newest album. I can’t stand that soulless, faux-graffiti/DIY aesthetic…I just can’t separate them from how painfully hard they’re trying to stay relevant to The Kids™️…

Anyways. We’ll pretend it’s 1978 and Official Lyric Videos For the Youth won’t be a thing for many decades to come. Like “Crooked Teeth,” “Miss You” was one of those songs where I’d have that opening riff (not the lyrics, this time) ping-ponging around in my head. It lingered in the fog of my childhood, but too far to discern anything clear. So thank you to the instagram for The Laughing Goat (and Rita) for making me remember it after however many years it was! And then, mere days afterwards, they played this song, amongst several other seventies rockers (see: “I Saw the Light”). “Miss You” was going to reach me either way. Some Girls seems to have come at the time when the Stones had cemented that sleaze was part of their brand, and subsequently became said sleaze. Despite “I guess I’m lying to myself/It’s just you and no one else,” it’s a song that lies squarely in the kind of horniness that defined them throughout the late ’60s and the ’70s. Even if he’s denying them, the way he croons the line about the “Puerto Rican girls that’s dying to meetchoo” betrays the partying and sex that later became as much a part of him as the press originally made them out to be when pinning them against the goody-two-shoes (citation needed) Beatles. There’s a Lou Reed-like drawl to the way he turns to a half-whisper as he speaks of stalking Central Park in the dead of night like some kind of werewolf, yet it couldn’t be more Jagger; the bluesy, “hoo hoo hoo-ooh hoo-ooh ooh” refrain almost becomes an abated, wolfish howl against this backdrop, roiling with angst.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Final Revival of Opal & Nev – Dawnie Walton – I try to refrain from talking about this book whenever I mention something from the ’70s, but this kind of bluesy rock fits in with the scene that it describes.

“Lindy-Lou” – The 6ths

Back to The 6ths after last week, I’m dipping my toes into Hyacinths and Thistles, Stephin Merritt’s 2000 follow-up to Wasp’s Nests, and slightly less of a tongue twister, if you say it slowly enough. (Maybe?) In contrast, there’s still some of the same synth-pop love songs, other than…the last track being nearly a half-hour long? Not sure if I know what’s going on there, and as much as I love Merritt, I’m not sure I want to know. In contrast to the ’90s indie-rock guest list, we’ve got everybody from Melanie (sadly, kind of a miss) to Gary Numan (wild pick, but great)—Merritt had his feelers out everywhere, to varying degrees of success. From the few songs I’ve sampled, “Lindy-Lou” was one of the undoubted hits, sung by Miho Hatori, one of the founding members of Cibo Matto, but best known to me as the original voice of Noodle from Gorillaz. As with Anna Domino and Mary Timony for you, she lends her tender vocals to a song gleaming with dreamy-eyed innocence. Accompanied only by keyboard, this seems to stare wistfully from a balcony as the wind toys with its hair, Amelie-style. It’s never cloying in its sweetness, but it’s so soft and intimate, the musical equivalent of a sweatered shoulder to lean on.

BONUS: somehow, I had no idea this existed beforehand, which is crazy, considering how much Car Seat Headrest has been a part of my life…back in 2013, in the car seat headrest-recording days, Will Toledo covered this song!

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Infinity Particle – Wendy Xu – quiet, tender love between a student and a lonely android.

“Family and Genus” – Shakey Graves

I’ve now seen Shakey Graves…2.5 times. I don’t fully count the second time, as it was at a crowded festival and I had no way of seeing him, so my mom and I listened to him at a safe distance behind the wall of drunk people. I amended it this time by shouldering my way up to the front row for round 3, as Shakey Graves is touring for the tenth anniversary of And the War Came! Other than the two drunk people who tried to get me to give up my seat (one even offered me $100), this show fully made up for not being able to see him last time. Shakey Graves, seen unobstructed for the first time since 2023!

What struck me at this show in particular was how genuine he is as a songwriter. So many artists in the folk and country-adjacent genre put on this kind of persona of being a wanderer with no permanent home, forever married to the road and dismissive of being bound to any one location. Alejandro Rose-Garcia has fully leaned into this persona (see: “Built to Roam”). Yet he’s the only one I’ve seen who makes it genuine. He’s roamed his fair share, but he’s never dismissive of the journey or the people who helped him along the way. Throughout the show, he paid tribute to friends and enemies throughout his life, his wife and newborn daughter, and for “Family and Genus,” raised a toast to family and friends that make the roaming easier—and more interesting. He’s a troubadour storyteller, but he never tells a lie. I keep coming back to how genius “Family and Genus” is—even as one of his most popular songs (I’m sure the Elementary TV spot helped), the craft is so intricate and lovingly stitched—just as the relationships he penned this as an ode to. Where the studio version’s “ohs” on the chorus sound like a choir of trickster ghosts, he imbues every raw ounce of love into them, turning it into a raucous crowd-pleaser that makes you feel that family, the sinew and atoms binding us together. And his rapid-fire fingerpicking on his guitar never ceases to amaze me—the fact that Rose-Garcia has barely gotten his flowers as the masterful guitarist that he is remains a disservice to his ingenuity. Hearing the echo of hundreds of voices around me, a handful I have the treasure and pleasure of calling family (minus said obnoxious drunk people), and countless others that I’ve never seen again after that night, solidified his statement of purpose.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Hammajang Luck – Makana Yamamoto – “If I ever wander on by/Could, could you/Flag me down and beg me to/Drop what I’m doing and sit beside you?”

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!