Tag: Michelangelo Dying

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 10/12/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

This week: shoutout to the Welsh for carrying alternative music at the moment. Also, I continue to eat up 99% of what Horsegirl does, and Michael Stipe appears in (somewhat) unexpected places.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 10/12/25

“Body as a River” – Cate Le Bon

Y’all. MICHELANGELO DYING! It’s a strong contender for my favorite album of the year at this point. I’m trying my best not to listen to it to death, but it’s so hard when this album has hidden sonic surprises every time I go back to it.

Since 2019, Cate Le Bon’s music has felt like an ever-expanding, tactile landscape. Listening to her last three albums feels like running your hands over a model village of an alien world, full of all manner of silken, rubbery textures charting out a world that only Le Bon has access to. Thankfully, she’s chosen to share that world with us, and her musical cartography has made me all the better. Michelangelo Dying in particularly made me feel like I was plunging through a sunlit creek, watching the sunlight dapple through the water onto my skin, watching pebbles, plants, and silvery fish dart through the current alongside me. As she maps out the prognosis of a personal heartbreak, she transforms her knotted mess of pain and grief into a vibrant swath of glistening sound; “Mothers of Riches” bobs up and down like birds vying for a mate, and “Ride,” with the help of John Cale (!!!), meanders into a searing climax and shows off Le Bon’s vocal and emotional range.

But it’s “Body as a River” that swept me off my feet and into the frigid creek waters—or the river, I guess I should say. Or maybe not: after all, “My body as a river/A river running dry.” There’s only a riverbed to speak of now, for Le Bon, a once rushing energy force now diminished by pain. It’s one of those songs that you instantly surrender to. Awash in thrumming pianos and guitars and saxophones so warped and bubbly that they cease to become instruments, Le Bon drags you along with the proverbial current. You can’t do much other than release yourself to the thrall of the music—and I’m glad to do it time after time. The entire album feels watery, but this feels like this musical concept pushed to its extreme; it all burbles and rushes like a waterfall, Le Bon’s voice layered, echoed, and pulled apart in all directions to linger in the feeling of exhaustion and transience. Her lyricism dwells in the real and the surreal in equal measure: “Do you see her/Falling on the wishing bone/Dripping like a candle?/In the pages lost/I’m holding on to sorrow and lust.” It’s a song that makes me glad to be alive in a time when, if you look hard enough, artsy people are honing their craft beneath the shadow of the mainstream, free to let their unique sound flow free like water. We don’t deserve Cate Le Bon.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Ephemera Collector – Stacy Nathaniel Jackson – “See what you like/I read what I write/And it’s never without shame/My body as a river/A river running dry/And I’m sick all the time…”

“In Twos” (Demo) – Horsegirl

Phonetics On & On has had me in a chokehold ever since it came out on Valentine’s Day. Like Cate Le Bon’s new music, it just gives me so much joy that there are so many artists out there making music true to their quirky selves, and music that’s so catchy and creative at that. Somehow, even the demos are almost on the same level as the final products of the album—both versions of “Julie” were worthy, scratchy precursors to one of the album’s most introspective moments.

“In Twos” was a faintly melancholy bridge before the album really got up and started doing the dance from the end of Fantastic Mr. Fox, but it was one of the highlights for me in terms of songwriting. It was already a spectacular track, but somehow, this lo-fi, larval stage of it is almost better than the studio version. Practically, I feel like the lower key would’ve probably been more difficult to sing, but it feels more resonant and more fitting with the lyrics, a gentle, wistful ramble through crowded city streets. The spare instrumentals on the studio version made the melancholy more tangible, but on a personal level, I just love the more garagey sound that this demo has, chock-full of a more restrained version of the sounds of Versions of Modern Performance. Despite the wistfulness, they can never take the jangle away from Horsegirl.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers, #2) – Becky Chambers – “Every car that passes by drives to you/Overlooked by any face just passing through/Your footprints on the street, they walk in twos/Every good thing that I find, I find I lose…”

“Disconnect the Dots” – of Montreal

Isn’t it so wonderful to look back on a musician’s sound to see exactly where the good stuff gestated? “Disconnect the Dots” is already the good stuff in question, but I swear it’s like peeling back a layer of age to see the future of where of Montreal would go in the next four years. I can practically hear an embryonic version of the anxious thrum of “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse” in the bouncing bass of this track and the ever-so-slightly off kilter, catchy dance music of The Sunlandic Twins. “Disconnect the Dots” comes right as Kevin Barnes had stepped off of the precipice of their potential; the lyrics haven’t gotten as English major delightful yet, but this feels like one of their dance songs, so it doesn’t really need those lyrics quite yet. What it does have, however, is Barnes saying “Come disconnect the dots with me, poppet”—I really should’ve seen “poppet” coming a mile away, but it’s such a quirky little additive to the song that exhibits a weirdness in Barnes that could never be suppressed.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Of Monsters and Mainframes – Barbara Truelove – only a book as bonkers as this could be befitting of a song like this…

“Rock ‘n’ Roll Flu” – Super Furry Animals

“Rock ‘n’ Roll Flu?” That’s just what happened when I saw Gorillaz and then realized that I’d gotten RSV a few days later…thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night.

Super Furry Animals have been all but dormant for the better part of a decade, having not released new material since 2016. Separately, most of the band has been active on different projects, but after an agonizing string of teasers that lasted a solid week, Gruff Rhys and co. announced a UK tour and a reissue of their 2005 album Love Kraft. The (extreme) optimist in me is hoping that they’ll do a US tour (and come to Colorado by some miracle), but…listen, I’m glad said super furry animals have emerged from their hibernation, at least for a fleeting moment. Big fan of whatever Super Furry Animal is in this visualizer too.

“Rock ‘n’ Roll Flu,” a joyous, harmony-driven stomper, was a B-Side from the Love Kraft sessions that has just now been released. Though I haven’t listened to any of the album, it’s got some of my favorite qualities of a good Super Furry Animals song. It’s got an absolutely glistening glam sheen to it; it really seems to shimmer like a just-washed car with a handful of water droplets clinging to the surface. With its spacey instrumentals and the seamless harmonies. It’s one of those songs that seems to encapsulate the art that Super Furry Animals surrounds itself with—it’s the exact kind of song to fit in the backdrop of their universe of bold colors and cartoon creatures on rocket ships.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

You Sexy Thing – Cat Rambo – the perfect soundtrack to a bonkers yet heartfelt romp through the galaxy with a bunch of chefs.

“Your Ghost” (feat. Michael Stipe) – Kristin Hersh

There’s at least five different sayings about what you can do with three chords in a rock song, but some songs make you instantly understand every one of those sayings. It didn’t even occur to me that “Your Ghost” is comprised of only three main chords until I listened to it more closely. That might be a consequence of the cello in the background making it appear more lush and complicated, but it’d be lush without it. That’s that talent of someone like Kristin Hersh; she weaves a narrative so haunting and compelling that you barely even notice how deceptively simple the composition is.

Conflicting sources about this one have said that it’s either about Hersh’s struggles with schizophrenia as a teenager or grappling with the death of a close friend. Either way, the lonely yearning for something just out of reach resonates in every note. The music video, directed by Katherine Dieckmann, captures that feeling of an early 1900’s house with aging decorations that I associate with a solid handful of Hersh’s songs. This time, it’s cast in a more decaying light as Hersh sings of being mocked by memories and visions: “So I pad through the dark and call you on the phone/Push your old numbers/And let your house ring/Till I wake your ghost.” Her lyricism is nothing short of evocative, and the verbs are really doing the heavy lifting—her “pad[ding] through the dark,” and instead of simply waiting on the other line, she “slide[s] down your receiver/sprint[s] across the wire” as she yearns for someone to answer her. Nothing does, but this ghost, whatever it may represent, drives in circles around her in dreams, almost mockingly, as if taunting her with the reminder of mortality. When I first heard “Your Ghost,” I was floored by the fact that Michael Stipe and Hersh had crossed paths, but in retrospect, I really shouldn’t have been. I guess they did run in similar circles, and if you slicked up the production and added some mandolin, this could’ve been a cut from Green. But he proves a fitting duet partner for Hersh, whose voice echoes through the decaying wooden slats of her decaying house and onto a forlorn wind.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

What Happened to Ruthy Ramirez – Claire Jiménez – “You were in my dream/You were driving circles around 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 Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 8/10/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

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

This week: a David Bowie double feature (who could’ve seen that coming?), upcoming artsy albums, and more reasons why I really just wish I had dual British citizenship, because apparently all of the good music related stuff happens exclusively in the UK.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 8/10/25

“Is It Worth It (Happy Birthday)?” – Cate Le Bon

I could really do with some more restrained excitement about Michelangelo Dying, but…these singles just aren’t letting me do it! They’re both so enchanting! I can’t get enough!! I’m really hoping they’re not the best of the bunch, but I have faith that Cate Le Bon has something quirkily artsy up her sleeve, if this and “Heaven Is No Feeling” are any indication.

“Is It Worth It (Happy Birthday)?” takes the palette of the album down a more subdued, melancholy route than “Heaven Is No Feeling,” trading the former’s synthy strut for glassy-eyed introspection. But even with the thematic shift, Le Bon’s signature modern touches are there. Awash in fizzling, electronic textures, this track is an outstretched bolt of lavish fabric, much like the pink background of the album cover. Silky and watery, it makes every instrument feel like it’s been drenched in sunlit water, from the gentle, barely perceptible bass to the saxophones. I’m not usually this big of a fan of saxophones, but the way Le Bon utilizes them, more for added sonic texture than for dramatic solos, make her world even more layered and delectable to pick apart. It’s distinctively her, but I can’t help but think of the dense, dreamy soundscapes of the Cocteau Twins when I listen to it. (“For Phoebe Still A Baby” jumps out in particular.) Yet drama is what this song quietly thrives on, as the lyrics muse on trying to make light out of abject sorrow: “Open up in hell/And dress the hall/It’s a holiday/It’s a birthday/Is it worth it?/Is it worth it?” The lyrics nearly get swallowed by the sheer magnitude of sounds woven into the production—including the signature, lilting cadence of Le Bon’s voice—but it almost seems exactly her intention. It feels both mean and inaccurate to call any of it window dressing, but next to the lyrics, all about trying to laugh heartbreak away and pretend it’s something that it’s not, it feels like exactly the kind of shrouding she’s singing about. At the end, she laments that she’s “Checking out/Even with my language in him,” just as the listener tries to extricate her from the vibrant sea of sound she’s crafted to shield herself. It’s easy to get washed away in, and if the rest of Michelangelo Dying is anything like this, I’ll be gladly losing myself in it come September.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Ephemera Collector – Stacy Nathaniel Jackson – “Open up in hell/And dress the hall/It’s a holiday/It’s a birthday/Is it worth it?”

“Saviour Machine” – David Bowie

“David Bowie predicted ChatGPT” would’ve been a good headline for this post, but as much as I love him, he was far from the first to ponder about AI. But really…this song does basically predict ChatGPT, and in this song it’s “President Joe” who introduces it to the world, which is kind of a crazy coincidence. Had to do a double take when I first heard the lyrics, for sure. Drawing from much of the sci-fi media of his time, Bowie’s version of AI comes in the form of The Prayer, an AI system introduced by President Joe to make the population’s decisions easier for them, from stopping wars to simply thinking themselves. However, it’s The Prayer itself that calls for its own destruction, going insane after having such decisions weighing on its shoulders and pondering: “Please don’t believe in me/Please disagree with me/Life is too easy/A plague seems quite feasible now/Or maybe a war/Or I may kill you all!” Life is too easy for sure, now that everyone’s trying to flirt and make art and music and go through school entirely with AI. Sorry, but can’t you idiots stop and forgo convenience to experience the tedious pleasures of the human experience? Embarrassing. Jesus Christ. Remember, kids: you can’t stake your life on a savior machine.

“Saviour Machine” rings reminiscent of short stories of the likes of Ray Bradbury, but it also reflects the much darker tone of The Man Who Sold the World. Though it wasn’t like he hadn’t trod into darker lyrical subjects before, going from something like “Uncle Arthur” to an album comprised of insane asylums, the Vietnam War, and gay sex with Satan in the span of three years is a whiplash-inducing left turn for anyone. I don’t think it’s the edginess of the subject matter that makes it feel more mature, but the exploration—The Man Who Sold the World represents a critical turning point in Bowie’s storytelling ability, and he was willing to explore places that he hadn’t explored before, pushing himself out of his typical territory in order to create something wholly unique. It feels to me what he said when he spoke about art: “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth, and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.” Darkness was coincidental, and of course, not all of the album is necessarily dark—it was merely territory that he hadn’t scoured before, and that challenge led him to create some of his most innovative work, time after time, album after album. “Saviour Machine” feels like the prelude to that storyteller’s attitude, one that would guide him to untold heights in his career.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Outside – Ada Hoffmann – A few centuries in the future, when something like The Prayer gets out of control…

“Real Lovin” – Black Belt Eagle Scout

Katherine Paul has a distinctly whispery voice—everything they sing sounds like they’re singing it into a cool breeze. Most of her music pre-The Land, the Water, the Sky suits it perfectly; though she’s become more adventurous with her vocal capabilities later on, a lot of her songs had a slower, softer demeanor that suited the airiness of her voice. But if there’s any song to be characterized by this, it would be this one. I’d forgotten all about “Real Lovin” for years—I initially listened to At the Party With My Brown Friends around five years ago—until it popped back into my shuffle out of nowhere. Though Paul’s voice soars with more volume towards the end of the track, her whisper-singing is perfectly suited to the quiet tenderness of the lyrics: “Now that you can dream/What is it you see/When you wake up in the folds of blankets in your bed/In your room/In your house/By yourself?” It’s the sound of a sliver of dewy light sliding through the slats of shutters in the early morning as you blink away the threads of sleep. Paul’s voice is a comfortable sheet over me as I listen, and she delivers what’s easily the softest, tenderest uttering of “well that’s bullshit” I’ve ever heard in a song. But no matter the intensity, which rises with every passing minute as the instrumentals build up, I never have a doubt that Paul means exactly what she’s saying.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Each of Us a Desert – Mark Oshiro – “You’ve tried and tried/What seems a million times and you wonder how you’ll end up/Is it the moon?/Is it the stars?/Do they rule you and your heart?”

“Crocadillaz (feat. De La Soul and Dawn Penn)” – Gorillaz

While I froth at the mouth that I can’t go to the Gorillaz exhibit in London, I figured it would be fitting to talk about them…for the millionth time on this blog.

It was a strangely pivotal moment when, a week after Cracker Island released back in early 2023, three more songs were added to the lineup. I had middling thoughts about the album up until then; for me, it represented the point at which Gorillaz (and later Blur with The Ballad of Darren) became nearly indistinguishable from Damon Albarn’s solo work. There were a handful of fun tracks, but as a whole, it failed to hold as much water as something like their first three records, even with the star-studded list of collaborators. And when it seemed all hope was lost…Del the Funky Homosapien and De La Soul returned! (Two years later, “Captain Chicken” has no business being so good for a song with such a goofy title AND samples of chicken clucks. God, it’s so good.) Disregarding the “Momentz” haters (heathens, all of you), every time De La Soul and Gorillaz collaborate, a special kind of magic happens. Even with Trugoy the Dove’s too-soon death hanging over it, “Crocadillaz” was one of the unmistakable highlights of the album. For a song about constantly looking over your shoulder and the trappings of fame, it has a steady, easy calmness to it, propelled by Dawn Penn’s “Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo” chorus, which gets delightfully stuck in my head more often than not. Trugoy and Penn make for an unlikely but smooth pairing for this song, with the former providing the sharp-edged, quick-witted verses and Penn’s smooth, resonant vocals giving the song a simultaneously retrospective and playful chorus. I’m not usually a fan of the “Gorillaz but it’s just the collaborators” songs, but with a pairing as talented as these two, it’s easy to excuse.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

So Let Them Burn – Kamilah Cole – “Could play the sheep, but beware of the wolf’s eye/Hypnotized by the crocodile’s smiles/The exchange is brief, but watch for the teeth…”

“Watch That Man” – David Bowie

Aladdin Sane has to be the most iconic album cover in David Bowie’s catalogue. If you know any album cover, it’s that one—the nondescript, asleep-looking Bowie with a glittering lightning bolt slashing across the front of his face. And that silvery bit on his collarbone—I always thought it was a bone fragment when I was a kid, and my dad thought it was something like mercury pooling on his skin. It raises questions! It sticks in your head! And yet, the album cover gets talked about much more than the actual album. Sure, it’s probably the weakest if we’re grouping it in with Hunky Dory and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, but that’s because you’re grouping it with two of the greatest albums of all time. But it’s really such a disservice that the album only gets remembered for the cover—there are so many excellent cuts from the album, even if it never usually makes the cut for hit Bowie songs (except for maybe “The Jean Genie”). It’s slick as hell, incredibly funky…it just rocks. Listen to the album and you just know. And “Watch That Man” is what sets the tone, a rollicking dance floor rocker that begs for you to shake your hips with every word—not just the “shakin’ like a leaf” bit. Inspired by seeing the New York Dolls live, “Watch That Man” follows a lively party, with the lyrical camera roving over every participant as the music blasts. I never had any particular problem with the mix, but it was one of the more rushed songs on the album, and on reflection, doesn’t sound as clean as some of the other tracks—it’s all a bit muddy, with most of the instruments, Bowie’s voice included, being at a very similar volume. But for a song meant to emulate the rush of a concert or being on a crowded dance floor, it gets the job done spectacularly.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Kings, Queens, and In-Betweens – Tanya Boteju – dancing, parties, and no shortage of glitter and makeup.

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: 6/15/25

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and more importantly, Happy Father’s Day!! I always end up writing one of these posts on Father’s Day, what with it landing on a Sunday and all, but it’s fitting, given that my amazing dad is the one who not only is responsible for a lot of my music taste, but was also the one to encourage me to write these posts and wanted to hear my thoughts. So thank you to him, for all of the gifts he’s given to me, and to my family. I love you. 🩵

This week: before I go radio silent for a week for a road trip, how about a random kick in the pants from 2019? Plus, new Cate Le Bon, old(ish) Shins, and others.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 6/15/25

“Jellybones” – The Unicorns

Chances are, given my proclivities for Car Seat Headrest and other like lo-fi, awkward white boys, I probably would’ve stumbled upon The Unicorns eventually. It was an inevitability. Either way, I was introduced to it via Black Country, New Road’s episode of What’s In My Bag?, and I can’t call it much else other than a delight in the many times that I’ve listened to it since. “Jellybones” is a whimsical title as it is, but the rest of the song stays true to that silliness, complete with bone-related puns (“Drove up in my bone-ca-marrow,” ba-dum tsss); the entire song revolves around jellybones (an obscure sort of expression for nervousness) being a genuine malady worthy of going to the hospital and getting limbs amputated for. Everything has a juddering, garagey sound to it, from the engine-like startup to the guitars to the keyboards, which the intro warps into the sounds I feel like I’d hear aboard a clunky, malfunctioning spaceship on the cover of a ’50’s pulp magazine. 2:43 feels simultaneously too short and the perfect length for “Jellybones”—I need more, and yet this song could only ever be a sputtering little firecracker, spurting out sparks and then gently slipping out of existence.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Madman Comics Yearbook ’95 – Mike Allred – Jellybones definitely seems like it could be a genuine illness in the Madman universe. (Least wacky Dr. Boiffard subplot, maybe?) Either way, the lyrics definitely fit with the kind of silliness in these comics.

“Heaven Is No Feeling” – Cate Le Bon

Getting the one-two punch (positive) of new Big Thief (to be discussed) and Cate Le Bon on the same day was almost too much…and just when I thought that we were finished with all of my most anticipated albums of the year! Cate Le Bon’s new album, Michelangelo Dying, comes out this September, and suffice to say, if it’s anything like this song, I’m all ears.

Taking cues from the synth-heavy sound of Pompeii, “Heaven Is No Feeling” opens with an intro too good for a track that’s right in the middle of the album: a murmur of “What does she want?” before launching into a flurry of rippling, watery synths and guitars slathered in enough effects to make them camouflage with the synths. In line with her very ’80s sound, there’s plenty of saxophone, but not enough that it overpowers any of the rest of the song. Gently groovy and keenly observational, Le Bon takes the position of a wallflower: there is a kind of emotional distance to it as she watches the subjects as they move like pawns across a chessboard: “I see you watch yourself/Walk the room/Stroking the air/Like this paint won’t dry.” As she observes the distant fallout of a failed love, the song feels like she’s watching someone through security camera footage, pretending to be distanced when she hasn’t fully gotten over the wreckage—much like the music video, where a buzzcutted Le Bon watches herself on an old TV. Every repetition of “I see you watch me” feels like a degree of separation from the body and from her feelings (surely that’ll end well…), and “heaven is no feeling” becomes a kind of blissful removal from one’s own emotions.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Infinity Particle – Wendy Xu – “I see you watch me watch you/Watch me move away/You occupy the space/Like a ribbon untied…”

“Chasing Shadows” – Santigold

Santigold, man. Nobody’s doing it like her. I often think of 99 Cents as being one of the only happy albums of 2016, but next to Blackstar, A Moon-Shaped Pool, and Teens of Denial, anything looks happy. But what makes me keep coming back to songs from 99 Cents is how she used the veneer of happy, bubblegum pop songs to further her message—they remain peppy pop songs, but they’re all armed with critiques about consumerism and the music industry. Santigold has often talked about her negative experiences in the music industry, whether it’s how unaccommodating the industry is to mothers, especially where touring is concerned, or how her music did not qualify to some critics as “Black music.” Despite how candid she’s been about the physical and mental toll it’s taken on her, Santigold has only used that to become even more herself than ever. Her last album, Spirituals, went fully into Afrofuturism and current politics, and she’s expanded her creativity into a podcast, Noble Champions, where she brings guests to talk about everything from said nebulous category of “Black music” to social media addiction. (From the episodes I’ve intermittently listened to, she’s also had a whole host of amazing guests, including Yasiin Bey, Questlove, Tunde Adebimpe, Mary Annaïse Heglar, and so many more. The only problem is that there’s not more Santigold, frankly.) I saw her perform live last August, and it’s one of the only concerts I can think of where a singer has been truly kind and candid with her audience; decades in the industry didn’t stop her from signing people’s records in between songs.

Like the album cover, where Santigold is shrink-wrapped and slapped with a price tag along with all manner of plastic junk, “Chasing Shadows” reckons with the human toll of commodifying artists. Contrary to Pitchfork’s assessment that the song “basically plods along inoffensively until it ends” (I’m sorry, the fuck?), it’s one of the more steadfast songs on the album, still fast-paced but providing a cooldown between some of the more in-your-face pop songs. Rostam Batmanglij (formerly of Vampire Weekend) produced the track, and knowing that, I can hear him all over the beat—I say this affectionately, but it’s the most 2016 pairing ever. I love it. Through rapidly-uttered lyrics, Santigold reflects on how quickly the industry moves on so quickly from artists once they’re out of fashion, summarized by one of the finals the second verse: “Why they eating they idols up now/Why they eating they idols up, dammit?” Reflecting on seemingly being left behind, her solution, as always, is to defy the standard, continuing to do what she’s doing. The video mirrors this back: she asserts herself in multiple places inside various houses: at the head of a table at a decadent Christmas feast, standing upright and fully clothed in a bathtub, and towering over a child-sized table with a child-sized tea set. No matter the location, she stands firm, defiantly staring the camera, returning the gaze—of the music industry who tried to put her in a box, to racist and misogynist detractors, or to anyone who has ever doubted her. No matter what, she’s looking directly at you, as though to cement her irreplaceable space of individuality that she’s created for herself.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Victories Greater Than Death – Charlie Jane Anders – “One thing about time, it waits for nobody, you told me, isn’t that what they say/Been batting ‘gainst it and getting nowhere, just racin’ got nothing to say to nobody…”

“Cut Your Bangs” (Radiator Hospital cover) – girlpool

What in the 2019 did my shuffle just pull? I hadn’t even thought of this song in years, and boom, suddenly I’m back in high school art class, diligently obeying the “only one earbud in if you want to listen to music” rule while drawing X-Men fanart because I blew through whatever I was actually assigned. God.

High school…and my first introduction to girlpool through Apple Music. Sure, I’m fully on board with the fact that streaming has harmed musicians more than it has helped them, but for a lot of people, myself included, it opened the floodgates for discovering so many musicians back when I was in high school. girlpool was one of the big ones, prominently soundtracking my sophomore year of high school, from their earlier work on Before the World Was Big (which turns 10 this year, Jesus) to their more current (at the time) What Chaos is Imaginary. Almost six years after I discovered them, girlpool since released one final (disappointing) album, Forgiveness, broken up shortly after, and then…Avery Tucker’s come back with a good solo single, but Harmony Tividad seems to have pulled a Gwen Stefani and now makes pop songs with the most chronically online lyrics you’ve ever heard. How the times have changed. But good for her, I guess? You do you…

Even though girlpool had moved past this inception of their music by the time I got into them, they fit too perfectly into the sad, acoustic indie that comprised most of my music taste, and still kinda does today. “Cut Your Bangs” is a cover, but to this day, it remains one of the best parts of this inception of girlpool. In contrast to the faster, more rock sound of the original by Radiator Hospital, girlpool take the chorus’ ending of “the small stuff” literally, slowing it to a crawl in order to wring the most out of the quietly introspective lyrics. I remember not liking the original when I first heard it, and on reflection, I don’t hate it, but I still think it’s a situation where girlpool knew exactly what to do with it. All of the lyrics need a gentler space to breathe, and the twin harmonies of Tividad and Tucker make them stand out. To this day, the way their voices know exactly which lyrics need a plaintive murmur and which ones need a higher-pitched belt feels almost telepathic—at their best, what made girlpool so successful is that they had such an instantaneous communication that allowed them to switch from gentle to jagged in the blink of an eye, but never once lose their synchronicity.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Some Girls Do – Jennifer Dugan – “You say you’ll cut your bangs, I’m calling your bluff/When you lie to me, it’s in the small stuff…”

“Young Pilgrims” – The Shins

James Mercer just has such a unique way with words. As music history (and my personal music library) proves, there’s practically a million ways to say a sentiment along the lines of “I’m dissatisfied with my life and it’s cold and wet outside and I’m also depressed.” Mercer saw that and gave us these iconic lines:

“A cold and wet November dawn/And there are no barking sparrows/Just emptiness to dwell upon/I fell into a winter slide/And ended up the kind of kid who goes down chutes too narrow…” HE SAID THE LINE! GUYS, HE SAID THE LINE! CHUTES TOO NARROW!

Said barking sparrows came back to me completely at random, in the way that especially sharp lyrics or melodies do. Although Mercer’s narrator envies the “eloquent young pilgrims” passing by him, I struggle to find words other than eloquent to describe how he articulates such a near-universal feeling, a mess of regret and stagnation and the emptiness that comes with control slipping through your fingers and wanting to regain it. In a simple duet of acoustic and electric guitars, Mercer wrings some absolute poetry out of such a stagnant state, drawing every possible image from ice melting on a train window and the desire to “grab the yoke from the pilot and just/fly the whole mess into the sea.” I love a good literary-minded songwriter, which I guess it’s no surprise that I latched onto The Shins from such a young age. But with age, I appreciate the lyrics even more—James Mercer is one of those songwriters who prove that, at its best, music is eloquent poetry set to music. It doesn’t need to be (and rarely is), but when it hits that spot, I can’t help but relish it.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Hammajang Luck – Makana Yamamoto – “But I learned fast how to keep my head up, ’cause I/Know there is this side of me that/Wants to grab the yoke from the pilot, and just/Fly the whole mess into the sea…”

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!