Tag: In the Light

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

This week: the last vibe I expected to have from a Chelsea Wolfe album was “go girl, give us nothing!” but here we are.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 8/23/26

“In the Light” – Led Zeppelin

It’s a real shame that I haven’t talked much about Led Zeppelin here, but to be fair, they are talked about quite a lot—as is what they deserve. I did go through a brief Led Zeppelin kick last year after watching the great documentary Becoming Led Zeppelin, but somehow, it never made it here. (In lieu of that, I’ll share their goosebump-inducing cover of “I Can’t Quit You Baby.”) But somehow, even though I spent my childhood hearing snatches of Led Zeppelin, “In the Light” slipped through the cracks. All I can ask, at this point, is how? How did I miss one of the best Led Zeppelin songs I’ve ever heard for this long?

“In the Light” feels mammoth in every way, as do a lot of classic Led Zeppelin songs. Partially, that’s the length—this track is nearly nine minutes long, and it’s one of those songs that deserves every minute of its runtime, because Led Zeppelin juices every ounce of gravity from it. Every second is used to its fullest extent—the intro, which lasts nearly two minutes, is a sparse palette consisting of synths and Jimmy Page’s best party trick: using a cello bow on his guitar. (I eat it up anytime somebody does it. I saw Johnny Greenwood do it on his bass with The Smile and I haven’t been the same since.) It’s enough to make you shiver with antici……pation. But once the full band kicks in, the momentum never stops feeling colossal. “In the Light” is just towering—it feels like staring up at a crumbling, ancient monument, a relic brimming with power underneath the surface. I can’t pin down the time signature, but there’s something so enticing about how John Bonham’s drums have such a consistent, fairly ordinary rhythm to them while Jimmy Page and the others just go absolutely nuts over it—that’s half the fun of the average Led Zeppelin song, to be honest. It has this zigzagging, staircase rhythm to it—everything feels like it’s climbing, with chord progressions that call to mind the Beatles in their later career. And of course, it’s held together by Robert Plant’s rich vocals, his signature howl becoming the weathered stone holding “In the Light” together. It doesn’t feel like a long song at all—you just get so hopelessly lost in it.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“Seethe” – Chelsea Wolfe

How did Chelsea Wolfe go from having one of the most hard-hitting albums of 2024 to…this?

So, The Dark. I came away thinking that Wolfe’s newest batch of 10 goth-rock (citation needed, at this point) tracks were…perfectly fine. Pleasant. Solid. But those aren’t words that I want to describe Chelsea Wolfe with. She’s adventurous, she pushes boundaries, she’s not afraid to get in the mud, to get raw and visceral and vulnerable with it! She’s a poet that finds the empathy even in the darkest corners of the psyche! So why does The Dark feel so lightweight? The lyrics are significantly weaker, the song structures are traditional, the instrumentals just fine…it just feels like she’s holding back. Of all the artists I’d expect to play it safe, Chelsea Wolfe wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately, that’s my overarching takeaway from The Dark. Even the album title is just vague. Like, oooh, naming your goth album The Dark? Completely uncharted territory…

That’s not to say that “Seethe” is a bad song. I feel bad ragging on these lyrics, but next to, I dunno, “Be All Things” or “Dusk,” it feels a lot simpler. It’s like Jeff Tweedy having some of the greatest poetry in American rock n’ roll and then using a metaphor about somebody being “cool enough to be ice cream.” (Again: nothing against “Ice Cream,” but it just feels like low-hanging fruit. At least Hot Sun, Cool Shroud – EP was leagues better than The Dark is.) But for “Seethe,” I feel like it isn’t the song for gothic, flowery poetry: it’s just a fun song about getting your righteous revenge. You don’t necessarily need a lot of complex metaphors if you’re on Chelsea Wolfe’s list and she’s out to get you—she’s just coming for you, she’s got her knife in her pocket, and she’s gonna getcha if it’s the last thing she does. Her vocals are as flowing and ethereal as ever, and we get some top-notch, raspy screaming in the background towards the end. With its ragged guitars and mile-a-minute bass and percussion, “Seethe” is a perfectly fun cut from the album—it’s just Wolfe letting loose, and who can fault her for that?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“Fisherman’s Grotto” – Justin Warfield

As much as I credit my dad for my musical upbringing, I feel like my mom equally deserves the credit—especially when it comes to hip hop. Particularly, she’s basically given me my hip hop education: I know about Queen Latifah, Lauryn Hill, De La Soul, and the Beastie Boys (who she loves) because of her. And she’s the reason that I know about Justin Warfield—this track, as well as the low key instrumental “Guavafishcentepede (Aquatic Meditations).” Speaking of the Beastie Boys, Warfield samples them in “Fisherman’s Grotto” (that’s a sped-up portion from “Hold It Now, Hit It,” which appears at 1:24). It reminds me of how much artistry can go into samples; the centerpiece, to me, is the blaring horns that introduce “Fisherman’s Grotto.” You’re instantly hooked—it’s the audio equivalent of watching Warfield kick down a brick wall. Said horns are sampled from Blood, Sweat & Tears’s “Lucretia MacEvil,” and from there, Warfield expertly rides the groove of this track—it’s so effortlessly smooth from beginning to end.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“Who Are You” – Tom Waits

Physically and mentally, I haven’t recovered from my grand decision to listen to Bone Machine and Lost Weekend in the same week. I know I’m cooked. I really haven’t changed since the age of 16. I love a sad bastard. Of course, if this was a sad bastard music competition (Phoebe Bridgers is also a noted fan of Tom Waits), Tom Waits would come crashing into first place—Bone Machine was the emotional equivalent of riding a dilapidated roller coaster with rotten, wooden slats that’s been decommissioned since the ’70s and should not humanly hold any weight beyond two pounds. It wildly oscillates from some of the most plainly, horrifically sad songs that I’ve heard in my life, and then we’re back to hootin’ and hollerin’ like a bunch of rabid swamp goblins around a campfire. Whiiiiplaaaaaash. Moments of unlikely beauty rub shoulders with moments of depravity and rot, but they’re all strung together by Waits’s uncanny knack for storytelling. A lasting impression, carried over from “The Earth Died Screaming,” is that he has more than a way with words.

“Who Are You” falls into the latter melancholy category. The minute the lazily ambling upright bass kicked in, I was transported to some rusting, barely populated pub at an ungodly hour, with Waits dejectedly slumped over the bar. It’s a track that’s positively drenched in venom and scorn, but Waits’s bitter storyteller’s bent gives it such a distinct feel. “I did my time/In the jail of your arms” feels like the exact kind of lyric I’d expect from Waits, but it gets so much better—and evocative—from there. Evoking the imagery of a run-down carnival and drunken, reckless escapades, Waits maps out a rugged terrain of a relationship gone sour: “Do you cry? Do you pray? Do you wish them away?/Are you still leaving nothing but bones in the way?/Did you bury the carnival with the lions and all?/Excuse me while I sharpen my nails.” All delivering in Waits’s wavering, throaty growl, “Who Are You” hits all of the visceral parts: biting, stinging, and raw.

A final note: I swear that Bone Machine gives the distinct vibe of the exact kind of music that Hellboy would listen to. The vibe carries over the whole album for me, but there’s a few moments on “Who Are You” that have pronunciations that sound straight-up Ron Perlman. Tom Waits and Ron Perlman do have a vaguely similar vibe, now that I think about it.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

“Champagne Coast” – Blood Orange

Alright, steady now. Hold my hand. We’re getting out of this Bone Machine morass together. Go take a shower, let’s dance! Up and at ’em! Life is worth living!

I’ll get it out of the way: yes, I remember “Champagne Coast” primarily from when it had a moment on TikTok about two years ago. The instrumental almost-chorus, with its high-pitched guitar riff that just glittered, was easily understandable as a catchy hook—and unfortunately, a backdrop for the unattainable beach vacations of influencers. (Happens to the best songs, I guess. I miss when TikTok didn’t know who the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were.) But on its own, “Champagne Coast” is a solid piece of indie pop—Perfume Genius is the best comparison that comes to mind, with Devonté Hynes’s warm, breathy vocals and the airy quality that lingers around the track like a silvery garland. Breathless and yearning, Hynes’s near-mumbled lyrics speak to a loving kind of desperation while waiting for a lover to return home. But its centerpiece is that viral, delicately plucked guitar, performed by Hynes himself; the greatest tragedy about “Champagne Coast” is that even though it’s nearly five minutes long, that guitar doesn’t get much room to breathe. Come on, man! “Let it rip” isn’t appropriate for a song this light, but give that guitar some love!

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

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

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