Tag: Blur

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 6/16/24

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles!

First off: happy Father’s Day to my incredible dad! Not only are you such a wonderful role model for being a genuinely kind, accepting, and truly empathetic person, you’ve given me the gift of sharing musicβ€”what these posts are all about. To be able to share music with you back brings me all the joy in the world. I love you.

This week: 🚨SOCCER MOMMY HAS COME TO SAVE THE SECOND HALF OF 2024, THIS IS NOT A DRILL🚨

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 6/16/24

“Lost” – Soccer Mommy

SOCCER MOMMY RETURNS!!! Given the short tour (that’s nowhere near me……..no, I’m totally not mad, no way) that she’s currently embarking on to support some of this new material, there’s a fourth album (sixth, counting the self-released albums) on the horizon, and hopefully on a happier date. Poor thing. I still haven’t gotten over the fact that her last album, Sometimes, Forever, was unintentionally released on the day that Roe v. Wade was overturned. Jesus.

Something that I’ve admired over the years about Soccer Mommy is her willingness to experiment with her production. At their core, her songs have never changed their essence: honest, tender confessions of the trials of heartbreak, grief, and mental health. But the dressing is never the same twice, from color theory’s color-coded tonal shifts and synth-dusted melodies to the darker, more distorted soundscape of Sometimes, Forever. With the latter, Chelsea Wolfe wasn’t somebody that I’d readily compare to Soccer Mommy, but then she comes along with “Unholy Affliction,” and the comparison, at least on that track, is as clear as day. Just when you think she’s playing it safe, she comes out of nowhere with instrumentation that you’d never imagine attributed to her nameβ€”and almost every time, it still feels like nothing but Sophie Allison. There’s a boldness to her that’s rare in the genre; there is an expectation of sameness in the kind of indie circles she’s in, an expectation to box yourself into the image that the record label deems as “authentic” in order to stay in their good gracesβ€”and the good graces of fans who cling to their raw lyrics. Julien Baker, although her first two albums adhered to that, took a similar leap with Little Oblivions, and that, for me, was her best album to date.

But Soccer Mommy can’t help but be herself. “Lost” strays nearer to some of her sparer, more traditionally indie roots, but with production that feels spun from silk; inside of the glowing cocoon where Allison resides, threads of synth, birdsong, and yearning strings coalesce in what can only be described as the musical form of a grainy polaroid, a sunset tinged with ink, film, and bygone memories. Bygone memories, like much of her other material, is at the core of “Lost,” specifically bygone memories of those bygone. Given the trajectory of “yellow is the color of her eyes,” some have speculated that “Lost” is about her mother’s death, although Allison has chosen to not disclose the subject. whatever the case, I’m glad that Soccer Mommy doesn’t have the kind of rabid Swiftie fanbase that would relentlessly strip away at the press and at Allison herself to get to the bottom of who she’s mourning, because…that’s her own business, dammit. I’m glad us…whatever Soccer Mommy fans are called (does this fanbase have a name?) have the heart to give a human being space to breathe, because, judging from the lyrics (and all of color theory, frankly), Allison needs it. “Lost” distills grief in the truths of the cliche that every movie seems to repeat about grief: “I wish I’d had more time.” Most media leans on that universal kernel to hold the weight of such a complex, unmappable sensation, but Allison scratches at its heart; her grief rests not just in tangible objects, but in the reminders of the time never spent: “I’ve got a way/Of keeping her with me where I go/But how she feels, I’ll never know/It’s lost to me.” The pain of this track is in the insurmountable truth of never being able to fully know a person; of course you can never fully, truly know a person beyond yourself, but grief exacerbates that unsurmountable summitβ€”even if you tell yourself that you could be a cartographer of a brain outside your own, that chance has all but slipped through your fingers. Grief has unrealistic expectations of you; in its throes, it tells you that you could have made up for all of the missed regrets in your lifetime, and that’s half of the knife in your gut. Half of the pain isn’t what didn’t happen, but what can’t happen, even in the alternate reality it presents. When she repeats “If I had another chance/I’d ask her then,” it doesn’t feel like a throwaway from a stale funeral in the MCUβ€”it feels like the testimony of something still putting down the compass and fountain pen, knowing that this expedition was doomed from the start.

So, what, you ask, might us sad girls do while we wait for Soccer Mommy’s fourth LP, which will inevitably destroy us? Watch Allison and fellow storied sad girl Phoebe Bridgers unite to cover Elliott Smith:

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Only This Beautiful Moment – Abdi Nazemian – breaching generational lines to form an understanding of heritage, sexuality, and family.

“Drinking Song” – Haley Heynderickx

Contrary to the song title, Haley Heynderickx is (probably) not responsible for the kind of song that old men will sing in a pub while drunk for generations to come. I mean, that could be a possibility in some alternate universe. I’d like to see that. It’d make for an odd movie sceneβ€”nothing about this universe has changed, but instead of old Irish ballads, there’s a pub full of swaying people singing late-2010’s indie rock.

With a title like “Drinking Song,” I fully expected this song to be the prequel to “Oom Sha La La,” a telling of the period where “The milk [was] sour/I’ve barely been to college/And I’ve been doubtful/Of all that I have dreamed of.” Contrary to that, “Drinking Song” is a soft-spoken but resolute declaration of hope, delivered out a summer window while the crickets sing. Any darkness is the shroud of night, and all of the stars seem to bear witness to a constitution of better days to come: “And the edge of the world makes it seem/That everyone gone is still singing the same song/And I can believe in these things/That everyone’s singing along/The good and the bad and the gone.” There’s a kind of childlike optimism to the openness of Heynderickx’s declaration, but one with roots strong enough to hold it; with each repetition of “there’s a light at the end that I know,” that glow, like The Great Gatsby’s green light, pulses with more intensity with each incantation, until it becomes a portal to better times. It’s the opposite of negative overthinking; this song overflows with future vignettes of new cities to explore and new lovers to embrace, all held within the space of the back of your mind. “Drinking Song” is a snow globe containing every good futureβ€”all is too small to comprehend in the here and now, but with a little luck, you can hold them in your hands and watch them unfold before you.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Sea Change – Gina Chung – holding onto hope in a time of lovelessness and isolation.

“Bad Form” – Ganser

I like plenty of bands and artists whose catalogue consists of one or two songs tops (see: Wet Leg, Suki Waterhouse, etc.). What distinguishes said bands, for me, is that they’ve made a career out of making those two songs worth your timeβ€”they may only be two songs, but they play them well. Sure, “I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams” may be one of Weezer’s one, maybe two songs (and even that’s generous), but it’s such a bright and shining piece of machinery that you can’t help but gaze at said one song and know that, yeah, it may be the same song they’ve been peddling since 1994, but it’s one fantastic song.

The more I listen to Ganser, the more I realize that they fall into that camp. I hate to say that every time, but like I said, it’s not always an insult. Although they do have a good amount of deviation here and there, most of Just Look At That Sky, as much as I enjoyed it, is the same three off-kilter, drawled post-punk songs about being numb, exhausted, and angry, or some combination of the three. They’ve got a brand. Ganser, for me, stands out in that their three songs sound different enough from any given song that you can excuse them for relative lack of variety. None of their chords ever align pleasantlyβ€”it’s abrasive, grating, and honestly? Fun. As with “People Watching” (which I reviewed at the beginning of the month), Ganser makes the kind of punk that’s aware of how punk it sounds, and they lean into every inch of theatricality with their bleary-eyed drawls and itchy, buzz-saw guitar riffs, fuzzy and stinging like staring straight at the sunβ€”just as like the climax of “Bad Form.” Ganser is a band that’s not afraid to make music that scratches your skin like un-filed, bitten nails, and if that’s their three songs, then three cheers for making three songs that are bold enough to sound unappealing.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Ten Low (The Facts Sequence, #1) – Stark Holborn – “I’m the other man/I’ll take the medicine/The room spins like a feather/Folding over and over…”

“Transatlanticism” – Death Cab for Cutie

I was first introduced to “Transatlanticism” when I was about 12 or 13. A few months after the first listen (and being irreparably entranced), I had an internship at a local flower shop, where the owner had Sirius XMU playing. This song came on at some point, and I’ll never forget the deeply concerned look she gave me when I told her, in the most 13-year-old way possible, how much I “loooooooooooved” this song. She was entirely justified.

Another thing that music criticism does that I’ve never understood: categorizing Death Cab for Cutie as emo. If I suspend my disbelief enough, I can see the basis being in the whine in Ben Gibbard’s voice, especially when he performs live, and the dramatic emotion is there, but…in what world does Death Cab for Cutie belong in the same breath as My Chemical Romance? Really? I could almost see them being the middle ground between emo and indie, with some of the lingering whine and drama, but the key with selling drama is what has always lost me with most emo music: it actually feels authentic. Never once does Gibbard sound like a suburban teenage boy who’s just discovered heartbreak and black eyeliner in one fell swoop. The whine, although it can fit into some of said teenage boy sensibilities (see: “We Looked Like Giants”), just seems more of a product of Gibbard’s natural range than it does a forced vehicle for airbrushed angst.

In theory, “Transatlanticism” fails my test of withstanding a long song; most of the time, in order for a long song to hold enough water past around the six minute mark, there has to be at least some sort of shift, whether that’s tonal, lyrical, or instrumental; it’s why “Cop Shoot Cop” by Spiritualized really feels like it’s over 17 minutes long, with its largely extended sleepwalk of monotony, whereas Nina Simone’s ten minute epic “Sinnerman” has the fervor and gusto, as well as an act structure similar to classical pieces, is a nail-biting journey that never lets go of your shirt collar. (To be fair to J. Spaceman, my guess is that the tedium is the intended effect, seeing as it’s about how his heroin addiction all but made him into a dead man walking. Knowing him, it’s fully intentional.) However, there’s songs like Blur’s “Tender”β€”nearly eight minutes long and without much changeβ€”that have the pure, undiluted heart to keep its sails billowing. You feel everythingβ€”it’s an IV drip straight through to the sparest, most instinctual emotions, heart-wrenching in its delicately-crafted simplicity. “Transatlanticism” takes a trick out of that same book; until the last third, all that accompanies Gibbard’s thinning, tender lament is about four piano chords, played over and over with a purposeful negative space between them. Come to think of it, negative space is exactly why “Transatlanticism” works so well. Transatlanticism as a whole is a concept album about long-distance relationships, and even without the lyrics, crushing as they are, you can sense the abyssal gulf cutting down the middle of this song. At the four-minute mark, after Gibbard has finished with the first repetition of “I need you so much closer,” a full minute passes of a single, instrumental strain: those same four chords, a spare guitar lick, and tiny tendrils of synth that faintly moan and rattle like dying machinery, as if trying to conceal their death rattles without bothering anyone. Transatlancism was aided with Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategies cards, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they drew the same cards that produced Bowie’s “Sense of Doubt”β€””emphasize difference” and “try to make everything as similar as possible.”

The difference, in this case, is a shift in lyrical style; It’s all but silent compared to the lyrics in the first half, but that silence conveys the feeling of separation, of having a strand of your soul stretched across an ocean and not being able to see who’s on the other shore, just as heartbreakingly as words do. After Gibbard’s lament (“The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door/Have been silenced forevermore/The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row/It seems farther than ever before”), the exhaustion of sorrow leaves you with no strength to do anything but stare into the canyon wrought by distance, too far to even touch fingertips over. Simplicity is what kills me about this song; after that instrumental break, Gibbard repeats the “I need you so much closer” refrain, only to transform it to “I need you so much closer…so come on.” When all of the poetry’s drained, sometimes the most sparing lyricism destroys me. The ocean has spread its impossible distance before you, and all you can do is stare as far as you can, towards the bottom, with only the most baseline instincts of longing to keep you company. It’s such an artful buildup and approach to portraying such deep yearningβ€”you feel that negative space as a tangible barrier. See what I mean about Death Cab for Cutie making their angst authentic? “Transatlanticism” hits me like a goddamn steam train every time without fail. Ow, dude, who kidnapped me and abandoned me in the onion-cutting factory?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Aurora’s End (The Aurora Cycle, #3) – Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff – ow oof ow ouchie ow ow ow somebody hold me

“Country Sad Ballad Man” – Blur

And now, “Song 3.”

Blur’s self-titled album [slides Anthony Fantano glasses up bridge of nose] is an exercise in becoming the very thing you swore to destroy. After years of being right smack in the middle of the spotlight, participating in a manufactured battle of the bands, and pushing their mutual abuse of multiple substances to the edge, the band collectively decided that a change needed to be made. They packed their bags, temporarily relocated to Iceland, and hammered out a new album. The result was Blur, which had a much dingier, edgier, and altogether harder sound, with a lead single that famously parodied grunge, but then…circled around to being a smash success and an enduring stadium classic. That’s another story. (I’ll give you a hint: wooooooooohoo!) Yet, as much as they poked fun at American grunge, in all of its nihilistic, self-deprecating time in the sun, they slipped straight into the lifestyle, shedding their Britpop gloss for aggressive, alternative guitar, stubble, and, to the detriment of the whole band, excessive abuse of alcohol and heroin (see: “Beetlebum”).

Though the drug use is lamentable (to say the least), as all of the band members now agree, it was their mutual exhaustion and anger at being put through the British media meat grinder that allowed for such a hardβ€”and deliciousβ€”left turn. On the verge of snapping, the band decided to put Parklife behind them and get grungy. It was bound to happen eventually, what with Graham Coxon’s adoration for the American alternative scene and the guitar sounds they were producing (should’ve listened to him earlier on that one…). Blur is all but absent of a bad track, crashing with the equivalent of a drum set tossed through a window one minute (“Chinese Bombs”) and slipping into acoustic melancholia in the next (“You’re So Great”). But “Country Sad Ballad Man,” for me, is a highlight I find myself sniffing out every six months or so. With one of the drier and more self-explanatory titles, this track feels like food left to rot out in a heatwave, festering and twangy. Every other lyric finds Damon Albarn stretching his voice into a creaky, scratching highs, as though mocking his own state of lying squarely at rock-bottom: “I haven’t felt my legs/Since the summer/And I don’t call my friends/Forgot their numbers.” The strings on Alex James’ upright bass come loose and unsteady, as though a few more takes of this song would’ve seen them snap off and collapse on the floor. Graham Coxon relishes in the alternative aggression that Britpop never fully allowed for, twisting riffs that seem to languish like drooping eyelids, dripping sweat and numbness. But the real freakout, one that must have been canned and compressed for ages, explodes in a vomit of wobbly distortion and screeching falsetto. It’s a vertigo-inducing outro that caves in like the mold-rotted roof of a wooden house, shattering in a hail of splinters and nails. In all of its spring-plucking chaos, there’s really no other lyric that fits it than Albarn’s self-aggrandizing, high-pitched screech of “I’ve done and fucked it!” yelled straight up from the well of rock bottom.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

So Lucky – Nicola Griffith – “Yeah, I found nowhere/It got to know me…”

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 Monthly Wrap-Ups

May 2024 Wrap-Up βŒ¨οΈ

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Friday, bibliophiles!

Finally summer! Finally, more time to read…and most of what I’ve read this month has been good, I’d say.

Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

Save for the first week of the month, May has been the first month where I’ve been able to relax somewhat! Finals were over and I’d moved out of my dorm before I knew it. Straight A’s and finally being free of my STEM requirements isn’t too shabby, I’d say! I’m so proud of what I’ve accomplished this yearβ€”and I’m so glad that I can have some downtime. And I’ve made good use of it so farβ€”May has been my best month in terms of amount of books read (although the quality of…some of said books is another story), and I’ve definitely benefitted from the time spent reading! I’ve also been trying to focus more on art this summer, and consciously taking a slice out of each day to draw has been an adventure so far. I had a solid week where I had three or four blog posts all on the back burner simultaneously, so I unintentionally made a loose schedule for blogging every day as well, so I’m getting some writing in while I recover from writing two short stories and a 20,000 word novella all in one semester. I’ve also been pruning my Goodreads TBR…I’ve managed to cut it down from around 770 to around 720, so I’d say that’s been a success?

Other than that, I’ve just been cleaning things out of the dorm and bringing them back to my house, sleeping, watching Abbott Elementary (THEY FINALLY DID IT!!! THEY FINALLY LET THEM KISS!!!), Taskmaster, and Hacks (we love Jean Smart in this house), and relishing in the warm weather and the beginning of summer. I feel like every time I’m in the car with my family, I just pass the hills and feel the need to comment on how much I love that shade of green that summertime brings. But it’s so beautiful. Every single time. It never gets old. Thank you, shades of summer green.

READING AND BLOGGING:

I read 19 books this month! I’ve been oscillating between both ends of the spectrum this month, for sureβ€”I read one of the worst books I’ve read this year, but also two of the very best. Somehow, it’s pretty evenly split as far as ratings go when I’ve lined them all up that way, but it’s been up and down all month, but on a track towards betterment midway through. I focused on AAPI books for May, and I found some fantastic books as a result from both familiar and new-to-me authors!

1 – 1.75 stars:

Dear Wendy

2 – 2.75 stars:

The Emperor and the Endless Palace

3 – 3.75 stars:

Camp Zero

4 – 4.75 stars:

This Book Won’t Burn

5 stars:

The Travelling Cat Chronicles

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH – Squire – 5 stars

POSTS I’M PROUD OF:

POSTS FROM OTHER WONDERFUL PEOPLE THAT I ENJOYED:

SONGS/ALBUMS I’VE BEEN ENJOYING:

strong contender for album of the year!!!
why did I put off listening to this album for so long??
affirmations: I have listened to this song a healthy amount of times
this show was…insane?? idk if I’m built for punk shows but IDLES knocked it out of the park
lovely new album!!
got hooked on this band after seeing them open for IDLES!! fantastic stuff
such a wonderful album!!

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 5/19/24

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

This week: in addition to my blue and black/white/gray periods, it’s become increasingly obvious that I also have a green period. On another note, food processors are great!

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 5/19/24

“Advert” – Blur

The restraint I displayed by not blowing through Blur’s entire discography back in the last half of 2021 is restraint that I have yet to parallel, so it’s only now, almost three years after the initial Blur Breakdown, that I’ve gotten around to Modern Life is Rubbish (if there was ever a more British title). I did sort of sully it with the experience of listening to it while crawling under my bed while trying to exorcise the last of the dust bunnies from my dorm (and getting caught on the rain), but that’s all meβ€”this is the first Blur album where they started to feel like themselves.

I’d never thought of Modern Life is Rubbish, Parklife, and The Great Escape (the final Blur album to surmount) as a trilogy until Trash Theory described it as suchβ€”from my understanding, this is what cemented their reputation as the foremost clever spectators of British life in the ’90s, peering out of every windowsill with a snappy remark about the passersby. Modern Life feels like Parklife just before it morphed into the masterpiece it would later beβ€”all of the pieces were there, and all that was needed was to make it larger than life. The melted shoegaze of Leisure was hanging on by a thread (it’s much more evident in the special editionβ€”see: “Peach”), and they’d shifted from staring off into the distance, bleary-eyed and exhausted, into taking out that exhaustion on whatever they saw fit. Straight off of the heels of the triumphant “For Tomorrow,” “Advert” opens with a soundbite from the commercial you’ve just heard (“Food processors are great!”) before launching into what feels like the genesis of Graham Coxon’s signature assault of pounding guitars that practically demand every crowd to jump up and down. This relentless guitar work feels like witnessing the larval stage of “Jubilee,” crashing and bouncing with unending abandon. And this kind of guitar that threatens to consume the track is perfect for the endless consumerism that “Advert” comments onβ€”commercials everywhere, a flood of inescapable offers leeching off of the dissatisfaction of the ordinary man: “You need a holiday somewhere in the sun/With all the people who are waiting/There never seems to be one.” This consumerism leads to even more dissatisfaction, which leads to more consumerism to quell said dissatisfaction, which leads to…ah, capitalism. What could possibly go wrong?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Early Riser – Jasper Fforde – consumerism: the perfect diversion from an oppressive, unlivable winter!

“Abbey” – Mitski

LUSH, Mitski’s first album, was made for an end-of-year project when she was a junior in college; there’s an unverifiable TikTok rumor going around that she got a C on it, which, given the traction of the Mitski fandom, is just going to become an urban legend at this point. So it goes.

Either way, it’s both remarkable and understandable that she wrote all of these songs and had them produced while she was still in college. Remarkable, because just from “Abbey,” she clearly had the nascent talent for wringing emotion out like ice-cold water from a towel from a young age, and understandable, because sometimes being alone and sleepless in your dorm on the very first night of college brings out that flood of inner darkness. Leave it to TikTok to leave out the best part of the song for whatever trend it latched itself to; the slow, chanting a cappella that gained traction feels like a prayer to a void growing within your chest, a litany of acknowledgment to that which you want to reach, but cannot touch. As an instrument, Mitski’s voice, unaccompanied until halfway through the song, is a haunting, flitting machine, the slow peak and valley of a heart monitor. But once the digitized drums sweep through, it feels as though the sky has opened up. This prayer has transformed from a whisper into the confession box into a plea bellowed to the heavens. “Abbey” chronicles a search for the soul, a ravenous hunger that cannot be sated that lies just out of reach: “There is a light, I feel it in me/But only, it seems, when the dark surrounds me/There is a dream and it sleeps in me/To awake in the night, crying, ‘Set me free’/And I awake every night, crying, ‘Set me free.'” Hoowheee. God. Makes me want to travel back in time just to give her a hug, but it seems like she’s now far removed from that time in her life, emotionally: she described the version of herself that wrote the album as being “long gone,” so I can only hope that she’s been able to fill her heart, as much as the music industry has kept her from doing so.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Hell Followed With Us – Andrew Joseph White – a void within that only becomes hungrier the more it grows.

“Side By Side” – Crumb

AMAMA, which came out on the 17th, wasn’t at the top of my most anticipated albums of the year, but after only one listen, it’s cemented itself as one of the most exciting ones so far. It’s a side of Crumb that hasn’t been let loose until now, one that, instead of gently dribbling like age-old water from the precipice of a glacier, skitters around on the smallest legs, darting this way and that like a frightened millipede. The whole album feels like watching a bunch of beetles hopped up on sugar water run a race: their iridescent shells catch the light as they crawl about, scaling walls instead of the tiny racetrack and occasionally clambering over each other to get ahead. No wonder they named a whole song “The Bug”β€”I need the instrumentals of AMAMA just so that somebody can use them for a documentary about insects.

AMAMA‘s three openersβ€”“From Outside A Window Sill,” this song, and “The Bug”β€”are its strongest links, and although the album never falters, these three shine the brightest. “Side By Side” ricochets with an energy that I never would have expected from the likes of Crumb; both the drum machine and the actual drummer are working overtime to create a scampering beat that frantically bounces like a honeybee trapped under a plastic cup. It’s a song that yearns to go, go, go, and go it doesβ€”the swirl of rapid-fire synth beats are unpredictable in their flight path, so much so that I feel a jittery, sugary rush just listening to it. For me, the most fascinating part of this change in speed for Crumb is how easily Lila Ramani’s voice adapts to the change; it’s not like I thought she couldn’t sing more quickly, but her voice only slightly seemed to change speed along with the music. Her voice is permanently trapped in a slurry of amber, unaffected by time or spaceβ€”I feel like her vocals, no matter the speed, would mesh with any tempo. It retains that syrupy calm that made the rest of Crumb’s catalogue so soothing and laid-backβ€”a quality that feels suspended in a space beyond time.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

A Half-Built Garden – Ruthanna Emrys – skittering with life and energy (and some insectoid and arachnid aliens).

“Lusitania” (feat. St. Vincent) – Andrew Bird

It took me how long to find out that Andrew Bird had recorded a song with St. Vincent? I’m surprised that 12-year-old me didn’t find this drifting around somewhere, but to be fair, St. Vincent’s name isn’t listed on the official track.

In 2024, Andrew Bird and St. Vincent do seem like an odd couple; since 2012, Clark’s style has morphed so many times that it’s difficult to imagine her stylistically even going near Bird’s songbird-whistling, violin-dominated alternative folk. It makes sense that this was probably recorded sometime in 2011β€”post-Strange Mercy, but before the last dregs of Actor and Marry Me were out of her system. She’s still never been fully folk, but the intersection of the Venn diagram of her early style and Bird’s is wider than I thought it would be. With her guitar playing mostly absent, what shines in “Lusitania” is her voice; you can tell in the first half that she’s been quieted in post-production or that she’s holding back on completely dominating the track. “Lusitania” makes me miss those artsier sensibilities of 2008-2010 St. Vincent, the delicate turns of phrase and the more feathery clarion calls her voice twisted into. Just like that, I’ve got another song in my hypothetical playlist of songs where artists sing certain phrases in a way that scratches all the itches in my brain: in this case, her singing of “there’s no shame” at 2:44. Her warble seems to chain-link with Bird’s in a way that produces its own chord, something more than a harmony that feels like a tuning fork struck at my heart.

But why don’t I talk about Andrew Bird, though, since…y’know, he’s the one who made the bulk of this song, anyway? Totally unlike me to go on about St. Vincent…completely uncharacteristic. (I have not changed a bit since middle school.) The instrumentation doesn’t stand out to me on this one as much, save for the rising cymbals that nearly swallow both Bird and Clark’s voices. But it’s clearly to make way for the lyricsβ€”a clever string of World War I metaphors, presumably about a relationship where one party suffers volley after volley of abuse, while the other doesn’t even think to recognize that their behavior is harmful: “If your loose and libel lips/Keep sinking all my ships/Then you’re the one who sank my Lusitania/But somehow it don’t register as pain at all.” As far as ship metaphors go, the Titanic has likely been used one too many times, but the Lusitania feels especially potent on several fronts. The use of such a large passenger ship (and its sinking) drives home the metaphor of weathering emotional abuse until it drowns you. What’s more effective still about the Lusitania was its eventual role in the First World War; since a significant number of its passengers were Americans, the sinking of the Lusitania by a German U-Boat was part of what pushed public opinion towards entering the war on the side of the British in 1917. Just like the boiling public outrage of the American public, the Lusitania was the straw that broke the camel’s back, an event so explosive that there could be no other option than to break away, no matter how many casualties it cost. “You laid mines along the shore” feels like the last gasp of this deeply harmful relationship, the claws that scored scars down the narrators back as they squirmed free of their bloodied grasp.

I really should have seen this collaboration coming, not because of my middle school obsession, but also because it slipped my mind that it wasn’t the first time. Here they are in 2009 performing “What Me Worry?” (15:51) and “Black Rainbow” (21:09).

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Fireheart Tiger – Aliette De Bodard – “If your loose and libel lips/Keep sinking all my ships/Then you’re the one who sank my Lusitania/But somehow it don’t register as pain at all…”

“The Mainline Song” – Spiritualized

How I’ve never covered Spiritualized on Sunday Songs is genuinely beyond me. I did sort of discuss them when I talked about “Monster Love” last June, but that was more of a remix than anything. They’ve been in my top 5 artists of all time for at least 4 years now, but I suppose I blew through most of their catalogue before I started writing these posts. Mark my words, “Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space” is always on in the background of everything else I’m listening to.

Everything Was Beautiful, which came out around two years ago, was some of J. Spaceman’s best work to date; at the time it came out, I remember describing it as Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space but happy. Insane concept, I know…when was the last time you saw J. Spaceman and happiness in the same room together? Hardly ever, up until maybe 2017, right? Jesus. This poor man has to be the dictionary definition of “going through it.” Which is why the “happy Ladies And Gentlemen” hit me so deeplyβ€”all of the heroin, heartbreak, and near-death experiences have begun to fade away from his newer music, but the explosive, immersive creativity remains the sameβ€”you can really tell that these positive changes in his life have really begun to take root. And I am so glad. This man has been on the brink of death not once but twice. He doesn’t just deserve it: he needs it.

Like Ladies And Gentlemen, Everything Was Beautiful is always at the back of my mind, usually in the form of the uproariously celebratory “Always Together With You” and the nearly 10-minute long, haunting and cinematic closer “I’m Coming Home Again.” “The Mainline Song” lands on the side of euphoria, and thank god that it’s not heroin-induced this time (as much as “She Kissed Me (It Felt Like a Hit)” slaps). J. Spaceman’s immeasurable talent lies in how quickly he can not just create an atmosphere, but how he can create one that consumes so instantly. It’s not a building wave that darkens you with shadows before swallowing you whole: a more apt comparison would be falling into the core of a star, instant immersion with stardust sounds and white-hot flares roaring all around you. Every song is a universe contained in a spare amount of minutes. However, even if I did cast aside the part about there not being a build before the immersion, the buildup to “The Mainline Song” may just be its main draw. The build itself is part of the universe; J. Spaceman doesn’t even start singing until the halfway point, letting the song construct itself from fragments of stardust and train tracks as it swirls into being. It’s a song patched from the breeze of night, the kind you only find when sticking your head out of a car window, breathless and ecstatic. It’s a sprint through the streets as city lights blink like so many stars. It’s the wind parting your hair as you run to catch the bus, panting as you stumble inside with a fit of laughter. As many songs as there are about this kind of adventuring, none of them quite capture the hopeful feeling of “The Mainline Song.” No feeling necessitates J. Spaceman’s magical universe creation moreβ€”the swirl of horns, choir, and machinery bottle the feeling in all of its rapid euphoria, as blurry as the world passing by from the window of a train. Like nothing else, “The Mainline Song” captures the look you share with your friend as you reach a silent agreement to leave everything else and run. The destination isn’t what matters: it’s the breathless thrill of love.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

A Scatter of Light – Malinda Lo – warmth, adventures in the city, and an unforgettable summer.

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 (5/7/24) – Off With Their Heads

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! I’ve returned from finals hell!

I’ve been a massive fan of Zoe Hana Mikuta ever since I fell in love with her Gearbreakers duology a few years back. Off With Her Heads is her most recent novel, having just come out in late April, and even though I would’ve read it no matter what genre it was in, the idea of her writing a novel loosely based on Alice in Wonderland intrigued meβ€”and it did not disappoint.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Off With Their Heads – Zoe Hana Mikuta

Wonderland is full of monsters.

After a deadly plague ravaged the land, most of the remaining witches and magic-users have transformed into monstrous Saints: bloated, bloodthirsty beasts that scour the land looking for fresh meat. Carousel Rabbit and Iccadora Alice Sickle were brought up in a world of predators and plague, orphaned at a young age and eventually escaping their decrepit orphanage together, madly in love with each other. But their obsession tore them apart, and their paths diverged.

Now, Caro has become the Red Queen’s royal butcher, killing Saints and watching as the Queen stitches together Saints of her own through dark, flesh-binding magic. Alice has been on her own for years, slaughtering Saints to get by. With every Saint that she kills, she treads closer and closer to the Red Queen’s throneβ€”and to Caro, who Alice will stop at nothing to bring down to size. But what she finds in the Red Queen’s palace may be even greater of a threat than the love that once tore her to shreds…

TW/CW: loss of loved ones (past), murder, graphic violence, body horror, disease, blood, gore

Dark fairytale (or fairytale-adjacent) books used to be everywhere on the YA landscape. It’s the kind of stuff I ate up from about ages 12 to 16, to various degrees of quality. What they had in common, however, were universally horrible covers. God. They’ve circled back around to being hilarious now, but you could just snag any book off of the YA fantasy shelf at Barnes & Noble, and it would have a cover with an airbrushed white girl with flowy hair and an equally flowy gown either spinning gracefully or fixing your stare with a photoshopped smolder. And the gown was usually melting into…I don’t know, feathers or blood or some shit. It was all very emo. Since then, this subgenre has slowly begun to die down in popularity (or maybe not? My tastes have probably just shifted). Whether or not Off With Their Heads is the slow beginning of that subgenre’s resurgence in YA remains to be seen, but either way, I’m glad that we’ve got much prettier covers for the next generation of budding YA readers. It’s what they deserve. (Give it up for Tran Nguyen’s gorgeous cover art!)

After the Gearbreakers duology, I figured that I would read just about anything that Zoe Hana Mikuta writes. Even if Godslayers was a bit of a lackluster series concluder, it was still a fun read. Even if it isn’t her best work, you’re going to have a good time reading it regardless. Gearbreakers got a fair bit grim, as dystopias are wont to do, but Off With Their Heads is the darkest that Mikuta has ever gone (so much so that it almost borders on new adult and not YA), and she writes it with a unique talent. Whether or not the urge was pent-up, this novel revels in the “dark” of the “dark fairytale retelling,” drenching Alice in Wonderland in bloodlust, obsession, and backstabbing. However, what a lot of the dark fairytales of yesteryear interpreted darkness as was just being edgy; most everything was for shock value and appealing to the “what if this fairytale was………BAD and EVIL” urge that ropes in all the 13-year-olds and it didn’t go far beyond that. But this genuinely feels like horror, and not being an edgelord for edginess’ sake. It’s gory, it’s grim, and it’s bloody, but more in the interest of horror than shockβ€”these characters are surviving a truly horrific world, and it turns them into horrific people for understandable reasons. There’s a distinction to be made there, and Mikuta certainly recognized it. (Also, it’s worth noting that Off With Their Heads is unflinchingly queer, which, given that most of said older fairytale retellings only added in queerness when it was a side character that would inevitably die, is a vast improvement. The bar is low, but it’s noteworthy that it’s being exceeded nonetheless. Let’s go, lesbians!)

I’ve seen a lot of reviews call Caro and Alice “morally gray,” and…I have some thoughts. I almost see it. Almost. But if they were gray, it would be an incredibly dark gray, if anything. Maybe they were morally gray at the beginning, but by the time we get to the present timeline, they’ve both become such awful people that they’re nearly indistinguishable from the one evil person that they’re respectively allured by (Caro) and disgusted by (Alice)β€”the Red Queen. To paraphrase Obi-Wan Kenobi (hey, I missed my chance on May 4th), they’ve both become the very thing they swore to destroy. They’re both just despicable people, but their differences are written in such a way that their different breeds of horridness play off of each other fascinatingly; Caro’s become this world’s version of a class traitor and idolizes the pinnacle of evil, while Alice has become so consumed with revenge that she’ll justify just about anything. Add in the fact that the root of their personal vendettas lie in their past romantic relationship, and you’ve got a dynamic that was delicious to pick apart for all 400+ pages of the novel. Again, it all makes sense for the truly cutthroat circumstances they were brought up inβ€”they’re products of their surroundings, in the worst possible way.

Even as someone who doesn’t engage with a ton of horror media in general, I know that the key to executing it is making the suspense feel real, especially if the threats in your world are entirely fictional and alien to the audience. Mikuta had a multitude of ways that kept the suspense palpable, and all of them hooked me over the course of the novel. I’m not sure why it is that the “There are [x] remaining Saints” count excited me so much at the beginning of each chapter, but it was a failsafe way to keep track of both the danger and the kill count of the various charactersβ€”the tangible effects of the butchering they’re described as doing. Having those numbers up front also provided a sense of scale; in the present timeline, the Saints numbered in the thousands, giving an idea of just how dangerous being in Wonderland truly isβ€”you can’t go for a walk in the woods without encountering a bloated, bloodthirsty, and quite possibly engineered monstrosity on the prowl for flesh. It’s a constant dangerβ€”and Mikuta make it feel much more dangerous just by having a chapter subheading.

However, what brought down some of my suspension of disbelief was the worldbuilding. Clearly, there was attention to detail, but only in the ways that Mikuta saw fit. There were tidbits here and there that I wished were expanded onβ€”I loved the concept of the original Alice dreaming being this world’s creation myth, but we never got anything more out of that past the prologue. Outside of things like the Saints and the royal lineage, the worldbuilding was rather messy. I get that Off Their Heads is a very loose retelling at bestβ€”just using Alice and Wonderland and its characters as a jumping-off point for the settingβ€”but there were so many convoluted and contradictory bits that I wasn’t completely invested. It’s mentioned that there’s a Jabberwocky court amongst the gentry of Wonderland who are described as humanoid, and yet the girls find a Jabberwocky in the woods described monstrously that has clear intention to kill them. Either that was a poorly-described Saint, or there’s some inconsistencies that need to be addressed. The reworking of Alice in Wonderland-related names into the characters were also a bit sloppy and corny; I get that there’s got to be some signal to the source material, but they were often so obvious, and barely related to the original character that they just made me cringe. I expected more from Mikuta on this frontβ€”slapping on character names just to remind the reader that, yes, this is a retelling, doesn’t seem like her style. I almost think it would have worked better if all of the Alice in Wonderland pretense was stripped away and made into a dystopian fantasy world.

Overall, an unflinchingly horrific retelling that displays Mikuta’s love and talent for suspense and obsessive sapphicsβ€”but her pitfalls in worldbuilding. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!

Off With Their Heads is a standalone, but Zoe Hana Mikuta is also the author of the Gearbreakers duology (Gearbreakers and Godslayers), and an untitled novel slated for release in 2025.

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: 1/21/24

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

The fact that all of January’s color schemes have been somewhat dreary is a complete coincidence, but it fits with all the dead foliage, snow, and misery outside. One of the suckiest months, without a doubt. But this week is more fun, at least: throwbacks of all kinds, British Invasion remnants, and my 6th grade hyperfixations coming back to haunt me.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 1/21/24

“Rattlesnake” – St. Vincent

Last week, I was overcome by the urge to re-listen to several of my favorite albums. The urge was mostly just me going through Hunky Dory and part of Aladdin Sane on David Bowie’s birthday (happy 77th, wherever you are on Mars), but I decided to put off the first new-to-me album until I got back to school. (More on that next week.) So, for the first time since…oh, probably middle school, I listened to St. Vincent’s self-titled album in fullβ€”my third favorite album of all time, only beaten out by OK Computer and Hunky Dory in my book. I have no doubt that I’d give it the same praise had it not been this way, but St. Vincent is just one of those albums that’s been such an unmistakable part of my life that it’s practically embedded in my genetic material. I played this album into oblivion back in middle school, and it’s impossible to pull out a single memory I have tied to it, since it’s painted the landscape of the time when I was 11 to when I was about 13 so distinctly. Car rides, plane trips, afternoons clutching my iPodβ€”Annie Clark was always there. Somehow, I also used to be able to listen to music while playing minecraft, and that album (along with Hunky Dory) was the soundtrack to many a sloppy house dug into the side of a hill. But now, after so many years of growth, this album remains as truly glorious as my younger self thought it was. Not a single hair out of place, and not a single note that isn’t pumped with energy and fervor. Every soaring, jerking guitar solo still sends me into the stratosphere, and every bloody-lipped turn of phrase never fails to light up my brain. There’s just a sheer power that shakes the earth with every song; even in the quieter moments, you can’t help but be hypnotized by the chrome world that Clark created. The robed, silver-haired persona that Clark took on during this era was self-described as a “near-future cult leader,” and I’ve always liked that aspect, but I can’t help but fully understand now. I usually think I’m a levelheaded person, but I’d join that cult, no questions asked. This brand of exhilarating power puts me under a spell every single time. It’s still crazy to me that there were a whopping five bonus tracks beyond the initial 11. They must’ve had to physically restrain her from creating the most masterful pieces of music and throwing them all on the album on the first go. We weren’t ready.

Way back in 2014, “Rattlesnake” was the first song off of this album that captured me. (“Birth in Reverse” came soon after, and for some reason, it took me longer to grow on “Digital Witness,” but now I adore it to death as much as the others.) At this point, I’d gone all the way into clinging onto St. Vincent’s music like a leech. For this song in particular, it was in no small part due to the fact that it clicked into my middle school WondLa hyperfixation perfectly (see below), and at age 12, there was no higher praise that I could give a song, however abysmally I misinterpreted it. There have been many such songs over the years, but for once, my analysis of this one wasn’t all badβ€”the comparison still works. “Rattlesnake,” like its namesake, is prickly all over; from the opening synths to the burning, angular guitar riff towards the end, which was apparently so intense that she sliced her finger while recording it in the studio. It’s jagged like lightningβ€”if you could touch this song, it would snap back at you with a jolt of electricity. And as Annie Clark recounts an autobiographical experience of a “commune with nature” in the middle of the desert, her breathless verses brim with beads of sweat and uncertainty as she turns tail: “Running, running, running, rattle behind me/Running, running, running, no one will find me.” In between the heatstroked repetitions, Clark hides one of the many golden lines on this album: “I see the snake holes dotted in the sand/As if Seurat painted the Rio Grande.” God, if that isn’t a stellar image. Like a feral cat, “Rattlesnake” brims with fear and flexing claws, skittish and ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move. It’s a song that palpably crackles with unbridled energy, unleashed from desperation and the desert heat.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Search for WondLa – Tony DiTerlizzi – low-hanging fruit here (for me, at least), but for once, 6th grade me was onto something. It’s hard to find a song that fits this book better than the progression from “Am I the only one/In the only world?” to “I’m not the only one/In the only world.” (Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah, ah.) Healing my inner middle schooler.

“You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” – The Beatles

I’ve always wondered what the Help! album cover is supposed to meanβ€”if I squinted, I thought they were spelling out the letters to “help” (Paul’s pose does look a bit like an L, but none of the others look like the right letters…); as it turns out, Robert Freeman, the photographer for the album cover, originally intended for them make the positions for spelling out “H-E-L-P” in flag semaphore, but he scrapped the idea since he thought that the Fab Four were distinctive enough no matter what pose they were striking, so he just had them…spell out gibberish in flag semaphore. The more you know.

Everything written about the versatility of the Beatles can’t be understated, but the more I listen to some of their earlier music, it’s clear that the kind of wild creativity that defined them was already gestating before they started getting into their more experimental period. Even if this is more of a tribute to Bob Dylan’s highly influential style than anything, they’ve still managed to make it so unmistakable Beatles. It’s one thing to be able to create a nice, downtempo folk tune with some scattered flutes and tambourine here and there, but even in such early days, the rhythm of “You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away” is so salient that you can’t help but be bobbed by it like a bottle floating over the sea. The whole song has the sway of a flimsy wooden boat on the ocean, gently pitched up and down by the waves with every strum of the guitar. John Lennon’s wavering, raspy inflections are jutting and precise in all the strangest places, but that’s part of what makes this so memorableβ€”it’d be easy to record a cover of this with a flat voice inflected with enough melancholy to sell it, but there’s an enchanting storyteller’s waver in every word. It’s the kind of song that could draw a crowd through the woodsβ€”added with the image of the four Beatles standing shoulder, I imagine a slowly expanding crowd circling around them as Lennon sings “Gather ’round, all you clowns/Let me hear you say/Hey! You’ve got to hide your love away…”

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Into the Heartless Wood – Joanna Ruth Meyer – “you’ve got to hide your love away” takes it pretty literally, but the both the melancholy folk sway and the uncertain, forbidden romance match this gorgeous modern fairytale.

“Come Lie Down With Me (And Sing My Song)” – Elf Power

We regret to inform you that I’m still riding the Elephant 6 high, even though I haven’t even seen the documentary yet. I’ll get to it eventually.

Unlike bands like the Apples in Stereo and the Olivia Tremor Control, Elf Power’s music usually doesn’t grab me instantaneously; there’s no denying their creativity, but it doesn’t often click with me the way that the other Elephant 6 bands do. Typically, I’ll just like the song, listen to it two or three times, and forget about it. Next to the raucous energy and whimsy of their compatriots, they seem more reserved. Reserved isn’t always a bad thing for me, but with the company they’re in, it seemed like they would have had something brighter to offer. “Come Lie Down With Me (And Sing My Song)” is similarly reserved, but it has an atmosphere that most of the other Elf Power songs I’ve listened to lack. Even if there wasn’t a mention of “rain on the sea,” this song is one of the rainier songs I’ve ever heard, practically the distorted gray of a windowpane streaked with falling rain. The acoustic, folksier approach is steeped in a strange, distant melancholy; the lyrics feel innocent enoughβ€”invitations of love in hidden spacesβ€”but I can’t help but feel a sense of unease lurking in the background. It has the same eery air that a lot of age-old folk standards have, like something passed along during the Great Depression and whispered on the biting wind. It gives me the same lingering unease of a Syd Barrett song, like it wanted to be whimsical and innocent, but couldn’t deny some hidden darkness. And even if I’m not fully on the Elf Power bandwagon, there’s no denying that this feeling is a difficult one to replicate and successfully pull off.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Depths – Nicole Lesperance – rain on the sea, vague discomfort looming large.

“All Nerve” – The Breeders

It’s always fascinating to see the exact ways that a talented singer’s voice changes as they age. The inevitable deepening, and often thickening, that comes for everybody, but just like how each of our voices are unique, each voice changes uniquely. There’s David Bowie’s voice expanding its horizons, deepening like an incomprehensible chasm until it began to quiver at the edges, the soft, sonorous rumble that’s slowly crept into Damon Albarn’s voice as he’s reached middle age, and the whispering rasp that laces the edge of Kate Bush’s voice in her most recent recordings.

For Kim Deal, it’s like some sort of invisible bottom has opened up, making her voice thicken like firm cake batter after a good round of stirring with a spatula. It feels strangely compressed, like most of the airiness has been squeezed out, leaving the back of the throat emotion to clamber through the crawlspace that’s been left behind. But what age never left behind for any of the Breeders was the youthful, reckless spirit that seems to have defined them. This could’ve easily been written back in the ’90s and been an alternative hit, but it works just as well as it worked six years ago. Age has not dulled the spitfire sensibilities of their songwritingβ€””All Nerve,” as both the title and the album suggest, is just as sparking and feral as much of their other catalogue. The stripped down instrumentation, mostly just bass, sparingly plucked guitar, and faint drums that linger at the corners of your eardrums, make the lust and desperation all the more lusty and desperate. The bare-bones feel of it all, for the first minute or so, at least, add to the feeling of gathering up all you have leftβ€”be it physical belongings or strengthβ€”to race across whatever wasteland lies ahead to see “you/Especially you.” And it’s just like the Breeders to add the song’s repeated sucker-punch of “I won’t stop” just as the guitars come crashing down like rocks on the highway.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Skyhunter – Marie Lu – desperate love in wartime, the feral kind with bloodied steel wings.

“Sunny Afternoon” – The Kinks

Not to bring it back to Britpop, but I’m bringing it back to Britpop. The oft-quoted difference between Blur and Oasis was that Oasis aimed to be the next Beatles (which…even if their music was any good, that would still be presumptuous), but Blur was more interested in delving into the quirkier side of the British Invasion era, namely the Kinks. And even though I’ve been hearing The Kinks in the car from a young age, the more I listen to them, the more I realize just how much Blur gleaned from their lyrical style. The minute I heard “Sunny Afternoon,” I just realized that this was “Country House” before “Country House” was a thing. Chronologically, I guess it’d be the “Country House” sequel after the character’s dissatisfaction blows up and he loses everything. Also fits with “Charmless Man” quite well.

Setting aside my recent habit of listening to music with even the briefest mention of sunshine to get myself through the January doldrums, there’s such a unique texture to “Sunny Afternoon” that pervades in so many of the artists that they influenced, Blur included. There’s a lingering taste of the hottest days of the year, squinting your eyes through the sunlight as the warmth bakes your skin. Maybe a lingering taste of lemonade, something sweet…I guess an ice cold beer, in this case, but overshadowing the summer sweetness is the knowledge that this is all that the narrator has left, now that “The taxman’s taken all my dough/and left me in my stately home.” It’s not full melancholy, but a sarcastic imitation of it that’s only there to humor the narratorβ€”enough to hammer in the point that…yeah, whoever this dude is, he probably had it coming, even if he did lose everything. Yeah, “All I’ve got’s this sunny afternoon,” but I suspect that whatever your (ex) girlfriend told her parents about that “drunkenness and cruelty” wasn’t entirely baseless. The whole song is just “awww, you poor baby, you can’t sail your yacht? Go cry about it.” “Sunny Afternoon” has a sly sort of playfulness, the kind that makes you imagine the narrator imagined as a cartoon character, moping onscreen as you pass The Kinks themselves. (The camera would pan over to Ray Davies, who’d do some kind of silly, exaggerated frown as this rich dude slips on a banana peel, or something.) And amidst all this, you’ve got some of the prettiest harmonies I’ve heard on a Kinks song in the chorusβ€””Lazing on a sunny afternoon” sounds like it’s misting away like droplets of water coming out of a sprinkler, gently dissolving in the heat.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Chosen and the Beautiful – Nghi Vo – usually, most of the books here are ones that I’ve enjoyed, but sometimes, there’s no denying the way a book and a song pair, even if you didn’t enjoy the book. This one wasn’t my favorite, but it’s a retelling of The Great Gatsby, so you can see where the “dissatisfied rich people losing everything” thread comes in.

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

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 1/14/24

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

I…whoops, well, I forgot to mention this last week, but I’ve been writing Sunday Songs for a year now! This experience has given me a ton of room to learn about both myself and how I write about music (lesson #1: I should not write these posts in a single day), but I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have been. And I think the book pairings make it more fun, so I hope you’re all getting something out of them as well.

TRIGGER WARNING: one of these songs addresses abortion, so if you find this triggering, skip through the section on “Bellyache.”

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 1/14/24

“The Girl Who Fell to Earth” – Gaz Coombes

To begin this post: shoutout to a) musician parents who create the most beautiful pieces of music in honor of their children (David Bowie set an unattainable precedent for that kind of thing, as he regularly did, but it doesn’t negate everything else), and b) parents who wholeheartedly support their neurodivergent children. The latter is a low bar, but you’d be surprised at how many people don’t reach it. So thank you firstly to my wonderful parents, and also thank you to Gaz Coombes.

I’m in the opinion that Gaz Coombes is severely under-appreciated; I’m guessing a lot of people mostly remember him from Supergrass, and what they remember of Supergrass is “Alright,” which, of course. It’s a fantastic song. (Also proof that the Clueless soundtrack was nothing but bangers.) But there was so much creativity and joy that was branded into the rest of Supergrass’ career, and that extended far beyond to Coombes’ more recent solo career. I’m still newish to it, but even from a handful of songs heard over the course of a decade or so, it’s clear that he just cannot stop making incredible songs, whether it’s a one-off covers album with fellow Supergrass bandmate Danny Goffey (maybe all that creativity was reserved for the music, because…man, there’s something weirdly uncomfortable about naming your band the Hotrats…) or the solo albums he’s steadily been putting out since the early 2010’s. They aren’t all hits, but when Coombes hits it just right, it feels like a call to arms, even if it’s lyrically different. There’s always a chugging, purely rock rush, an instantly swelling gravitas he brings to his best works, whether its the echoing call of “Long Live the Strange” or the instantly palpable urgency of “Detroit.”

“The Girl Who Fell to Earth” captured in my heart like the latter two songs, but not necessarily in the same way. There’s no assault of rushing guitars and choir on this one, and that’s not what it needs. It’s much quieter, and deeply tender that hit a note that I wasn’t expecting it to hit when I saw the title and my lizard brain went “oooooh ehehehehe space” and clicked on it on a whim. It scratches a highly specific, primal itch that not a lot of songs manage well. It’s one thing to make a song about being an outsider and making a song that caters to outsidersβ€”I eat those up regularly, mark my words. But songs about loving an outsiderβ€”giving them care and appreciating them in spite of what others see as flawsβ€”claw into my heart more deeply that I’d care to admit. No, it’s fine. I’ll admit it. I am not only deeply weird and proud of it, but also deeply sentimental. I walked into this song like Wile E. Coyote walking straight off a cliff, hovering in midair, and then dropping to the unfathomable, unforgiving depths below, only to come up with a comically large bruise on my head. (“Oh, look! There’s a large triangle of Swiss cheese in the vicinity! Surely there will be no strings attached…wait, where’d the sun goβ€””) There’s a reason I played “Beautiful Freak” by Eels into oblivion when I was in middle school. I wasn’t subtle. (Neither was my habit of watching Hellboy II: The Golden Army about once a month.) As much as later middle school me tried to fashion myself as somebody who wasn’t reliant on anybody (it was easier to do that when I had mostly shitty friends), I feel like a fundamental part of being an outsider is wanting to see yourself elsewhereβ€”enough that it doesn’t become mainstream again, but enough to know that you’re not alone in this incomprehensible mess of a world that wasn’t made for us. I was a softie at heart, and that has never changed. It doesn’t matter what kind of love it isβ€”we do want to be loved, in the end, somehow. And it’s made even more precious when you grow up and think that the world will never love you back. Every kind of love can be applied to this song, similarly to “Beautiful Freak”β€”it’s a universal arm around the shoulder to anyone who has ever felt othered, a clarion of warm acceptance towards the complexities of being on the fringes. (This song was apparently featured in a show called Modern Love, so they seem to have taken it the romantic way.) But knowing that Gaz Coombes wrote this about his autistic daughter makes the tenderness in my heart balloon even more than the initial emotion of that first listen. It gives me hope, to say the least, that there are people out there who are wholeheartedly accepting neurodivergent children in a world that still highly stigmatizes autism, among other conditions. Not that I ever thought that Gaz Coombes was horrible before this, but I respect him so much more not just because “The Girl Who Fell To Earth” exists, but also that he’s giving his daughter the childhood she deserves.

To all the girls who fell to Earth: you’re not alone.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron, #1) – Ashley Poston – off topic, but it’s crazy to see how much Ashley Poston has taken off in the past few years! This will always be my favorite book of hers, but I’m so glad to see that she’s finally getting the acclaim she deserves.

Some sort of sci-fi romance was always going to be the pairing for this song, but the minute I heard “warrior child”…yup. Step right up.

“Rocket’s Tail” – Kate Bush

If you told me to guess the artist of a song that’s unexpectedly emotionally soul-vibrating but was literally just inspired by a cat, I’d immediately guess that Kate Bush had made it. She doesn’t always hit it for me, but when she does, I just about collapse. Of course she just saw her cat being a silly little creature and decided to squeeze the most primal emotion out of it. Just for kicks and giggles, y’know?

Just like she made the grooviest song about getting transformed into a kite against your will (at age 19, no less), she somehow got one of the only (mostly) a capella songs that makes me really feel things from “I’ve got a cat named Rocket and he’s cute lol,” basically. Like most of her songs, what’s on the surface isn’t necessarily what matters; it would have been 100% on brand for her to intentionally write a song about strapping a canister of gunpowder to your back and becoming one with the rocket, but what Rocket the cat apparently inspired her was the fleeting joy in spontaneityβ€”to her, ”there’s nothing wrong with being right here at this moment, and just enjoying this moment to its absolute fullest, and if that’s it, that’s ok, you know. And it’s kind of using the idea of a rocket that’s so exciting for maybe 3 seconds and then it’s gone.” That alone would have made for an excellent song, but there’s nothing like the chorus that opens the songβ€”the harrowing, wavering harmonies of Trio Bulgaria, for whom Kate Bush partially wrote the song to showcase their voices, transport me back to some early, Pleistocene state. I feel like I’ve been summoned to hoist up my spear and join my clan to take down a mammoth, or something. Bush just generates that effect with many of her harmoniesβ€”the songs that I love most of hers are the ones that tap into the urge to drop everything, grow my hair long, and sprint through the woods in a flowing, white dress. (see: not to be That Pretentious Music Person, but my favorite song of hers, the B-Side “Burning Bridge.”) The harmonies she concocts, whether or not it’s her singing, are incredibly effective on that front. I would’ve bought into all of this song if it was all that it was, but of course, Kate Bush, being Kate Bush, knew that the only thing better than “Rocket’s Tail” was “Rocket’s Tail” with the most glorious guitar solo kicking in right at the moment the rocket launches. Performed by Dave Gilmour, no less. That’s how you make a song.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Deep Sky – Yume Kitasei – the pure, emotional resonance of “Rocket’s Tail” lends itself to this songβ€”can’t you imagine this song playing between vignettes of Asuka’s crisis on Earth and the launch into space?

“Bellyache” – Echobelly

Ever since my Blur Breakdownℒ️ back in mid-2021, I’ve been grasping at all of the Britpop I can get my hands on. (Well…not all the Britpop. Not to be That Blur Fanℒ️, but every Oasis song I’ve hear just make me seethingly angry. Also, I can’t shake the gut feeling that both Noel and Liam Gallagher look like they’d call me every applicable slur without hesitation.) Granted, Blur has mostly dominated my extended Britpop Breakdownℒ️, but I’ve dabbled in a fair bit of Pulp (probably concerning how many times I listened to “TV Movie” back in 2022) and Suede, and I’ve been neck-deep in Supergrass and Super Furry Animals since I was old enough to comprehend music as a concept. Part of what most agree defined the genre was social commentaryβ€”specifically on British life, as the name suggests, but for at least until it became more of a tabloid battle of the bands mess, that was the foundation that albums like Parklife (AAAAAAAAAAAALL THE PEOPLE) and songs like “Common People” (I haven’t seen Saltburn yet but I’ve heard about the Pulp joke…genius) were built upon. But even though said commentary was appropriately potent and often as clever as can be, there’s only so much you can do with it in a genre that was fronted by mostly white men. I’ve yet to get into the more women-fronted faces of Britpop (Elastica and Sleeper and such), but Echobelly caught my eye not just because it was women-fronted; again, in a sea of mostly white men, here was a band fronted by Indian-born Sonya Madan, and featuring Debbie Smithβ€”a Black womanβ€”as one of the band’s guitarists.

And even from the sparse handful of songs I’ve sampled from them, it’s already clear that Madan succeeded in her mission to highlight the areas of social commentary and topics that not just Britpop, but much of mainstream music in general, rarely shed light on. Not only that, but many of them weren’t just lyrically clever, but clever enough that they’re not immediately evident on the first listen. A first go-around at “Bellyache” seems like something about a relationship gone sourβ€”the chorus’ repetition of “What do I care/what do I care now that it’s over” could easily point in that direction. Much of the instrumentation points to that kind of embittered biteβ€”the clean guitars are undeniable, but all cloaked in a layer of scratchiness and grime that makes it feel as grainy and obscured as the background of Everyone’s Got One (an album title that was partially created to make the acronym “E.G.O.”). But Madan specifically wrote this song about a friend getting an abortionβ€”the lyrics hit me right in the face the minute that I found that out, but it speaks to Madan’s songwriting ability; not only was this a pretty taboo subject to address at the time, especially as one of EGO‘s lead singles, but it transformed such a deeply traumatic experience into something that could fly under the radar when needed, but still retained the emotional weight needed to address it. Just because it’s not immediately evident doesn’t mean that it doesn’t portray the trauma of both Madan and her anonymous friend. It’s obvious that there’s no easy way to write about this subject, but personally, Madan’s method is as tactful a way that I can think of.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

I’m Thinking of Ending Things – Iain Reid – although the trauma itself is different from the song, this novel crafts a similar sense of unease and discomfortβ€”and addresses trauma in a similarly clever way.

“Beehive” – Mark Lanegan Band

This is the last song I’d pick for a coming of age movie, but I just have such a vivid memory attached to it from when I was in middle school. I was with all the girls in my class at a friend’s house before the graduation dance, at the end of 7th grade. We were all having snacks in her backyard. It was probably mid-May, warm with the promise of summer. And I was on her swing set, swinging as high as I could, and all that was going through my head was this song. Not a firecracker summer yet, but pretty close. The manicured grass was damp and glowing with the light of the afternoon fading into evening. Middle school as it was, everything felt greener.

Even though “Beehive” has been coming back to me in waves since that moment when I was 13, I’d never seen the music video until then. I almost wish I hadn’t seen it, since the image that I have in my head of it is so clear; it feels like there should be gray walls in a dilapidated house, blinds being rattled in the wind from freezing wind, household objects flying like a tornado around a crouching, shadowed figure, and speakers crackling with lightning, like the song says. Basically like this scene from Legion. But the trailer park vampire couple fits in their own way. Let’s hope that they get back home before the sun comes up. Stay safe, y’all.

Somehow, I’ve mostly appreciated Mark Lanegan through his solo workβ€”I distantly know about his work with the Screaming Trees and Queens of the Stone Age, but most of what I hold closest is from more recent albums like this. I always think of how strange it is that I felt the sadness that I did when he passed back in 2022β€”in the grand scheme of things, I really only know a handful of his songs, and yet the ones I do know have etched themselves so distinctly in the musical map of my lifetime, even in the most fleeting of memories (see also: “Carnival”). They weren’t necessarily the kind that helped me through dark times or lifted me up in the bright ones, but they were just so clear that they were uniquely there, like the kind of painting you see at an art museum that hangs itself up in your brain the minute you lay eyes on it. (It was also late February when I heard the news, freezing and slushy, and we were driving home from the airport, so part of the miserable air can probably be attributed to Februaryℒ️ and the sensory hell of the Denver Airport. Neither are pleasant.) “Beehive” just has such a specific atmosphere to it that I can’t attach to any other song. Even if the background of the minimalist Gargoyle album art wasn’t that shade of light gray, it would instantly call to mind that roiling, warmish shade of gray of the sky brewing up a storm above a beach with churning waves carving fingerprints onto the shore. I remember it like I remember being in Boca Grande some years back, watching storm clouds churn into themselves above the graying ocean through the window of a hotel room. Lanegan’s gravelly, raw-throated rasp buzzes just like the bee’s nest in his head, making the imagery of “lightning coming out of the speaker” and “press[ing] my body against the window/In an electric storm” uncommonly vivid in my head. It’s a song worth dragging your chair up to listen to, no matter your experience with Mark Lanegan.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Ones We’re Meant to Find – Joan He – not a lot of songs have the combination of sounding like a summer storm and crackling electricity at the same time. Not a lot of books pull off both either, but this one does.

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” – Arctic Monkeys

I sit at my laptop, pasting the link to this song into this post. I change into a tennis skirt, docs, and a striped top. You suddenly see the world with a slightly grainy filter. You can’t place the color, but something has shifted. Only two words come to mind: “Tumblr” and “aesthetic.”

I leave.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Stars and Smoke – Marie Lu – similar atmosphere of nightlife, late-night calls, and romance.

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

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 11/12/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

11/12/23: another satisfying date where the month and the day add up to the year. Glorious. Savor these days. And to soundtrack those days, why not listen to some nice, orange songs? (Half of which I stole from Wilco’s pre-show playlist, but that’s beside the point).

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 11/12/23

“Saturday Come Slow” – Massive Attack

CONTENT WARNING FOR THE MUSIC VIDEO: most of the music video consists of an interview with a former Guantanamo Bay prisoner recounting the torture and inhumane conditions of the prison, so if this is triggering for you, proceed at your own discretion. That part of the video begins at 3:32.

I’m slowly (no pun intended) getting into Massive Attack, mostly thanks to my brother and my dad. This one is all thanks to my brother, who confessed to us while we were in line for Peter Gabriel last month that he had no idea until then who was singing on the track. His first thought was Gruff Rhys (makes sense), but apparently notβ€”Damon Albarn does the lead vocals for this song.

That was all the convincing I needed to download it. You know me.

I’ve noticed a phenomenon in any later Damon Albarn project (of which there have been two this year) where there’s a point where it ceases to sound like Gorillaz or Blur, and just sounds like Damon Albarn. Gorillaz usually remedies some of this with its rotating cast of guest features, but on something like Blur’s newest album, The Ballad of Darren, there’s very little to distinguish it from his solo work. As I said in my initial thoughts on the album back in July, it’s still good music, but it lacks what makes Blur Blur, even though all the moving parts are present. But how does that flip when Damon Albarn is the feature instead of the one in charge of the features? “Saturday Come Slow” has an aura to it that could only be produced by the likes of Massive Attack; the slow build of it has an unmistakable air of foreboding, as if the Saturday coming slow is a shadow wiggling its too-long fingers over your shoulder. Fitting that Albarn croons about “the limestone caves/in the southwest lands,” imagery that calls to mind barren, sheer things towering over you. It’s a kind of eery creeping that meshes with the howling echo of his voice, but that you don’t quite get with Gorillaz or Blur; Gorillaz can get plenty spooky in a fun way, but they were never meant to be creepyβ€”they’re a pop act at heart, and even though they’ve tread territory that pop hasn’t normally trod on for the 20+ years they’ve been active, it doesn’t have the foreboding build of this song. Blur, on the other hand, got plenty weird and unnerving in their experimental years (see: “Caramel,” “Trailerpark”), but their brand of unnerving came more from the claustrophobic atmosphere of off-kilter samples and synths that built up its cramped exoskeleton. The dread of “Saturday Come Slow” comes from how spacious it feelsβ€”like those limestone caves, that sense of foreboding comes from the primal sense of being surrounded by something larger than yourselfβ€”and being walled in by it, with only the echo of your voice to accompany you.

“Lucinda” – A Certain Ratio

This is the first of two songs this week that I stole from the playlist that played before Wilco’s phenomenal show at the Mission Ballroom back in October. An indicator of a really good show can be found in its playlistβ€”if you keep going back and forth between you and everyone else who came along trying to Siri every song that comes on, then you know it’s gonna be a good show. Same thing happened with when I saw Spiritualized last year. That whole playlist was in heavy rotation for a solid month and a half afterwards. (Lesley Gore and Daniel Johnston: duality of man.)

The first thing that anybody has to notice about the song is the bass. That bass. Sweet Jesus, it’s so good. “Lucinda,” once the chorus kicks in, has not one but two basslines, all working in the thicket, most delicious tandem possible. Jez Kerr leads the charge with a sound that feels thick enough to cut with a butterknifeβ€”it propels the sound to new heights, taking what might have otherwise been a bare-bones, post-punk dance song to something hypnotically head-nodding. The bass might as well be the vocalsβ€”Martha Wilson’s tight vocals are soft and fleeting, but it’s Kerr’s bass that really takes center stage in “Lucinda.” It’s more than a head-nodderβ€”it’s a whole-body-swayer, buttery and enigmatic enough to send waves through your whole system. Thanks, Wilco.

“Hold Em” – Maker

I’m not like other girls…I didn’t find out about this song through Abbott Elementary. I found out about it through my mom, who…found out about it through Abbott Elementary. It’s good stuff. The song and Abbott Elementary, from the laughter I’ve heard from the bedroom whenever she watches it.

Whatever the case, “Hold Em” was destined for theme music from the start. The beat and instrumentation has that kind of meticulous touch to it. Smooth really is the best word to describe it: the groove that persists through this song never wanes, but never feels the need to amp up the intensity. With the persistent but boxed-in drumbeat and the humbly soft bassline, it lulls you into an instant rhythm, but the kind of rhythm understated enough to allow for some freeze-frames and title screens as the opening credits roll through. And yet, it never feels understated: it’s bold. It feels like there’s constant pops of color bursting through your ears. It’s infectious. And that’s what would make it a great theme song: catchy enough to remember, but smooth enough to share the stage with a visual element.

“Move Your Feet” – Junior Senior

I have nothing to say for myself. It slaps. Just Dance 2 and its effects on society.

Look, the original spot for this slot was gonna be “The Day I Tried to Live,” but I figured we’d stave off that depression for a few weeks. I’m going to talk about it eventually (because it’s still a fantastic song), but it’s getting dark at 5pm and I still haven’t adjusted. We don’t need that energy right now. Move your feet. Feel united.

“Swing and Turn Jubilee” (cover) – The A’s

We’ll end on a softer note with the other song that I stole from Wilco, or, at any rate, whoever was behind their playlist. Drastically different than “Lucinda” (and most of this week’s songs), but nonetheless beautiful.

In the style of Kim Deal, The A’s are a side project of a side project; consisting of Amelia Meath and Alexandra Sauser-Monnig, the A’s came about after both of them took breaks from previous bands and solo careersβ€”they both hail from North Carolina and had crossed paths in the music industry, and thus this project came to be. I haven’t listened to any of their work (save for…[checks notes] Sylvan Esso? That Sylvan Esso? The annoying Sirius XMU Sylvan Esso? Can’t be…) outside of this band, but the two of them together made for hauntingly beautiful harmonies. Watching them on their recent Tiny Desk Concert solidifies the image even moreβ€”they’re like charmingly unnerving cartoon characters, with their matching leaf-print dresses, black lipstick, and giant sunglasses. I wouldn’t be surprised if they eventually became those old ladies from Coraline in their latter years.

“Swing and Turn Jubilee” is part of their album Fruit, an album of almost all covers (save for the original song “When I Die”), ranging from cowboy and folk standards to Shelley Duvall (more on the latter in a few weeks, mark my words). Some of the other songs that they performed on Tiny Desk definitely get too into that yodel-ay-hee-hoo, Buster Scruggs a-capella vibe for me, but in any case, there’s no denying the magic that happens when their harmonies collide. “Swing and Turn,” even if I hadn’t first heard it from Wilco, would have been an instant stand-out, if a quiet one; their performance is just their voices, Sauser-Monnig on guitars, and Meath making percussion by tapping her thick-soled sneakers into a basket of stones. Doesn’t get much folkier than that. Most of these kinds of Appalachian folk songs that I hear from movies or from covers (so covered that the original songwriter is lost to time) are the kind that have a kind of desperate, underlying sorrow to them that permeates even the sweetest love song. Living in the bare bones of the U.S. just does that to a person, I guess. But there’s something about this take on “Swing and Turn” that turns the sorrow into tenderness. It doesn’t give me that icky, Dust Bowl malaise; to be fair, most iterations are faster and more upbeat than most other songs of its ilk, but the restrained, slow pace of The A’s take on it fooled me into thinking so. But it’s partly due t how plainly sweet the lyrics are: “Hardest work I’ve ever done/was working on a farm/Easiest work I’ve ever done/was falling into your arms.” The gentle honey of Meath and Sauser-Monnig’s soft harmonies seem to take me in their arms themselves, like I’m being rocked to sleep.

Either way, these kind of modern folk covers are just begging to be put somewhere in either Fargo (NEW SEASON IN A WEEK AND A HALF WHO’S HYPED) or the next Coen Brothers project. If your whole deal is melancholy covers of already melancholy and unnerving folk songs, you’re just asking for it, at that point.

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

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

Posted in Mini Reviews

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

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

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

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

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BIRTHDAY MINI REVIEWS

Verse, Chorus, Monster! – Graham Coxon

from Goodreads:

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

β˜†

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

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

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

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

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

from Goodreads:

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

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

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

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

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

β˜†

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

Hoowhee, brother. This one was good.

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

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

Hold me. I need a minute…

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

A Memory Called Empire – Arkady Martine

from Goodreads:

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

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

β˜†

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

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

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

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

The World of Edena – MΕ“bius

from Goodreads:

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

β˜†

TW/CW: nudity, mild sci-fi action

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

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

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

Firekeeper’s Daughter – Angeline Boulley

from Goodreads:

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

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

β˜†

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

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

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

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

Ammonite – Nicola Griffith

from Goodreads:

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

β˜†

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

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

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

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

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

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

from Goodreads:

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

β˜†

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

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

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

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

Today’s song:

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

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

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 8/13/23

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

Since I’ve been making these Sunday Songs graphics for just over a year and writing about them for about half that time, I’ve noticed that there’s inevitably at least one light blue week per month. Different shades of blue, but there’s always at least one, and it’s always pale. Like this one. Or this one? Either way, here’s the court-ordered blue period for August. Bon appetit.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 8/13/23

“1 Billion Dogs” – Jay Som

I listened to Everybody Works entirely on a whim, just to have something shorter to have as a soundtrack while I rearranged the bulletin board in my room. But I should’ve predicted that any given Jay Som recordβ€”much less this oneβ€”would be so much more than that. Perfect summer album, I have to say. Go listen to Everybody Works, guys.

Everybody Works is an album of many faces, from the chugging indie rock of “Take It” (which works way too perfectly with boygenius’ “Satanist“β€”can somebody with the ability to make mashups make this a reality?? please?? makes sense, seeing that she’s the bassist for boygenius’ touring band), the pop hooks of “The Bus Song” (BUT I LIKE THE BUS!), and the fever dream atmosphere of “(Bedhead).” But never once does it feel inconsistent or lacking cohesionβ€”if I had to pick them from a crowd, all of these varied songs would still feel distinctly Jay Som. But amidst all of that, aside from the two tracks I already remembered from the album (“The Bus Song” and “Baybee”), “1 Billion Dogs” was an immediate standout. The title alone would have caught my eye on any other record, but strangely, even though it has nothing to do with dogs, much less billions of them, it has that feel to it. It fits. “1 Billion Dogs” is a song with an immediate urgency; even with Melina Duterte’s reserved voice almost melting into the instruments, it’s a song that grabs you by the shirt collar, then invites you to jump around and dance. But even the crashing rhythm guitars, steady bass, and just-so off-kilter riffs can’t take away from the electronic haze that never lifts from Duterte’s music. It’s a uniquely Jay Som flavor to me: dreamlike and fuzzy, like it’s cloaked in multicolored static.

“Evicted” – Wilco

September is shaping up to be a heavy hitter as far as albums go. I’ve already talked about tracks from Shakey Graves’ Movie of the Week and Mitski’s The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We, but I haven’t yet talked about the new Wilco, with their new album Cousin coming out on September 29! And only about a year and a half removed from their last double album, Cruel Country…Jeff Tweedy is just cranking ’em out, huh?

Tweedy and co. have advertised the upcoming Cousin as their art-pop/rock album. Wilco has always had a penchant for the experimental, but I feel like when they’ve previously advertised their albums as a certain genre, it doesn’t always fit the label. Take Cruel Countryβ€””country” was literally in the name, but it felt like more of a folkier side of Wilco than anything, which, given their roots, wasn’t much of a stretch. Rather, as Tweedy said in his Starship Casual newsletter, “Cruel Country was our idea of country music and a lot of people went, ‘Huh?!Β this doesn’t sound like Colt Steed!’ (or some other plausible sounding country mega-star name).” So I’ll have to go into this album knowing that it’s Wilco’s idea of art-popβ€”and that’s certainly promising. And maybe I was screwing myself over when I saw “art rock” and immediately went into this song thinking it was gonna be “Art of Almost” 2. It isn’t. Even as much as I love Wilco, I feel like even that would be hard to reproduce. That’s not to say that “Evicted” is a bad song in any wayβ€”if there’s anything that Wilco has been in the last 10 years or so, it’s consistent. Regardless of our personal definitions of where this song fits into, “Evicted” is proof that Wilco’s ability to feel relevant and rock-solid will likely never fade. With its timeless guitars and the gently ethereal backing vocals and Nels Cline’s quietly glittering riffs rising like plumes of dust in the background, it’s a deceptively simple songβ€”much like the Trojan Horse that Tweedy compared his definition of bubblegum pop to. And if I’ve learned anything from Cruel Country, it’s that I can’t judge an album by its first single. I’d be lying if I said that “Evicted” wasn’t an earworm. Jeff tweedy is true to his word.

Also, can I take Colt Steed as my new stage name?

“Crash” – Lisa Germano

EMERGENCY WEATHER REPORT: we regret to inform you that sad girl fall is scheduled to arrive two months earlier than expected. Hunker down, everybody.

A song that begins with the line “You could say I feel this way/’Cause it’s the way I feel” doesn’t seem terribly memorable at first glance. But that’s the thing. You have to wait. Not even that long of a wait, really. Because it’s followed up with “Or you could say I’m making it up/I want it to be real.” See? Have a little faith in Lisa Germano, in all of her raw, dilapidated-house-with-rusty-nails-lying-everywhere craft.

My introduction to Lisa Germano goes to show, once again, how deeply and wonderfully my dad knows me. Here I was, almost a year ago, when my dad made his annual birthday playlist for me (yep, that’s how cool of a dad he is), and played me “Victoria’s Secret” in the car; Immediately, I was lost in the eerie, spare-and-found-parts, and 90’s (in the best way…I really do love the 90’s) universe of Lisa Germano. (Guys. C’mon. “Victoria’s Secret” has her cat purring in the outro. It’s so good.) I listened to Slide in its entirety a few months later, during what we can actually call sadgirl fall (read: November), and bits and pieces of that record have constantly drifted around me ever since: specters, all of them, but welcome ones. Somehow, though, as much as I played tracks like “Way Below the Radio” and “Reptile,” I forgot about “Crash” until it came on shuffle not long ago. And now that I’ve listened to it more and more (you know it went STRAIGHT to the library playlist), I’m almost ashamed that I let it slip through my fingers, if only temporarily. On further listens, it’s so clear to me that it’s one of the best tracks off the whole album. “Crash” is a song that purposefully droops and lumbers, only faintly held together with fraying twine and half-intended promises. As Germano creates her oft-expressed lyrical landscape of languishing in depression and a lack of motivation (“Wonder why it’s so easy/to be the way I hate”), the instruments sit on the verge of falling apart; they all play in time, but they teeter enough to get the sense that it would only take one sneeze for them to collapse. Germano’s silk-thin voice is a gentle hand that barely caresses you, cool and ghostly, but undeniably present. And it wouldn’t be a Lisa Germano without an uneasy, 40-second piano outro. If there’s anything that she can do, it’s create an atmosphere. Slide was the perfect album to listen to in November, in retrospect; there’s something about this song (and most of her other songs that I’ve heard) that capture the melancholy limbo of that snowless but undeniably wintry chill.

“The Rabbi” – Blur

I’ve been conned. Again. And Damon Albarn is to blame. Twice this year, we’ve gotten albums from projects of his where the album as a whole has been disappointing, but then he comes back with the deluxe edition, and at least one song that would’ve made the original album SO MUCH better. Damon, you sly dog, you pulled a “Captain Chicken” on us AGAIN. (For reference: the other disappointing album happens to be Gorillaz’s Cracker Island.)

I wouldn’t call “The Rabbi” as good as “Captain Chicken,” but then again, it’s hard to replicate the chokehold that the latter had on me for at least 2 months after it came out. But amidst the decent but disappointingly flat expanse that was The Ballad of Darren, this new addition was a breath of fresh air and energy. Equipped with the jangly brightness that Blur has been the master of for 30+ years now, “The Rabbi” is an upbeat spark, and a welcome injection into the album. Graham Coxon’s guitar finally gets its time to shine outside of “St. Charles Square,” but where that recalled the grungy, disillusioned punch of their self-titled record, these joyful riffs feel more youthful, calling back to Parklife and even further back. Like “Barbaric,” the instrumentation of “The Rabbi” is nothing short of upbeat, but cleverly cloaks the underlying disillusionment and melancholy that permeates through the rest of The Ballad of Darren; as Coxon goes off with said jangly guitars, Damon Albarn drawls about how “‘Cause where’s the joy in this self-delusion?/We’re all practitioners of vague illusions/Hieroglyphics and pictures.” Even if I’ve come away from The Ballad slightly sore, at least I have one more song that I can actually nod my head along to and believe that it’s Blur. I refuse to shut up about “St. Charles Square,” though.

“Monkey” (Low cover) – Robert Plant

A reenactment:

The family car. Some time in the early evening. MADELINE and her family are driving on the highway. Robert Plant’s cover of “Monkey” plays over the speakers.

MADELINE: Huh, this song sounds like it could be in Legion.

EITHER MY DAD OR MY BROTHER (I FORGET): That’s because it was in Legion.

The realization hits MADELINE. Cue vine boom.

~

There have been many such moments in my life. But for all the ones that my brain decides to loop in the odd hours of the morning, at least I got a song out of this one.

Unlike my brother, the world’s biggest Legion fan in the world, I haven’t gone back and rewatched any of it since it came out. I’d rank it as my second favorite TV show, right behind Fargo, but I haven’t gone back to any of it in years, save for the fantastic Superorganism musical number in season 3. I don’t think it would ever be ruined by further rewatches (simply impossible for any Noah Hawley project, the man can do no wrong…okay, Anthem was a lot, but other than that), but it’s been like a beautiful, terrifying insect trapped in amber in my mindβ€”it’s hard to replicate that feeling of sheer confusion, horror, and wonder when I had no idea what was going on with that show. But even with the mounting pile of shows and seasons that I need to catch up on, this song reminds me of Noah Hawley’s unmatched craftβ€”and his unmatched music taste, along with the keen eye of Maggie Phillips, the show’s music supervisor. I can’t find the clip anywhere on the internet for the life of me, but this song is slipped into a chilling scene in season 1, episode 3, where a young David Haller chases after his wayward dog on Halloween night. It’s a scene that stressed me out, even if only for a few minutes’ rewatchβ€”Cary did tell present David to “think of something stressful,” after all. And I can’t think of a better song to illustrate that pit-stomached sense of creeping dread than this. Low’s original version has that feeling of dread, but with an unmistakable urgency; Robert Plant’s version (and yes, it is that Robert Plant) swaps that urgency for a grinding, chugging sound that watches you from the darkest corner of the room. “It’s a suicide/Shut up and drive” would have been a blatantly chilling lyric in any other circumstance, but Plant’s strained, hollow whisper makes the chill up my spine all the more chilly. Patty Griffin’s backing vocals, somehow more audible than Plant’s, seem strangely sinister, even with the lightness of her voice. I can’t help but get a little anxious every time I listen to itβ€”all the more reason that Hawley and Phillips were really onto something when they picked this one.

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 Monthly Wrap-Ups

July 2023 Wrap-Up πŸ•Ά

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Monday, bibliophiles!

For once, it’s felt like this month has been…the right length? I often come to the end of any given month still internally mid-month, but it really does feel like it’s the end of July. Maybe I can chalk that up to either a) being nearly finished with my Camp NaNoWriMo goal (!!!) or b) the fact that I’m always looking forward to August, since it’s my birthday month, but either way, July is nearly out the window. Hopefully this awful heat will be out the window, too.

Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

July has definitely been on the busier side for me; between working at the library and going for my Camp NaNoWriMo goal, there’s been a lot of writing, a lot of shelving, and a lot of straightening. But it’s all been good busy, as tired as my legs get after standing up for so long on a shift; working in a library has been such a welcoming environment, and I’ve been having tons of fun writing out the first draft of my sci-fi sequel. (I also got to put some books on my library’s unofficial Disability Pride Month display, so that is ALWAYS a plus.) And as of tonight, I’ll be finished with my goal of 50,000 WORDS! I know I technically haven’t done it yet (I’m only about 700 words away from finishing right now, so that’s no big deal), but I’m super proud of myself. I’ve been working towards 50,000 for around 4 and a half years, so it feels amazing to finally be this close.

Despite that, I’ve had a lot more time to read this month! It’s been a good batch of books, too; there were only two books this month that I didn’t really like, and all of the others were good to amazing. Most of what I read was for Disability Pride Month, and I found so many amazing books with great disability rep, which is always wonderful. And now that I’m back home and working at the library, it’s been great to be reading physical books more often. As convenient as my Kindle is, nothing beats the feel of a physical book.

Other than that, I’ve just been listening to the new Palehound (fantastic) and Blur (disappointing) albums, continuing to binge my way through Taskmaster (almost halfway through season 10 now, Johnny Vegas being incredibly flustered has no right to be as funny as it is), watching Barbie (sobbing) and Oppenheimer (never in a million years would I have thought that Robert Downey Jr. would be THAT creepy), and trying to get out of the heat whenever possible. (How is it that it got to almost 120 degrees in Arizona and people still don’t think that climate change is real 😭)

READING AND BLOGGING:

I read 18 books this month! I think this may have been the best (if not one of the best) reading months I’ve had this year, in terms of quantity. And it was a great batch as wellβ€”only two books that fell into the 2-star range, a 5-star read, and tons of great reads for Disability Pride Month!

2 – 2.75 stars:

Far From You

3 – 3.75 stars:

Magonia

4 – 4.75 stars:

Some Desperate Glory

5 stars:

So Lucky

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH: So Lucky – 5 stars

POSTS I’M PROUD OF:

POSTS BY OTHER WONDERFUL PEOPLE THAT I ENJOYED:

SONGS/ALBUMS THAT I’VE BEEN ENJOYING:

XYLOPHONE SOLOOOOOOOOO
sad that I didn’t get to see her but I LOVE this song
lovely album for this summer!
this song is singlehandedly gonna derail my apple music replay lol
disappointing album overall but at least this and “St. Charles Square” were great
this song is seeing the light of day AT LAST
you give me CHILLS I’ve had it with the DRILLS

Today’s song:

THIS ALBUM DESERVES SO MUCH MORE RECOGNITION

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