Here Come the Warm Jets – The Bookish Mutant

Sunday Songs: 7/6/25

Posted on July 6, 2025July 6, 2025 by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles!

This week: (Almost) three years of making Sunday Songs graphics! As for right now, baby’s on fire, better throw her in…la mer?

Enjoy this week’s review!

SUNDAY SONGS: 7/6/25

“Baby’s On Fire” – Brian Eno

I…oh, shit. It took me until I published this post to realize that I’ve talked about this song twice now on this blog. Welp…

Music hot take of the week: this song needs to be, like, 8 minutes long. At least. I love an album that has songs that smoothly transition into one another (as is the transition from “The Paw Paw [Redacted] Blowtorch”* to this track), but oh my god, it needs more time!! The way that the song builds up is so monumental—it’s a whole fizzing, crackling Rube Goldberg machine of compounding suspense. The intro needs to be at least a minute long to stretch it out, just to give the first lyrics the punch they need. It’s a glam rock/art rock masterpiece, but it feels like a study in buildup and release more than anything. The percussion stays steady throughout the entire song, giving way for every other instrument—most of which were apparently woefully out of tune when they recorded it—to spiral outwards into a tidal wave that doesn’t crash until three minutes in—it just looms for so long. Most of me wants that to be extended, but Eno is a master of creating such a layered atmosphere.

What most people rightfully remember “Baby’s On Fire” for, however, is that truly insane Robert Fripp solo. The Genius annotation on the lyrics where it denotes the solo simply says “holy fucking shit,” which I think sums it up better than most music critics have. It’s the moment that the tidal wave that Eno has built up fully crashes, sending a kaleidoscope of chaotic spray down on the listener. As the story goes, Fripp had the flu while recording this marvel of a solo…I can only imagine the kind of tricks he was able to pull off when his health was stable, because GOD. It really is chaos personified—you can never predict which direction it’s striking next, and the stark contrast between it and the consistent, steady build of Eno’s background instrumentals make it feel like modern art. I get the same feeling of listening to “Baby’s On Fire” as I do looking at abstract, geometric paintings. It’s a masterclass in contrast.

Eno’s lyrics, especially in this era, are rarely serious, mostly just surreal word-play. Dehumanization is at the heart of the story, with a figure actively ablaze whose suffering is being exploited for photos. Here’s where I feel like Eno’s genius working with glam rock really comes in. He’s got this disaffected, theatrical tone, but what he’s saying is so deeply sarcastic that I can’t help but read it as critique of how the fictional subject is being exploited while she’s actively suffering; “Photographers snip-snap/Take your time, she’s only burning” reads to me as the photographers seeing her pain as tabloid fodder, a spectacle to make money off of. His nasally, sarcastic tone feels like a cue to laugh at the clowns who would ignore her plight just to make an extra buck. But whether in the fictional realm or in reality, I’ve always admired that Brian Eno has always been committing to condemning dehumanization of all kinds, from the 1970’s right up until today. It’s always comforting when the best musicians have consciences to match.

*It’s more an outdated term than anything, and I really don’t think Eno used it with any disrespectful intent—it was normal for the time. However, it feels uncomfortable for me personally to type it here, so see for yourself.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Some Desperate Glory – Emily Tesh – a fantastic sci-fi book that interrogates our casual comfort with dehumanization of others.

“davina mccall” – Wet Leg

BREAKING: Wet Leg actually has another song? I’m doing my best to not sound like a broken record whenever I talk about them, but I swear this feels like the most growth I’ve seen them have as far as songwriting range. It’s not a wild left turn for them, but it feels fresh.

Snuggled in between the ’90s and the 2010’s, somewhere between The Cardigans and early Wolf Alice, “davina mccall” stands out partly because it’s probably their first love song—and maybe their most sincere song. However fun they make their music, a lot of it is mostly the more maddening sides of modern life, whether it’s being bounced between stupid men or being apathetic and numb about the world. It’s never come across as abjectly doomery or irony-poisoned, mostly because they have a sense of humor about it. Yet they have kind of run themselves dry with the subject matter. I know that love songs are pretty much the most common kind of song you’ll hear these days, but for Wet Leg, it feels like a more vulnerable step. When your entire body of work is about being relatable and vulnerable about how silly and artificial modern life is, it feels significant for them to embrace the idea that vulnerability is not all phone addictions and bad sex. I might be getting too deep with it, but strip it all away, and “davina mccall” is just a lovely, summery love song, content to linger in the ordinary, quiet moments of romance.

Also, I can’t not talk about how delightful this music video is! Directed by Chris Hopewell—who I forgot I knew from the glorious stop-motion music video for Radiohead’s “There There,”—it reminds me of Fantastic Mr. Fox in the best possible ways. Luckily, none of them go the way of Thom Yorke in this video—the song’s too happy for that kind of thing. The members of Wet Leg are all rendered in claymation, and they all look an awful lot like Petey and the rest of his gang (at least it’s not weak songwriting this time). Wet Leg’s task force for bird-related crimes is nothing short of hilarious—and surprisingly sweet at the end.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Love Letters for Joy – Melissa See – “You know that I would/Do anything for you/It’s like a dream come true/Every day is spent trying to say something to make you smile…”

“Mer” – Chelsea Wolfe

I don’t talk about Chelsea Wolfe nearly as much as I should, even though, by my count, she’s featured on one of these posts/graphics…four times? Only four? Granted, she fell into that curse where every time I’d put one of her singles on a graphic, I’d be too busy to write about it. Shame, really, given that She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She was one of the best albums of 2024. Go listen to it—the album didn’t get nearly enough love as it deserved!!

As penance, let’s take a look back at one of her older tracks, 2011’s “Mer” from her album Apokalypsis, which has to have one of the most wondrously goth album covers ever (though her entire discography puts in a lot of great contenders). “Mer,” named for the French word for the sea, embodies its title, but not in the way you’d expect. The mer that Wolfe is channeling here isn’t the gentleness of waves lapping against the shore in July—it’s more the dread of looking out onto a roiling ocean as storm clouds gather over jagged, rocky cliffs. It’s a landscape that calls something along the lines of “Annabel Lee” for me. Even though I do play music, I’ve never been super keen about deciphering time signatures and the like, but I swear there’s something going on with “Mer”‘s timing—I swear there’s some syncopation going on with the percussion and the other instruments, but it all feels like each instrument is keeling ever so slightly to the side of the others, a sinking ship pulled in all directions. It all feels so off-kilter in Wolfe’s classic, sinister way. Even without the barely decipherable noises in the background, which for all the world sound like wailing Tim Burton-like spirits trapped in glass bottles, “Mer” would remain fundamentally eerie.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

House of Hollow – Krystal Sutherland – though the sea doesn’t factor as much into this novel, the general eerie, misty atmosphere very much carries over.

“Big Drops” – Avery Tucker

I only found out that Avery Tucker was finally going solo when I was writing about girlpool back in June. Compared to the more pop direction that Harmony Tividad has embraced now, Tucker’s single reminds me more of mid-career, more guitar-driven girlpool—something close to Powerplant or the first half of What Chaos is Imaginary. As far as new directions go, the more electronic turn that girlpool took in their later years was hit or miss—when they hit it (see: “Like I’m Winning It”), they made fantastic, sultry, synthy indie-pop; when they missed (see: …uh, pretty much 75% of Forgiveness), it almost smothered their candid lyrics and how well they worked together as a duo. It felt plastic.

So I can’t help but be relieved that Tucker’s returned to the band’s roots. Even though he’s…well, he’s playing a tele during some of the acoustic parts of the song in the music video, which is admittedly a little silly, seeing Tucker back in his element makes the music feel more natural. Though some of his delivery and lyrics veer on being too earnest, “Big Drops” shines a light on some of the more candid, bare songwriting that made girlpool so memorable. Solely in his hands, he crafts a narrative from intimacy, late-night talking, and musing about unexpected events and the regrets that come from them. With the (mostly) acoustic guitar, it gives the song a tender, warm spaciousness that evokes the exact imagery he conjures—sitting on pool chairs, looking at the sky, and spouting off about your life.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester – Maya MacGregor – “Last night we talked about big drops/Big drop on the boardwalk ride/Big drop thinking about her life/Should we visit the two of them?/Or did the town get too violent?”

“My Baby (Got Nothing At All)” – Japanese Breakfast

In keeping with last year’s Sunday Songs anniversary, I am once again reviewing a song from a new movie that I haven’t even seen. (Update: I still haven’t seen I Saw the TV Glow. Someday…) Materialists doesn’t seem like my thing, but Japanese Breakfast certainly is. Ever since the trailer for the movie came out, I was enchanted by the way Michelle Zauner breathily sang “my baby.” I was fooled into thinking that this song was going to be on For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women), so you can imagine my disappointment, as fantastic as that album was.

Regardless of whether or not you’ve seen Materialists, the swoony, rom-com feel comes away in waves on “My Baby (Got Nothing At All).” The more delicate range of Zauner’s voice shines through in this environment, accompanied by the gentle strum of acoustic guitars and swelling strings. As Zauner (and the protagonist of the movie, presumably?) affectionately admits that her lover is broke (but he gives it all to her anyway), she sings with the relaxed, daydreaming posture of someone leaning over a fire escape, watching the glow of the city lights below and the cool wind tossing her hair. As her voice climbs on the bridge (“You’re in love/There’s no doubt about it/There’s no use in messing up”), it cements the song as one of the more perfect rom-com songs—it’s not cloying or earnest, but it sounds appropriately like a lovelorn hand draped over a sighing forehead.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Water Moon – Samantha Soto Yambao – the best parts of this novel have the same dreamy, swoony feel of watching the lights of a glittering city and falling in love.

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!

Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 2/2/25

Posted on February 2, 2025February 3, 2025 by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! Hope you didn’t drive angry today.

Since I’ve been absent for the past two(ish) weeks, here are my graphics and songs from the middle of January:

1/19/25:

1/26/25:

This week: shoutout to Brian Eno songs with vehicles in the names. Plus, Lucy Dacus is thinking about breaking your heart (but when is she not?).

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 2/2/25

“Limerence” – Lucy Dacus

January. Love it or hate it, it’s that magical time of year when all of the singles and album announcements for the first half of the year start rolling in. Oh, the sweet sound of new music…especially when it’s from Lucy Dacus! It’s been known that she’s been cooking something up after previewing a handful of new songs post-the record (as is Julien Baker—new album from her and TORRES too!!), but mid-January, she officially announced her new album, Forever Is a Feeling, which will be out this March! Aside from…well, y’know (I know it’s a painting, which makes it more impressive, but what in the PicsArt is that album cover?? That font?? 😭 No hate to Dacus or to Will St. John, but…there could’ve been so many better choices…), I’m so excited for this new record—I’m loving the aesthetic of gilded museums and flowing dresses, as well as the orchestration that Dacus has brought to the record—or at least to “Limerence.”

The other day, I saw some reel or another about how a lot of modern songwriters see writing down explicit, confessional details (or details that sound authentic enough to be confessional) in their songs as an automatic way to get depth, and I halfway agree. I do think that with the steady stream of Phoebe Bridgers wannabes that have been pouring out of some factory in L.A. since 2021 has influenced that, but I don’t think it’s always lazy songwriting. Let’s just say that you can tell when it’s for soul-baring or clout-getting purposes. The key is knowing which details are important: vignettes or extended scenes that elevate the themes or contribute to evoking the intended emotion, something that Bridgers has always excelled at. I hate to say it, but the first lines of “Limerence” nearly feel like the anti-Bridgers method: “Natalie’s explaining limerence/Between taking hits from a blunt, high as a kite/While Roddy’s playing GTA/I swear, why is he so good at this game?/It should be cause for concern.” Against the delicate, piano-dominated orchestration of “Limerence” and the soaring warmth of her voice, such ordinary details feel shoehorned in, without as much connection to the rest of the song. It’s not as though she hasn’t written similarly observational lyrics, but the wording (and maybe the mention of some guy playing GTA with a harp in the background) doesn’t mesh with the rest of the track.

Key word here is nearly. I’ve been a fan of Dacus long enough to trust in the consistency of her songwriting—that bit really is a blip in the vast glory that is her catalogue. The rest of “Limerence” swiftly picks up the slack of those first handful of lyrics. Orchestral Lucy Dacus is, in my opinion, the best Lucy Dacus; guitar carries her humbly captivating gravitas perfectly, yet there’s something about strings, piano, and harp that carry it to new heights (see: “Body to Flame”). With the gentle tempo that recalls the reflection of silk off of marble floors during a ballroom waltz, Dacus drifts into melancholy rumination…as she often does, but it has yet to get old, especially since she’s at least self-aware of the fact (see: “The Shell”). Against the delicate plucking of harps and strings, she sings of drowning herself in distraction just to distance herself from the inevitable collapse of a relationship: “I want what we have/Our beautiful life/But the stillness, the stillness/Might eat me alive.” Carrying the leaden weight of wanting to break free, “Limerence” nervously toes circles around its subject, subtle enough between the folds of a voluminous dress to avoid the truth. The marriage of Dacus’ unbeatable voice and the almost hesitant restraint of the orchestra carve out that feeling of wanting to squirm free, but feeling the weight of severing the other person even more intensely. It’s no wonder that Dacus seemed to have the trouble she did releasing “Limerence” as a single—it was a last-minute call after releasing the much more lighthearted “Ankles” (also excellent), but I can imagine that it has that effect—too personal to keep close but also to release, yet a song that needed to be launched as one launches a satellite out into the vastness of space.

It’s…yeesh, huh? Couldn’t have expected less from Lucy Dacus…anyways, the music video is much more delightful, I promise (and see? 3:19, there’s your album cover):

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Can’t Take That Away – Steven Salvatore – “Is there a difference between lying to you/If it feels just as bad as telling thе truth?/I know that there is/And I know what I’ll pick…”

“Here Come the Warm Jets” – Brian Eno

I’m about 6 months too late to make a “brat summer? Nah, Brian Eno summer” joke, but humor me, alright? We cling to what we can in these trying times. Let me have my shitty Brian Eno jokes. Brian Eno winter doesn’t have the same ring to it. (Now, Cocteau Twin-ter—okay, okay, fine, that one’s run its course, I know…)

Somehow, when compiling my list of my favorite album closers of all time, I forgot “Here Come the Warm Jets” entirely. At that point, it had been a solid year since I listened to Here Come the Warm Jets, and it had fallen off my radar. Only when I listened to Before and After Science: Ten Pictures did this track return to me. Obviously, the emotional impact of instrumental tracks can’t be understated, but it seems they’re often overlooked when they’re not film scores. Eno, to me, has a true gift of imbuing such clarity of emotion into his instrumentals (see: “The Big Ship”). Technically, “Here Come the Warm Jets” isn’t technically instrumental, but the vocals don’t come in at 2:33, and they’re so shrouded that they sound like vaguely nonsense chanting. (Eno has said that the lyrics are also meaningless and free-associative, as are many of the lyrics on the album.) Especially as a closing track, “Here Come the Warm Jets” is one of those songs that’s able to breathe life into its title without words. With the dense, buzzing hive of distortion, so thick you could stick your hand in it and feel the wings of millions of insects, it has the fuel and squeal of both tires screeching against the tarmac and the heat and urgency of a plane taking off.

Like “The Big Ship,” you can trace the slow, hopeful ascent of the song, a steady trajectory upwards as the music rises and fades into a cloud-streaked sky. And…okay, well, I know the dirtier interpretations of the whole “Here Come the Warm Jets” phrase, and the playing card on the album cover doesn’t help, but I’m choosing to believe that they’re jet planes, and I can feel the warmth of the rising, fiery hope propelling their engines skyward. Besides, Eno took the title from how he felt the guitar sounded—“like a tuned (warm) jet,” which he added into the track sheet. As with most anything he observes, it’s truly right on the money.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Activation Degradation – Marina J. Lostetter – I can imagine the warm atmosphere of this song amongst the machinery of this novel, humming along with all of the engines and parts.

“Brean Down” – Beak>

Man, I admire committing to the bit, but how do you pronounce >>>>? Or >>>, where “Brean Down” is taken from, come to think of it? The only pronunciation I’ve seen is from BBC Radio, which, after some hesitation, called it “four chevrons.” I thought it was some sort of !!! (chk-chk-chk…don’t come for me, that’s all I know about them), but that doesn’t have the pretentious ring I thought it would have. Fascinating…you do you, Beak>. Can’t knock them, especially since one of their (now former, as of last year) members, Geoff Barrow, was from none other than PORTISHEAD back in the day…damn.

When my dad sent “Brean Down” to my brother and I, he described it as “if Radiohead and Shakey Graves had a baby,” and the more I listen to it, I can’t think of a more astute description. There’s a dread-inducing, dead-eyed drone aplenty, but with vocals from someone who’s practically a British Alejandro Rose-Garcia—it’s almost eerie how similar he and Billy Fuller sound. (The Britishness wasn’t even detectable…) Either way, it’s got a kind of creeping, cagey nausea to it that’s perfectly paired with the dusty brick walls and city streets of the music video, all while Fuller sings of alienation and empty absorption: “Tell me what I want and I feel like I do/Stuck in a cage and the people looking at you/Nobody’s perfect and even if you say so/We don’t like the music ’cause it ain’t up on the radio.” There’s your Radiohead for you…but really, Beak> excelled at making the song have the illusion of looseness, with the occasional pulse of the guitar and the drums, but still ultimate feel caged and immobile, as purposefully restrained as the artfully jerky moves of the music video’s danger, Vladislav Platonov. It’s not just the mechanical drone that haunts “Brean Down,” but the sensation as if something is slowly shadowing your figure—conformity, so it seems. Not a whole lot that induces dread as much as that.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Junker Seven – Olive J. Kelley – “Tell me what I want, and I feel like I do/Stuck in a cage and the people looking at you/Nobody’s perfect and even if you say so/We don’t like the music ’cause it ain’t up on the radio…”

“Switch Over” – Horsegirl

Only took me three singles to use the actual Phonetics On & On cover for one of these graphics…I do it for the color scheme. After months, it finally fit. Sorta.

With every single from Phonetics On & On that comes out, I’m continually blown away by just how much Horsegirl have grown and the incredible talent they’ve managed to accrue with experience and maturity. From the beginning, they’ve known how to throw together a tight groove, but “Switch Over” is one of their most striking ones yet. It shines in the way that only freshly polished wood does, creating a catchy, dynamic tapestry with lyrics that, when put together, only consists of about nine words total, repeated over and over. It’s not unusual for Horsegirl, but god, it’s sure been refined from greatness to something fantastic. In limbo between the ’70s (if that wasn’t evident from the Lou Reed poster at the beginning of the video), the ’90s, and something uniquely current. Even with the rhythm kept on such a tight leash, there’s an undeniably current of ease and whimsy running through it—I think it’s the lack of restraint. They’re throwing everything into making something deceptively simple and cooped up, but the passion that they throw into it makes the edges, rigid upon first glance, wiggle with every strike of Gigi Reece’s cymbals. (Also, gotta love how they just disappear into nothingness the minute they hit the cymbals. Peak comedy.) Maybe it’s too early to say so, but Phonetics On & On is shaping up to be one of the best albums of the year—“2468” and “Julie” were hits from the start, but “Switch Over” is proof that we can’t predict the breadth of talent that Cheng, Lowenstein, and Reece (and Le Bon) have up their sleeves.

Man, I’m glad to live in a world with Horsegirl in it. Their only sin so far is refusing to tour near where I live.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Time and Time Again – Chatham Greenfield – rapid switching and repetition, but this time, it’s repeating the same day over and over (yes, this is basically lesbian Groundhog Day).

“Doo Wop (That Thing)” – Lauryn Hill

Aside from the crushing constraints of the music industry, especially for someone as influential as Lauryn Hill was at her peak…yeah, if I wrote anything as good as this, I’d be perfectly content to get it out there and then disappear from the face of the earth. Well, sure. The tax evasion and the random controversies aren’t exactly ideal. But again—if you release one album and become this influential, I don’t blame her. “Doo Wop (That Thing)” is an extension of that—it’s almost mythic in its construction, written and produced solely by Hill. Sure, I’m late to the party—it took me a minute to warm up to hip-hop as a whole, really—but better late than never.

In fact, I can’t think of a better time to return to this song. If there’s anything that’s essential in these times, it’s “Doo Wop (That Thing).” (The line “Talking out your neck/Saying you’re a Christian” comes to mind for…multiple reasons, related and unrelated to the song’s message.) You need armor against misogyny, materialism, and being seen only for your body and sexuality—it goes both ways, as Hill astutely points out. Patriarchy harms everybody. “Doo Wop (That Thing)” isn’t so much an anthem as it is instructional, and not even instructional in the “and THAT’S why…” way. It’s less of lines on a chalkboard than it is the calloused hand of a mentor, a mother, on your shoulder telling you not just to not make her past mistakes, but to know your damn worth. It’s critical. Men have always thought that they’re immune to the consequences of their actions (and the systems we have in place have reaffirmed that), but I’ve seen Trump’s reelection embolden them even more. Jesus Christ…if I had a son, I’d never kick him out of the house for being queer (a bit redundant, since I’m queer myself, but stay with me), but I WOULD if I found out that he was commenting “your body, my choice” under women’s posts online. CHRIST. Moments like these do seem like nothing has changed since 1998, but maybe that’s why Hill’s rallying cries resonates now more than ever. I want it on banners all across the country, from now until it’s no longer relevant: “Respect is just the minimum.” It’s a call for men to reconsider (and ENTIRELY reconstruct) how they treat women and for those women to realize the potential they have within themselves, restrained by misogynistic structures and societal expectations. The end of the first verse really does send chills down my spine: “Let it sit inside your head like a million women.” Remember those who came before you. You have your power, and their power.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Poet X – Elizabeth Acevedo – a young girl reckons with being seen only for her body—and learning to use her voice.

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!

Uncategorized

Sunday Songs: 7/9/23

Posted on July 9, 2023 by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

Today marks almost a year since I’ve been making these Sunday Songs graphics, and about six months since I’ve started writing about them on here. But if there’s on thing I’ve learned in this year of collaging album covers on Previews, it’s this: all roads lead back to David Bowie.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 7/9/23

“Quicksand” (demo) – David Bowie

Lordy. This song gets me in whichever form it manifests—the original, untouchable album version, the live performance with the Cure’s Robert Smith for Bowie’s 50th Birthday Bash…everything. Since when did I wake up in the onion cutting plant, and where’s the door?

“Quicksand” has been an immensely special song to me, from the time I was young and my dad still had to speedily turn the car volume down in time for little me to miss the word “bullshit.” Even back when I didn’t even have the capacity to understand anything about what an ego is or the fact that it was capable of death (“knowledge comes with death’s release,” cue the “aah-aah-aah-aah” that always scoops my tender heart out of my ribcage), this song felt like the encircling warmth of a cosmic pair of arms, infinite in their reach and love, rocking me to sleep like a baby. The iconic lyric “I’m not a prophet or a stone-age man, just a mortal with the potential of a superman” has been my life’s mantra ever since I comprehended it. Learning it on guitar made me love the song down to its molecular structure—chances are, if you can rattle off any old chord off the top of your head, it’s in there somewhere. Even the painful, finger-twisting ones—especially the finger twisting ones. And yet David Bowie makes them all sound like they were all destined to be played together since the dawn of time—all of them. It’s the kind of song that was fully-formed from the very start, as Athena splitting out of the skull of Zeus, armed with a ragtag, motley crew of guitar chords. It feels like listening to the heartbeat of the cosmos itself.

So it’s so strange to think that it wasn’t always quite as fully-formed as I thought—in parts, at least. With the release of Divine Symmetry (a line fittingly taken from this song), a boxed set containing Hunky Dory in its entirety, plus the demos and live performances that eventually fused to form my favorite album of all time. Among them was this—a raw, stripped-down version of one of my favorite songs of all time. “Quicksand” was always destined for the epic grandeur of the album version, but there’s a different brand of poignant tenderness to this demo. With only David Bowie’s voice and the heartbeat-thrum of his acoustic guitar, you can hear the subtle differences—lyrics swapping places, Bowie straining to reach the high notes in the higher key he originally plays this song in. There’s an urgency to every strum, as though he knew this song had to see the light of day, but he had to put his heart into it, whichever way it came out. And that’s the power of this song: Bowie never took the easy way out. Every version is in tune with the resonant hum of the universe.

“Gone Daddy Gone” – Violent Femmes

Never in my life would I have anticipated liking a xylophone solo this much. The words “xylophone” and “solo” make sense separately, but you rarely ever hear them together, right? And yet, against all odds, it’s so good. Imagine being at a Violent Femmes concert and the crowd going wild over a xylophone solo. That’s the dream.

A lot of what I’ve heard of the Violent Femmes works against all odds, from the infamous story of how the cover of their debut, self-titled album came to be to everything about their unique, abrasive sound. All you’ve got here is some guitar, bass, and a drum set that was originally part washbasin (plus said xylophone). The nicest you can necessarily say about the vocals is that they’re abrasive. It really is the essence of D.I.Y.—separately, there’s no way that it should work together and sound good, and yet it does. We all know “Blister in the Sun” nowadays, right? Whatever formula that Gordon Gano and company worked out in the early 80’s with this album, when everybody started turning to synths and capitalism, they nailed it. Every song I’ve heard off of this album feels timeless, but “Gone Daddy Gone” feels like it could’ve come from anywhere—a tiny, under-underground garage in the 70’s, somebody sick of all of said synths and capitalism in the 90’s—there’s something so ubiquitous about this song, from its frustrated, high school lyrics that Gano delivers with a sinister sneer, to the unexpected patchwork of sound. And of course, whoever’s idea it was to add a xylophone solo to this song deserves an award.

“Baby’s On Fire” – Brian Eno

I’ve been overdue to talk about Here Come the Warm Jets and Brian Eno for a few weeks, but I am nothing if not pointlessly devoted to trying to create a nice color scheme. But yes, I finally got around to listening to it after putting it off for several months (blame it on the whiteboard…oh, I still need to post those, don’t I?), and I’m a fan! Even though nothing rivaled “Cindy Tells Me” (which is, for me, a hard thing to achieve—my absolute favorite Brian Eno song, now that I think about it), there wasn’t a single song I didn’t like. I’m a sucker for any album where each track bleeds into the next, giving the illusion of a continuous, long song—almost a symphony: some of my favorites albums do it, or at least do it partway (see: Hunky Dory, OK Computer), and in the case of Here Come the Warm Jets, it added a cohesive layer to an already meticulously weird album. There’s Brian Eno doing weird voices, there’s guitar freakouts, and there’s uptight-but-glam 70’s weirdness all over the place. It’s an album.

“Baby’s On Fire” stood out immediately—I remember hearing the name somewhere and looking it up a few years before I listened to this album in full, but I’d all but forgotten about it until a few weeks ago. It has a deliciously creeping, building feeling to it—with every thrumming piano chord and drumbeat, it feels like something is sneaking up on you, casting a long, thin shadow over your body before coming in to pounce. And pounce it does, with an extended, purely 70’s guitar freakout that, if you break the separate parts of it, easily takes up half to 2/3 of the song—as it absolutely should. It’s fantastic. I find myself vibrating in my seat every time I listen to it; Robert Fripp’s frenetic playing sounds like the auditory version of fabric being torn apart, all at once ragged and full of hypnotic color. Add that to Brian Eno’s distinctly nasally, theatrical vocals, and you’ve got something that feels like the shadow of a hand on the wall—a hand with long, glossy acrylics on the nails, the kind that look like claws. I suppose that’s what ‘s tearing through the fabric, but I doubt that would be very conducive to the kind of guitar insanity on this song. In this house, we love and cherish 70’s guitars.

“Tin Man” – feeble little horse

I swear that my motive for downloading this song wasn’t just to create a playlist consisting of songs that have the same names as other songs. It’s twins with “Tin Man” by Shakey Graves, if you were interested. I named the playlist “Attack of the Clones.” Execute Order 66.

I’m very new to feeble little horse, but “off-kilter” was the one (hyphenated) word that immediately came to mind when I first listened to “Tin Man.” Every note just seems slightly tweaked from the next—almost pleasant sounding, but just enough to make you furrow your brow. Lydia Slocum’s dry, droll drawl creeps over the withered vines of notes, just as creaky and rusty as the the famous Tin Man himself before he got some oil in his joints. But unlike the Tin Man, this song doesn’t need any oiling or polishing; like the Violent Femmes, it exists in its own, uniquely abrasive space, not existing to please, but baring its prickly porcupine quills proudly. Like Lisa Germano, Sparklehorse, and others before them, feeble little horse is content to make their songs look and feel like a collection of rusty spare and found parts. But where the former two is the dread you feel upon finding said spare parts, “Tin Man” is the sudden prick of stepping on something sharp sticking out of the pile. It’s almost like Sid’s cobbled-together, mutant toys in Toy Story—despite all of its parts from other toys, it crawls along the carpet just fine. And maybe it’s an insult to compare this great song to that baby doll-spider monstrosity, but given the aesthetic of the music video, I don’t think Lydia Slocum and company would be too insulted.

“Sun’s a Star” – Wilco

I didn’t intend for this one to end on such a somber note, I promise. Just the way I thought the album covers went together. But I came upon this song on accident—as dear to my heart as Wilco is, I haven’t listened to Being There all the way, despite the claims of an unknown employee at Amoeba Records in San Francisco that it was “the best Wilco album.” BOOOOOO. DUDE. Not to rag on a complete stranger several states away that has no idea that I exist, but respectfully…Yankee Hotel Foxtrot exists? Summerteeth? My guy??

But I’m not here to rag on Being There, either. It’s the same record that gave us “Misunderstood,” after all, and proof that screaming like a death metal frontman is just one of the great Jeff Tweedy’s many talents. Every member of Wilco is proof that they’re really a jack-of-all-trades band; they’re primarily known for generally being on the stranger side of alt-country, but they can do it all, from Nels Cline’s famous, spidery guitar solo on “Impossible Germany” to the pseudo-Thom Yorke surprise of “Art of Almost.” The thing is, loving songs like those almost makes me forget that they’re just as apt at creating gently melancholy folk numbers: “Red-Eyed and Blue,” anyone? And as with every Wilco song that I can think of, Jeff Tweedy’s sharp, ever-clever songwriting is the clear star (no pun intended) on “Sun’s a Star.” What’s more Tweedy than taking a look at one’s own folky breakup tune and declaring “and there’s this song/in a minor key/hey, how could it be/such a cloudless tune?” I’m nothing if not a sucker for a sad, acoustic song, and leave it to Jeff Tweedy to scratch that itch. And there’s nobody else that could translate walking away into a single contraction—somehow, the name “Sun’s a Star” feels like an apathetic shrug of the shoulders. You’re not as special as I thought you were. Oh well. Sun’s a star.

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!

Monthly Wrap-Ups

June 2023 Wrap-Up 🏳️‍🌈

Posted on June 30, 2023 by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Friday, bibliophiles!

And just like that, we’re halfway through the year…I don’t want to jinx it, but I feel like it’s been a good one so far. Other than being sick for all of April, basically, but that’s in the past. Now the pollen allergies are kicking in!! Whee!!

Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

June has been on the busier side, but in a good way, for the most part. I got my very first job as a page at my local library (!!!), and I’ll be working there part-time until school starts back up. As of today, I’ve just gotten my first paycheck!!

Right after that, I went on vacation in Olympic National Park! Washington is the prettiest—I loved seeing the rainforest and the ocean, and all of that nature really got my creative juices going.

I also went to my very first pride parade last weekend!! I only stayed for an hour to watch the parade itself (that’s on sensory issues), but it made me so incredibly happy to see my community gathered there and spreading so much joy. Unforgettable experience.

Now that I’m off school, I’ve tried to get back into my writing routine. I started on the first draft to the sequel of my main WIP. I’ve made some good progress so far, but I’m planning on taking it to Camp NaNoWriMo tomorrow! I’m shooting for the full 50,000 this time, so wish me luck!

Other than that, I’ve just been drawing, practicing guitar, seeing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Shakey Graves live (both of which were AMAZING GAAAH) binging even more Taskmaster (just finished season 6, looking forward to seeing how unreasonably angry James Acaster gets in season 7), watching Across the Spiderverse (can’t remember the last time a movie changed my brain chemistry THIS much, so beautiful) and Asteroid City (another win from Wes Anderson), and trying not to inhale every single mote of pollen in my room. Allergy season is a real Fun Time.

READING AND BLOGGING:

I read 16 books this month! June wasn’t off to a great start (see the DNF below), but I ended up reading a ton of fun books for pride month! You’d think that vacation would’ve given me more time to read, but I ended up buying three books on my Kindle, all of which were rather chunky, so…

1 – 1.75 stars: