Ever since I read Tweet Cute and loved it about three years back, I’ve been meaning to read Emma Lord’s follow-up, You Have a Match, for ages. I’m not sure if I can just chalk it up to “I shouldn’t read anything that’s languished on my TBR for more than 3 years” because it seems like most of the Goodreads reviewers I’m seeing found it just as disappointing, but either way, this one was a miss for me.
Abby mainly decided to give a DNA service a go as a joke. But the results tell her that she has a secret sister—Savannah Tully. And Savannah isn’t just an ordinary sister—she also happens to be an influencer with a seemingly perfect life. Desperate to find out about the sister her parents hid from her, she hatches a plan to meet up with her at summer camp. But distractions from Leo, her best friend (or something more?) and co-chef at the camp, and drama between her and Savannah threaten to throw a wrench in her plan to find out why her parents separated her sister.
TW/CW: grief/loss, mentions of substance abuse, anxiety, mentions of abandonment, brief descriptions of injury and illness (broken bones, pneumonia)
I was banking on You Have a Match being at least decent just because of the memory of how good Tweet Cute was, but I really should’ve run for the hills the minute I saw the Reese’s YA Book Club sticker on it. But whether or not I’m looking at Tweet Cute through rose-colored glasses or if Emma Lord just took a dip in quality, You Have a Match was not nearly as sweet—or even enjoyable—as its predecessor.
The main issue with YouHave a Match was that it didn’t seem to know what it wanted to be. The premise (and partially the title, although it definitely applies to both) was advertised mostly as a kind of coming-of-age story of sisterhood, but the book itself also wanted to shove a fully-developed romance plot in between it all. The thing is, both of these stories could have been great as separate books—one about finding your lost sister, one about falling in love at summer camp. And I really believe that Lord could’ve succeeded with both of those stories. But even though it could have been possible to merge the two, You Have a Match felt like it didn’t know where to put the emphasis. As a result, the story felt like it needlessly jumped all over the place, making both of the plots cease to be cohesive. It really feels like a case of Lord biting off far more than she could chew.
As a result, the romance that was supposed to happen between Abby and Leo definitely suffered. So much attention was brought to the plot with Savannah and her friends that there was no room for their chemistry to develop, and by the end of the novel, none of the romance felt fleshed out in any way. All of it hinged on the reader believing the information that was very much told (certainly not shown…) that they’d had a beautiful friendship for years, and even that wasn’t enough to save the absolutely lukewarm romantic aspects of this book.
The pacing of You Have a Match didn’t help either of these issues—in fact, it was probably the reason that they were exacerbated. Once the characters got to camp, none of the timing made any sense. It felt like we were just being bounced along like a pinball from subplot A to subplot B without any room to breathe or make sense of what was happening. Everything felt transient and borderline pointless; 309 pages (for the Kindle edition) isn’t that short of a page count, but some points really did feel like filler. This is probably what could have solved the “this book doesn’t know what it wants to be” issue—cut all the filler and focus on developing the relationships between the characters, and chances are, I would’ve enjoyed it so much more.
Part of what endeared me to Tweet Cute was that the social media parts rarely came across as a Gen X author trying too hard to sound “hip.” As much as it can be, it felt real enough that the humor and romance could come through via that aspect. However, whatever internet savviness that Lord had was lost somewhere in the dust between Tweet Cute and You Have a Match. Maybe it was the shift in focus from Twitter to the whole mess that is the concept of Influencers, but it felt incredibly shallow in comparison. Despite her (eventual) redeeming qualities, Savvy came across as the most unoriginal, cardboard-cutout idea of an influencer (fit, makes green smoothies, immaculate hygiene, does yoga, etc.), but Lord could have easily subverted that idea with something that set her apart. All of the nuance came down to “influencers are people too, my life isn’t always perfect :(” and never went any further. Especially with the fact that Abby and Savvy were sisters all along, I feel like this could’ve gone so much deeper—or, at least, in a more interesting direction.
All in all, a coming-of-age, summer camp rom-com that wasted almost all of the potential that it had. 2 stars.
You Have a Match is a standalone, but Emma Lord is the author of several other novels, including Tweet Cute, Begin Again, When You Get the Chance, and the forthcoming novels The Break-Up Pact and The Getaway List.
Today’s song:
if I listen to this enough time, will I just forget that winter exists?
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
I’m finally out of finals hell! Hopefully I’ll have more time to write and read in the next month or so, but I’ll certainly be sleeping. As a celebration: songs for the beach, songs for the ocean, and songs for when you need to cry and dramatically drape a hand over your forehead. You’re totally in a movie for the latter. Totally.
Seems like I’m somewhat late on the Laufey train, but then again, she’s young and she’s certainly got tons of records ahead of her, so I suppose I’m not that late. She has, however, swept the internet for doing something almost unthinkable—her noble cause of bringing jazz to Gen Z. It’s an incredible cause to spearhead in your musical career, what with jazz being up there with country at the butt of every “I listen to everything but this” joke and not selling well as a genre for decades. I say this as somebody who falls into the former category with both of those genres, but from the scope of what I’ve heard, Laufey’s brand of jazz isn’t the kind of bland smooth jazz you hear in a spa and never hear about again. It’s the kind of dramatic, emotional vocal jazz sung by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holliday—two artists who she cites as some of her biggest musical influences.
Some of her other tracks (“From the Start” and “Falling Behind” comes to mind) spread like wildfire across social media this year, but although they weren’t enough to lift out of slightly out-of-the-ordinary background music for me, I’ll admit that my heart’s been fully captured by “Let You Break My Heart Again.” It’s the absolute best sort of high drama; the swelling instrumentation of the Philharmonia Orchestra in concert with Laufey’s low, honeyed voice make it just the sort of thing to listen to while imagining yourself leaning out the window and pretending you’re in a movie. It practically begs for flowing dresses and a hand artfully draped over your forehead. (Oh! I’m fainting…into your arms…) I’ve never been one for Disney, much less their musicals, but this song almost seems like the kind of princess’s solo number that stands the test of time. I’m also not a jukebox musical kind of person, but having this as the emotional climax while the lead actress laments into the spotlight doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. With every soft flutter in her voice, you can feel the yearning and heartache creep through the windowsill like golden-hour sunlight. I just can’t help but dramatically twirl around and collapse into my (imaginary) ballgown with every listen.
In closing, the genius who paired this song with this video deserves a raise at whatever job they’re in:
I keep having to say this, because it needs to be said: The Apples in Stereo seriously tapped into the wellspring of indie-pop magic, and we barely seem to have acknowledged that. No other band of their ilk, that I can think of, has managed to consistently produce the sheer amount of glimmering pop capsules that they have in the lifespan of their band. Under-appreciated genius, for sure.
“Glowworm” falls into that perfect category of songs that seem to be shaded in the same colors of the album cover. In this song’s case, this song glows with the same bright yellow-greens of the album art for Fun Trick Noisemaker, just like the gentle, greenish flicker of the titular glowworms and fireflies. And like the bugs it’s named after, this song feels like a swarm of gentle lights illuminating the summer night, sparking and glowing with lively energy (no pun intended). Robert Schneider’s soft voice jumps and bounces around the almost nursery rhyme-like opening lyrics (“Put a penny in the pot/Put a nickel in your pocket/Every nickel that you’ve got/Is a nickel in the slot”), opening like a storybook into a glittering tale of yearning after a reckless lover—”You just had to spend it all/Every hour, every minute/You had to make it all/Wonderful, beautiful.” Like the fleeting glow of the worm, it’s a there-and-gone kind of love—”You lived to burn.” But the ecstatic burn is one that you can instantly feel in your heart—the song makes you travel on a trail of light up into the night sky, just like fireflies.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Nothing Burns as Bright as You – Ashley Woodfolk – the song is decidedly more lighthearted (at least, that’s how it sounds) than the book, but the feeling of falling in love with a fiery, reckless person remains the same. This book, however, deals with the fallout.
“Genius Of Love” has found its way everywhere—most prominently sampled in Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” (oh, look, we’re mentioning her in December without mentioning…okay, I’m not gonna say it, that’s too easy)—and I feel like it has almost made us forget how delightfully bonkers it is. Heck, here I am in my dorm, looking at the boygenius picture that I cut out of a magazine and pasted on the wall, and it’s captioned with “genius of love.” It’s everywhere. If this song had a physical representation, it would probably be some kind of collage, but the kind that looks mindless from a distance—a bit of yarn here, some googly eyes there, and some brightly-colored but dried-out markers to color the background—but with a closer look, clearly has all the intention in the world. And yet, it’s such a meticulous pop song. I’d expect nothing less from half of the Talking Heads.
I mean, this starts off with Tina Weymouth doing a playful spoken-word segment with the affectation of a 50’s housewife in a grainy commercial: “What you gonna do when you get out of jail?/I’m gonna have some fun/What do you consider fun?/Fun, natural fun.” The delivery of that last line seriously makes me think that I’m about to be sold some kind of unnaturally green jello salad or something. But it all works so ridiculously well together. After the whole housewife bit, Weymouth’s gorgeous voice really has the chance to shine—the sincere sweetness of it makes every repetition of “I’m in heaven/With my boyfriend, my laughing boyfriend” seem nothing but genuine, like there’s a halo of cartoon hearts and bluebirds circling around her head. And the synths—they really feel like you can touch them. They pulsate and bubble and twinkle in every part of your ear. It’s no wonder that this song is one of the most sampled songs of the 80’s, especially in hip-hop and R&B from the 90’s up until as recent as last year. I’m getting mixed signals from the internet about the exact amount of times it’s actually been sampled—the sources range from around 50 to a whopping 179, but either way, the legacy of “Genius of Love” cannot be overstated. The synth heard ’round the world.
I’ve had a brief kick of collecting random Jay Som singles for my hoard, and I haven’t regretted a single second of it. Even if the songs weren’t as good as they are, I’d still come out the other side with song titles like this. This one is like a “Crocodile Tears and the Velvet Cosh” situation—if there every is another song called “O.K., Meet Me Underwater,” it’ll be copying this one.
Besides being so charmingly memorable, “O.K., Meet Me Underwater” has the advantage of being made for a Jay Som song. Her trademark of slightly off-kilter electric guitars and synths and the water-smooth ripple of how it all sounds together was made for a song title like this. All of the instrumentals already could have sounded like they were recorded from just under the surface, only slightly to the left of being muffled by a stream of bubbles rising from the depths. As Jay Som sings the chorus of “If you’re feeling okay/Meet me underwater,” every word feels like it’s being spoken just before she dips her head back down into the waves, beckoning you to follow her to some kind of colorful coral reef kingdom befitting of the cheerful glimmer of her music. Even that deliciously bouncy riff starting at 1:04 sounds like something you’d hear in the background of an ocean-themed episode ofReally Wild Animals (PLEASE tell me somebody else remembers those), or even just some cartoon they play in the background of an aquarium, complete with smiling dolphins and clam shells opening and closing to the beat. The neon yellow on the cover of the single doesn’t do nearly enough justice to the summery glow of this song—you’d need a whole, pastel-oceanic palette to capture the whole song.
I know a somewhat clever band name when I see one, but I also see a contentious one when I see it as well. The wordplay is great, but upon further reading, it looks like the Allah-Las, a band consisting of predominantly white, non-Muslim dudes from California, mostly picked the name because it was “holy-sounding.” They have faced some criticism for the name from the Muslim community over the years, and they’ve clarified that they never meant any ill will or disrespect by it, but even then, there’s still an undeniable uncomfortableness about a bunch of white guys from LA slapping the name on themselves with what seemed like very little thought behind it.
That aside, if there’s one thing white guys from California are good at doing, it’s making songs about the beach, and man, the Allah-Las nailed it. It’s not necessarily the kind of bouncy Beach Boys song that you’d expect from that descriptor—”Catamaran” takes plentiful notes from the other side of the sixties, a summertime, surfy beach walk by way of the Kinks. It’s got all the ingredients for a slightly left-of-the-dial 60’s dial bubbling in the pan—bright, jangly guitars, gentle percussion, and the kind of lyrics that sound like they could have just as easily slipped out of the mouth of the likes of Jim Morrison: “I’m an oyster pearl’s locked up in a shell/You better bring that diving bell.” What plucks the Allah-Las out of the 60’s is the kind of flat, disaffected vocals running rampant in every white guy who has ever pursued a career in indie pop—like TV Girl, it gets on my nerves for the most part, but in the sun-baked sepia of the rest of the song, it almost makes sense.
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
Last week was unintentionally heavy on the sad girl fall music, but fear not! I’ve got more than a little room for joyous whimsy and glorious poetry this week. The color palette borders on my contractually obligated, monthly blue period, but I’d say it’s more periwinkle than blue. Periwinkle. I’ve always loved that word. It’s just such a delightful wonder of the English language. Plus, it reminds me of the cat from Blues Clues, which is always a plus.
The time has come! Wilco’s newest album Cousin came out last Friday, and honestly? It’s such a treat. I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of my most-loved bands, but this one has some of my favorite songs that they’ve produced in the past 5 years or so. It really was a struggle to try and pick just one song to think about—there’s the ear-popping chaos of opener “Infinite Surprise” that truly lives up to its name, and the swirling explosion of color that is “Pittsburgh,” to name a few. But this one keeps coming back to me like a cat nuzzling against my leg, and who am I to deny it?
Whoever hired Traceloops for the visuals for the lyrics videos for Cousin needs a raise. The feel is so spot-on—especially for this one. The hazy, gently pulsating pops of color perfectly capture the tactile feel of the whole album. The sound production really does feel tactile in places, thick enough to pull apart and wring in your hands like a clump of wool. “Sunlight Ends” lives up to its name; from the first opening notes, lazy and tumbling over each other, it creates a hypnotic atmosphere like no other. The melody opens with all of the delicateness of a flower bud gently cracking open, shedding off bits of frost and morning dew as it awakens. (The frost from all those frozen flowers on the album cover, maybe?) It has all the sparkling haziness of seeing stars at the edges of your vision. And as with any given Wilco song, you bet that they have the poetic chops to match the song’s atmosphere in spaces. Saying that songs are just poems set to music is common enough, but it takes a lot to distinguish a songwriter as a poet. Jeff Tweedy, however, is an easy pick for a poet. There’s usually enough lines to spotlight, but…I might as well just paste in the entire song. Not only is it so well married to the music, every line is nothing short of a masterpiece. The way that the bass dips down as Tweedy sings “You dance/Like the dust in the light/And I’m following/Until the sunlight ends”? “You’re the kind of flashing sign/That only gets you lost”? The way that the carefully-crafted atmosphere subtly tears apart at the seams as Tweedy sings “And I’m lost”? It’s nothing short of gorgeous. And if it’s anything to any of you, the lyrics stood out to me so much that I nearly stopped in my tracks on my walk to the dining hall. That’ll do it.
Speaking of bands who’ve been cranking out fantastic music prolifically for the past few years…
My wife Soccer Mommy has had a productive few years! Barely a year after her incredible third album, Sometimes, Forever, she’s got a wonderful covers EP called Karaoke Night. It’s a lovely set of covers. Everybody from R.E.M. to Slowdive to Sheryl Crow meshes with her signature style, and she’s even managed to dupe me into liking a Taylor Swift cover. Rest assured, this is the only time I will willingly listen to Taylor Swift. (it’s a great cover, though. Sophie Allison can do it all.)
Anyone who knows Soccer Mommy well knows that the 90’s are visible everywhere on her. Even if almost all the covers of Karaoke Night weren’t from that decade, it would be easy to see the threads of many an alt-rock band from that decade rubbing off on her. And even though I’m not as familiar with Pavement, this cover was the perfect match—Allison said in a recent Instagram post that this song was her first exposure to the band, and remains one of her personal favorites of theirs. Stephen Malkmus’ laid back singing style was an easy translation for Allison, who sells every somber, quiet note. Her voice really is nothing short of luscious, and it fits with the vibrant but restrained guitars like two puzzle pieces. The whole cover has such an enchanting atmosphere for a song so full of 90’s indifference and ennui. And once the heavier guitars kick in, Allison’s voice rings stronger than ever, displaying everything that I’ve ever loved about her—the angsty soul she breathes into every note, the glow it seems to emanate, and the endearing way that she pronounces her W’s as softened V’s whenever she gets really into the lyrics. I’m glad that I’m living in this period of prolific output from Soccer Mommy, original or covers. Her music is always a gift.
In the back of my mind, I always thought that this song had an exclamation point in the title. “Go!” It just seemed to be genetically embedded in the music. They do scream “GO!” like that in the chorus, anyhow. I don’t know. Just a suggestion. About 15 years too late to send my suggestions to Robert Schneider and co., but better late than never, I guess?
Exclamation point or no exclamation point, the infectious catchiness of “Go” is undeniable. From the first cry of “Go!” as the horn section kicks in, there’s nothing that can stop the runaway energy (no pun intended) of this song. It’s a song that’s just clawed its way out of a cardboard box, and will do anything to stay wild and free. Ever since I remember hearing it, most frequently in the car when I was in elementary school, it’s never failed to nudge at least one little shoulder sway out of me. It really is infectious. And the lyrics have that same air of anxious freedom—the subject is confronted with all sorts of trials (“When you go into the shop/Lady watches like a cop”) and tribulations (“She don’t like the way you look/So she treats you like a crook”), but all of them are met with a riotous burst of horns and Schneider’s rallying cry of “You know you wanna go (go, baby!)”. It’s impossible not to feel the rush of freedom from the end of the chorus: “You’re such a/Pretty, pretty, pretty little girl/Let’s blow this/Ugly, ugly, ugly little world!” And nothing beats the true chaos of the breakdown from 1:46-2:28—for a band characterized by tight, mathematical precision in every beat, they make the squealing, crunching mess of guitars, drums, and screeching flutes work just as well as anyone.
I don’t necessarily think about musical coherence whenever I put these posts together. It’s mostly just what I’ve been listening to lately, and whether or not the album covers at least somewhat fit together. But jeez..this song fits so well with The Apples in Stereo. Almost too welel. I feel like any given Apples song would fit spectacuarly with any given Jim Noir song. Like bread and butter. Peanut butter and jelly. Aziraphale and Crowley, but not before the last episode of season 2. (I’m still in pain.) Me on a Friday night and an episode of The Great British Bake-Off.
I was compelled to go back and listen to Jim Noir’s delightful Zooper Dooper EP the other day while I holed up in my dorm while a football game went on. Not that I expected anything less, but as always, it’s a pure burst of spacey, Britpop delight, served up with a side of absolute whimsy. Like half of my album/EP experiences, songs like the hopeful favorite “Map” and the oddball story of “Car” overshadowed this one, so much so that I forgot that it existed altogether. But now I’m embarrassed that I even thought of turning the other cheek away from this song—”She Flies Away With My Love” is a pure delight. Really. Again, this is your PSA to check out Jim Noir’s catalogue in general, because if you’re in gen z, chances are that he’s appeared more times in your childhood than you think. This song in particular feels sanded to smooth perfection, hitting a euphoric, whimsical balance between sharp, driving drums and bass and deliriously bubbly synths. The two parts feel like they’re in rooms right next door to each other, working in tandem but being exceedingly distinct from each other in the process. The opened-soda-can fizzing of the electronics and the pitched-up backing vocals sound miles away from the heavy punch of the drums once the verse kicks in, but they work in such harmony that could ultimately be crafted by mastermind like Jim Noir.
Compared to last week, this week’s selection of songs ended up being a lot more light-hearted and bubbly, at least in terms of sound. The color scheme screams less of the decay of fall and more of fresh-washed sheets and flowers. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t end this ensemble with the epitome of comfort.
Sure. Kid’s songs are generally meant to be silly and joyous, and they generally don’t deviate from that. But there’s a certain subset of kid’s songs that go past that and remain bastions of comfort for the rest of your life. “Your Personal Penguin” crossed that threshold long ago— I mean, here I am, now in my twenties (how’d that happen, huh?), still nodding along to this sweet little tune. Say what you want about Gen Z and nostalgia, and yada yada yada (as if every generation hasn’t had some kind of romanticization of the past, and we’re only pointing the finger at Gen Z because the Internet has exacerbated how widespread the phenomenon actually is, etc.), but going back to these kinds of songs is like reuniting with an old friend. And this song really has been everywhere in my life. It soundtracked many a car ride to school when I was young, and on my 10th birthday, when I got my brand-new iPod nano (which is still kicking, somehow…thanks, Apple), I listened to this song while huddled under my grandma’s bathrobe while a thunderstorm rumbled outside. I had a Minecraft world on the family iPad where I built a house in the snowy mountains, and I tried to fit some of the lyrics of this song on a sign in front of it—the part about how “lots of other penguins seem to do fine/In the universe of nothing but ice.” (Suffice to say, it was too long to fit the whole thing on there. Pressing problems for a 10-year-old.) And yet, it took me until about a year ago to figure out that this song was based on a book—in fact, all of the songs on Sandra Boynton’s Blue Moo are. I’m surprised that I missed out on that part, but it really says something that this song gives me such warmth without the addition of the delightful penguin illustrations. Davy Jones just has that special quality about his voice—it borders on nasally, but it’s filled with such a playful, contagious joy that sets it apart—the silly smile this song wears can’t help but spread to you. The rollicking pianos and almost comically deep backing vocals make for an earnestly hug-delivering song.
And, for more joy to add to your life, here’s the song paired with the illustrations from Sandra Boynton’s original picture book:
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!
Here we are in the heat of August, and I bring you a batch of songs with a Halloween color scheme. I say, it’s my birthday month and I get to choose to color scheme, and I say that every day is Halloween over here at the Bookish Mutant. It’s only fitting that we have the band who probably originated that phrase on here. Plus some vampires. A whole empire of them, as a matter of fact.
With almost every Big Thief song that I hear, I’m convinced more and more to go deeper into their discography. Plus, the sisterhood of queer women growing out buzzcuts has to stick together. 🫡
As I clumsily tried to explain to my dad with some tired, T-Rex arm moves before dinner the night that this song came out, “Vampire Empire” is a song that really feels like it’s pressing down on you. After the curtain lifts on the deceptively silent opening, the steadfastness of this song never lets up. With each drumbeat, I feel like I’ve been sucked into a water wheel, bobbing along with its machinery. Each punch of the impeccably rhythmic chorus feels like a spoke passing over me: “You give me chills/I’ve had it with the drills/I’m nothing, you are nothing, we are nothing with the pills.” And if there’s anything I love in a song, it’s that quality where everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge of collapse, but is reconstructed just as quickly. From the pots-and-pans banging sound of the percussion to the way that Adrianne Lenker’s voice strains, soars, then screams in the final verse: “You say you wanna be alone, and you want children/You wanna be with me, you wanna be with him.” Even if the now beloved version that they performed earlier this year on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert excelled in its indie tightness, the barely-contained fury of this version matches matches the lyrics so much more, with its unpredictable, pressing highs and lows. And as much as I loved the original “I’m a fish and she’s my gills” lyric, the way it was squashed right at the end of the chorus did feel like it was interrupting the flow of an otherwise impeccably rhythmic song.
Rotate has been getting great reviews ever since it came out about a week ago, and even before that—and I’m so happy. I don’t know as much of the context behind Leonore Wheatley, it makes me so happy to see Jim Noir FINALLY getting more of the recognition that he deserves! If there’s anybody who deserves to have their album called “the album of the summer,” it’s him and Leonore.
Co-Pilot (Leonore Wheatley and Jim Noir, a.k.a Alan Roberts) make the perfect music for getting things done; I normally put on an album when I clean out my bathroom, but there are some albums that are…shall we say, better than others for doing such things. (Cue an Arrested Development-style cutback to me crying into the sink to “Don’t Give Up”.) I don’t know much about Leonore Wheatley or her other projects, but Jim Noir always makes that perfect kind of music—it can tickle your brain in a pleasantly creative way, but it makes for the perfect soundtrack to washing down the bathroom mirror or shelving books at the library. So Rotate was bound to be just like that, and that’s exactly how it turned out to be. But as with anything by Jim Noir, it’s so much more than just quirky background music—it’s the sonic equivalent of a Russian doll, layered with oodles of hidden samples, sounds, and fun. “Swim to Sweden,” the Rotate’s second single and opening track, is the perfect display of that explosive, wondrous weirdness. It’s a whole sensory experience; all of the many, layered synths make sounds that crackle, writhe, and, as the title suggests, swim around in your head as the song plays. It’s like a stimulating massage for the brain: the music grows fingers that wiggle all around you, invoking images of bubbles and pulsating lights. I’d be remiss if I didn’t say anything about Wheatley’s contributions, even with my minimal context; I don’t know how much of the instrumentation was from her, but her voice was clearly the anchor that steadied the whole record, richly lilting and magically suited to everything surrounding it. Wheatley and Noir’s vocals weave effortlessly together, diving and darting through the current between the synth melodies like fish.
Bottom line: if you’re looking for something refreshing and perpetually exciting to listen to, go listen to Co-Pilot. Rotate is out now on all streaming platforms! I almost put “Move To It” as this week’s pick, but I’ll direct you to this one too—it samples the same keyboard track that C418 sampled for Minecraft’s “Chirp.” And while you’re at it, I’d once again encourage you all to support Jim Noir’s solo work via his Patreon, if you can.
With these Sunday Songs posts, I hope to give you all a glimpse into my shuffle. Some weeks, it’s fairly curated. On weeks like this, it really does feel like my shuffle. And by that, I mean four tangentially related songs that sort of fit together, and one of the two (2) Ministry songs in my library. Gotta keep you all on yours toes somehow.
I’ve never been the biggest fan of most metal or industrial music, but as I’ve gotten older and started to appreciate more of it, I’ve noticed a pattern. I doubt I’ll ever completely warm up to all of it (there’s only so much screaming in my ears that I can handle), but for a fair amount of those bands that I’ve been exposed to, there’s always 2 or 3 songs that I just inexplicably love. For Black Sabbath, it’s “N.I.B.” For Nine Inch Nails, it’s “Terrible Lie,”“Head Like a Hole” and “Reptile.” And for Ministry, who famously inspired the name of the latter, it’s “So What” and this song. (Don’t think I’ll quite warm up to Iron Maiden, though. I’ve tried. Apologies to my dad and brother. Bruce Dickinson is undeniably a king, though.)
I don’t really remember enough Ministry to see what separates this song from everything else I’ve heard and passed by. But “Stigmata” came back to me in one of those joyous moments where my shuffle decided to dredge something from the dusty depths of my iTunes library, to my surprise. And instantly, I remembered the rush it gave me in my sophomore year of high school, when I first remember hearing it and liking it. I know the word “feral” is tossed around more often than not these days, but…that’s exactly the way this song makes me feel. The instant the drums kick in, I just start grinning from the anticipation. Then comes one of Al Jourgensen’s many raspy shrieks (which he can keep up for a surprising amount of time), and then it all comes crashing into you. From there, it never lets up—it’s the very definition of abrasive, but the kind of theatrical abrasiveness that never holds back. You can just picture this guy maniacally grinning and wiggling his fingers as he draws out “I’m chewing on glass/And eating my fingers.” Again, who knows what line my mind drew between this and the rest of Ministry, but this song is just so fun. I’ve heard enough to know that metal probably won’t ever fully be my cup of tea, but my brain knows exactly what it likes, no matter the arbitrary, inexplicable distinctions it makes.
This song and “Vampire Empire” seem to be cousins in a lot of ways. Both of them were famed, unreleased songs that became live gems and staples for their respective bands, and, lo and behold, were released on the same day. Even though I’m far more familiar with Shakey Graves, Big Thief overshadowed my listening, out of the two—as you could probably tell, I couldn’t get enough of it. But “Evergreen” is just as uniquely wondrous, even if I’m admittedly overdue in appreciating it.
No matter how many times I listen to this song, I always fall into the trap of turning the volume up for the quiet acoustic plucking that makes up the beginning of the song. Then, of course, in true, modern Shakey Graves fashion, it’s all gone in a flash and a bang of static as the true beginning of the song kicks in. It’s exactly like the image on the album cover of the forthcoming new album Movie of the Week (!!!)—the silhouette of Alejandro Rose-Garcia, arms outstretched in ecstasy like the black and white monster movie version of Victor Frankenstein declaring “IT’S ALIVE!” The rest of the track continues in that unexpected trajectory. “Evergreen” is a sea of purple-hued fuzz and distortion, dreamy and explosive. Like the trees it’s named after, it’s a song that seems to lure you into the woods, tinged with dreams but hiding something faintly sinister: “Let me rest, yeah let me be/Overgrown and evergreen.” Guess we were all feeling that “I need to go off into the woods and let myself be covered in moss” feeling. It feels like the next natural progression from Can’t Wake Up, which saw Shakey Graves leaning more towards the alternative in alternative folk, with its array of spooky, adventurous tracks (see: “Aibohphobia,”“Dining Alone,”“Counting Sheep”). The folk part was never lost, and judging from Garcia’s penchant for cowboy hats, I doubt it ever will be, but either way, “Evergreen” is surely an exciting window into what’s to come.
Wilco, Shakey Graves, and Mitski this September? BUCKLE UP! And I’m seeing the first two live later this year, so that’s even more fun! (I doubt I could ever do a Mitski concert. I……yeah, I’ve seen so many articles linked to the fandom’s weirder-than-usual parasocial relationships with her and FAR too many “mommy” comments on posts about her. I couldn’t do it.)
Chances are, if you thought of a creatively-inclined person having a sudden change in their career to pursue their passion, it would go something like this: person gets stuck in an office job crunching numbers, person writes songs in their spare time, person quits job in order to pursue music. Happens all the time. But it’s hard to think that the opposite might be true. And that’s the case for Robert Schneider, frontman of The Apples in Stereo, Thee American Revolution, and one of the founders of the Elephant 6 Collective. As his indie rock music gained traction, his hobby and eventual passion was math; while on tour, his bandmates often recollected him scribbling his way through equations in his spare time. And now, he teaches math for a living: in a 2018 interview with Atlanta Magazine, he described the relationship between math and music as such: “Music, art, poetry, and mathematics—these have the feeling of mysticism and religion to me…It’s more than just something you do or something you’re good at. These are things that to me are fundamentally as important as something could possibly be.”
Looking back at The Apples in Stereo, a delightfully weird staple of my hipster childhood, with this context makes their entire sound make more sense. “Delightful” is always the word I end up reaching towards with their music, with their bubbly, electronic sounds and penchants for adding in backing vocals made to sound like a choir of robots. But even if they haven’t been as active in a little over a decade, every time I rediscover one of their songs, it’s simultaneously like reuniting with an old friend and unearthing something wholly new. Like “Stigmata,” “Can You Feel It?” got dragged in by my shuffle, bringing with it a whole slew of pure, joyous childhood memories. Many a car ride was soundtracked by this song, electronic happiness and the impressively swift maneuver of my dad turning down the volume down and back up again just in time for my brother and I to miss the word “bullshit.” And to this day, no matter how many times I listen to it, “Can You Feel It?” remains supercharged with that pure joy. Even if his passion turned out to be math, there’s no denying that Robert Schneider could write an excellent pop song—instantly hooking, it bubbles with infectious joy, calling on you to “drown out the static on the FM radio.” As the call to “turn up your stereo” fades to near-a cappella, something about said choir of robots keeps the excitement of the whole song at a fever pitch, waiting for the instrumentals to crash down once again. Whatever the case, I’d say that Robert Schneider and company found the equation for indie rock joy, and it’s never once lost its shine.
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!
I’d heard of this novel now and then before reading it, but it managed to escape my periphery for years. It then got selected for November’s pick for my high school’s book club, so I decided to pick it up before the library ran out of copies. I had no expectations, but I was surprised at how dazzling of a book it was! Automatically on my favorite books of 2021.
my library copy on my windowsill ft. a cool filter
Kell has lived a life caught between many worlds—in a literal sense. As a fabled Antari magician with the ability to travel between worlds, he works as a royal ambassador for his homeland of Red London, traveling between his home, Grey London, and White London. Black London fell long ago.
A chance encounter with an artifact containing dangerous magic and a skilled thief named Delilah Bard throws Kell off course. Now, he must wrestle with magic that could potentially swallow his home–and an alliance that could result in his undoing.
TW/CW: murder, blood, graphic violence, public executions
Going into this book, I had little to no expectations. I read This Savage Song about four years ago and remembered next to nothing about it, and so I had no sense about how I would feel about V.E. Schwab’s other books. To my surprise, A Darker Shade of Magic hooked me almost instantly with its unique characters and dangerous magic!
Schwab’s writing was the star of the show here, no questions asked. Her prose was so immersive that I could feel magic in the air, smell rain and ash, and see a river tinted red as though it were all surrounding me. Each London had its own intricate mythology, and each was fleshed out to the degree that none of them felt rushed over. (I have no sense for Black London, though, but I have a feeling I’ll learn more about it in the coming books. Hopefully.) Her imagery is nothing short of magical (no pun intended), and the worldbuilding to support each London made the environment that much more believable.
The central plot of A Darker Shade of Magic was a little bit weak, but it made up for it with tons of action and snappy dialogue. Having a good portion of the plot center around a ✨magical rock✨ is dangerous in and of itself, and even though this ✨magical rock✨ had some serious ✨magical consequences✨, it did feel a bit like a sorry excuse for a plot. Lucky for us, there’s far more than that; Schwab supplies the book with enough political intrigue, fantasy lore, banter, and intense conflict to make the plot full enough to sustain a gripping story. And gripping it was–yeah, I know I just griped about the ✨magical rock✨, but I seriously couldn’t put this one down.
For the most part, I adored the characters! Kell was a fantastic protagonist. From his distinct appearance (MAN I need to draw him) to his quiet loyalty to his magic prowess, it’s hard not to love him. Yeah, he’s more than a little edgy, but it was lovable in a Kaz Brekker kind of way. All of the supporting characters were similarly charming, bringing all sorts of unique elements to the plot.
All of them except for Lila.
Lila…
I loved almost all of the other characters, but I hated Lila. She fell straight into the “not like other girls” trope, and most of her mannerisms didn’t fail to make me cringe. What I didn’t care for in particular was her motivations. Nothing Lila did made any sense. I get that she’s a teenager, but wouldn’t leading a life of crime and starving on the streets give somebody some semblance of direction in life? Every decision that she made hinged on the fact that there would be no consequences, and most of it was fleeting, shallow, and far too spur of the moment.
The worst example: why she wants to travel through all of the alternate Londons with Kell? “Because I’m bored.”
…okay, maybe I’m giving her too little credit. Maybe that was a cover for her actual motivations. But do we know any of these motivations? NOPE. Thus why her character made no sense. The only upside is that I imagined her looking like Maeve from Sex Education with a cool fantasy outfit.
this is Maeve, for reference
All in all, though, an immersive and luscious fantasy that hooked me in from page one. 4.5 stars!
@ Lila
A Darker Shade of Magic is the first in the Shades of Magic trilogy, followed by A Gathering of Shadows (book 2) and A Conjuring of Light (book 3). Under this pseudonym, V.E. Schwab is also the author of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue and the Villains series (Vicious and Vengeful).
Today’s song:
the instrumental part at 2:31 was stuck in my head earlier this afternoon and it took me a good hour to remember what it was from
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
Summer ended for me this week, and I started back at school on Wednesday. It’s good to see my friends again, but…yeah. Too many people. At least they’re requiring masks at my school. Thankfully, we didn’t have much homework this week, though.
I’ve had a hit-or-miss reading week – most of them fell in the 3.5 star range, but I found a great book and another one that didn’t do it for me as much. I think I have a good reading week ahead of me, though!
This weekend’s been good though! We celebrated my birthday over the weekend, and we went to a new location of my favorite bookstore and got some great-looking books! We also visited the Wild Animal Sanctuary this morning, and it was great to be there after not going for so long! (Look it up – it’s a great place to go if you’re in the Colorado area!)
Other than that, I’ve just been working my way through the climax of my sci-fi WIP, volunteering at the library, drawing, playing guitar, and slapping nerdy bumper stickers on my car. I also rewatched Guardians of the Galaxy with my friend on the last day of summer. Never gets old.
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and HAPPY SPOOKY SEASON!
This week was definitely…something. I had (and still have) a slew of exams and a project to do all week, so school-wise, very overwhelming. Not ideal. But October always makes me feel better, and spending the weekend in Vail among the changing leaves of the aspens definitely alleviated some of the stress from earlier in the week.
Somehow I managed to read…a bunch this week? I’m not sure why, but I managed to blow through most of my library haul AND an eARC in a week flat, and that’s definitely a…record of sorts for me. I mean, one of them was a short graphic novel, but still. I haven’t been able to outline as much this week, but it’s starting to have *some* semblance of structure.
And the first few episodes of season 4 of Fargo came out recently, and they were both SO GOOD! I also re-watched Coraline after not seeing it for…almost a decade? The first episode of Penny Dreadful too–SPOOKY SEASON!
I don’t usually read seasonally (unless it’s Spooky Season, of course), and that wasn’t the reason that I requested this eARC, but I’m happy to say that All Our Hidden Gifts was a delightful read that’s perfect for this time of year! Though it wasn’t without its flaws, it was a sweet mix of paranormal fantasy, horror, and contemporary fiction.
Maeve’s sentenced to cleaning out the closet for her in-school suspension, but she soon learns that the job might not be as boring as she thought it was.
When mysterious tarot deck turns up the closet, Maeve pockets it, learning everything she can about it so that she can put her cards to good use. Her readings soon become the talk of her Catholic school, and soon, she has customers lining up outside of the closet. But after Lily, her former best friend, draws an unknown card, she disappears days later, causing a commotion in their tight-knit community. With the help of Lily’s sibling Roe, Maeve must find the secret of this mysterious Housekeeper card before its repercussions spread beyond Lily’s disappearance.
Thank you to Edelweiss+ and Walker Book US/Candlewick Press for sending me this eARC in exchange for an honest review!
All Our Hidden Gifts had the feel of an 2000’s horror movie for a teen audience, but in the best way possible. There’s paranormal and high school drama in equal amounts, but O’Donoghue balances out both genres for a paranormal tale that teens are sure to love.
Let’s start off with my biggest complaint. I found the pacing to be rather inconsistent, especially when compared to the synopsis on Goodreads and elsewhere. The storyline with the tarot cards turned out to have less of the spotlight than I thought, and it seemed to go far too quickly–most of it was over by the time that I’d gotten a third of the way through the novel. However, the other story elements were enough to keep the novel afloat for the remainder, so it didn’t bog down the story as much as I thought it would.
Other than that, I don’t have too many complaints. O’Donoghue’s writing was fresh and cinematic, with all manner of fascinating twists and tense scenes. Even if you’re not familiar with the tarot, the story is gripping and the perfect kind of spooky, paranormal fun that you’d want to channel right around Halloween.
I didn’t get attached to most of the characters, but they were absolutely authentic; weirdly enough, I connected a lot with Lily, even though she wasn’t present for most of the novel. There’s also a lot of LGBTQ+/POC-friendly elements to the novel, most notably in Roe, who is genderfluid. So kudos for O’Donoghue for that! There’s also a prominent Filipina character as well.
All in all, All Our Hidden Gifts lacked a bit in pacing and lovable characters, but made up for some of it with a timeless blend of paranormal fun. 3.5 stars!
Expected release date: March 30, 2021
Today’s song:
That’s it for this eARC review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
