Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
This week: another song I stole from Wilco, and a smattering of calm, autumnal folk. And then there’s IDLES.
Enjoy this week’s songs!
SUNDAY SONGS: 11/19/23
“You Got the Stuff” – Bill Withers
Even though he isn’t here to read this (rest in peace), and I doubt he would even if he was, I owe an apology to Bill Withers. When I asked Siri about the insanely funky song that Wilco was playing before their show back in October, I thought…Bill Withers? Like…the “Lean On Me” Bill Withers? The song we all had to sing in either elementary school or at camp? From here on out, I take back any preconceived notions I’ve had about the man, because this song slaps. I severely underestimated him.
To be fair, from the looks of it, “You Got the Stuff” seems funkier than most of his R&B/Soul-leaning catalogue, but when he did funk, he made it the funkiest funk possible. The minute the drum machine fades and the thick, bass-like synths kick in, it’s like I’ve been possessed to move my body for exactly seven minutes and 16 seconds. I haven’t heard of a contagious groove like this song has in ages, something so instantly captivating that hooks you and immediately tosses you on the dance floor. And it’s seven minutes of this. And the last three and a half minutes of that seven minutes is just bass and an absolutely glorious flexatone. (Many embarrassing google searches went into finding the source of that comically cartoonish “doi-oi-oi-oing” noise. I’m not proud of what I did.) It really is a cartoonish sound that this instrument makes, and yet it fits right in with the thumping bass and Bill Withers’ faint, rhythmic breathing and the occasional “ooh, baby.” Three and a half minutes of just that. It feels like a buildup to something bigger, but it doesn’t need to build up to anything—the unique rush of that stretch of the song keeps the funk alive for longer than I thought it could. And it’s crazy to think that this was chosen as a single for this album (‘Bout Love)—even for someone like Withers, putting the one song that goes over seven minutes long as one of the lead singles is a bold move. It did only get to #85 on the Billboard charts at the time, but it’s a hit in our hearts.
What I’m trying to say is that Bill Withers is forgiven for the setlist of my 3rd grade program. Good god, I love this song.
“Dancer” – IDLES & LCD Soundsystem
As much as I, in theory, dress a fair bit punk (on the days where I have my pin jacket) and generally like the leanings of the political attitude, I’ve never been able to get fully behind it—the combination of the abrasion (both musical and lyrical) and the contrarian, infighting parts of it have made it so I’ve never felt fully aligned with it. I’m only punk up to my jacket, my boots (they’re not very good for extended walking, so I wear them sparingly…there’s only so long I can commit to the bit), and my socialist tendencies. More in spirit than anything else. Same reason that even though I regularly have at least one day a week where I dress in all black and go all out on the eyeliner, I can’t fully commit to being goth, because I’ll then go up to my friends and say “HIIIIIIIIIIIIII :)” in the most decidedly un-goth way. And plus, contradicting everything about yourself sounds kinda tiring, unless you’re Hobie Brown and you make it look cool (and that’s because he was this cool the whole time). And yet, every single IDLES song makes me absolutely foam at the mouth. I love them. I’ve been putting off actually listening to a full album of theirs for who knows why, but their spin on punk—still plenty aggressive, but resoundingly hopeful and positive in their ethos (see “Mr. Motivator”). Joe Talbot himself has repeatedly insisted that they aren’t a punk band, so…okay, I’m not all that punk. But that combination of all the fiery energy of punk with their riotous joy and their wholehearted embrace of vulnerability and love is what endears me to them so much. The absolutely delicious Britishness and bisexuality of it all certainly helps too.
Hearing that “Dancer” was a collaboration with LCD Soundsystem kind of floored me—where could the epitome of tight, high-strung white boy music fit in with this? The mesh, however, is as smooth as it could ever be. There’s a constrained tightness about the opening riff that feels all at once caged in and expansive—the James Murphy touch reveals itself more and more on each listen, aside from the obvious backing vocals on the chorus. Either way, “Dancer” has just about everything I love in an IDLES song. Joe Talbot’s signature aggressively theatrical line deliveries never fail to put a smile on my face—every repetition of “and the sweat” (I can almost hear him raising his eyebrows every time he says sweat) and “so to speak” (imagine that as spitty and Britishly as you will) make listening to the whole song feel like an elaborate performance, a…dance, if you will. There’s an undeniably sensual feel of it all, a visceral pulse to the calculated choreography of each line. It’s a song I’ve never been able to skip since I downloaded, and even though I’ve still yet to listen to any of their full albums (SOON, though), I’ve got hope that Tangk will be more of the same.
New IDLES and The Smile next January…man, I’m gonna implode. It’s been fun, everybody.
…this is certainly an interesting transition. Whoops.
Certain bands are often seasonal for me—some bands are more spring, summer, fall, or winter than others. (Hence my seasonal playlists). But some bands immediately evoke a more specific point in time. For me, The Shins were always a late fall, early winter band; they feel like fall, but only after the first frost has crept in and stripped the trees bare. There a few leaves left, but they’re all brown and brittle, crumpled underfoot. It’s snowing, but not a January blizzard—maybe just sleet that doesn’t accumulate, if you’re lucky. You’re warm, sitting by the fire. The trees look skeletal now.
So I’m glad I rediscovered “Black Wave” when I did—it’s one of those songs that lingered in my periphery for years (I grew up in a very pro-Shins household), but I’d gotten so complacent in hearing it everywhere that I didn’t even think to ask about its name. But it’s the perfect November song—as most of what I’ve heard from the spectacularly titled Wincing the Night Away is. James Mercer layered effects over his gentle, wordless warble as the song begins, making a rippling, Bon Iver-like echo. Even with a colored named in the title, “Black Wave” is decidedly painted in deep, warm colors; shades of brown and maroon, accented by orange and gray. The opening image of “this goose is cooked” cements the feeling of being huddled around a fire; I imagine the goose being cooked on a spit, the skin crackling as the embers lick it. Mercer’s voice drifts and out of focus, as though on a chilly wind. And like the wind, the song doesn’t so much end as disappear, like the image of a cryptid shifting through blurry footage to fade into the winter woods beyond.
“More Than This” – Peter Gabriel
Since I first listened to Up back in March (oh, the album art is just some water droplets on a gray backgr—oH MY GOD PETER WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT), it’s been an album that I always fall back on. “Growing Up” was already a faint childhood memory and “Darkness” immediately stole my heart, but the more I listened, the more songs I’ve stuffed in my back pocket—the grossly timely, sleazy groove of “The Barry Williams Show” and the chest-rattling resonance of “Signal to Noise” that makes my soul leave my body every time I hear it. (Real chill stuff for walking to class, amirite?)
There’s something to be said for my hypocrisy of creating dozens of oddly specific playlists and then just listening to my whole library on shuffle, but shuffle always revives songs like this. (Although this one did go on my oddly specific clone playlist next to Roxy Music.) So much of Up has this graying, industrial feel to it, but Peter Gabriel, the genius that he is and continues to be, uses that gravelly darkness (no pun intended) not necessarily to be edgy, but to convey that feeling of hopelessness—the consumption of fear in “Darkness” and the betrayal and desperation of “Signal to Noise.” “More Than This” opens with imagery of “I woke up and the world outside was dark/All so quiet before the dawn/Opened up the door and walked outside/The ground was cold.” I can’t help but think of the quiet bridge of “Darkness,” where the fear wanes and he walks into the woods to find his fear “curled up on the floor/just like a baby boy.” That industrial atmosphere—furthered by distorted, grainy samples of guitars that he and Daniel Lanois messed with in production for the album—immediately sends a hood of coldness over you, the roughness of concrete and frozen ground. And yet, amidst said cold ground and sinking ships, this is where Gabriel finds connection—in the absence made by everything hopeless about this world, there is still a beating heart pulsing beneath our feet, and it’s not the Telltale Heart kind. It’s the connection in knowing that you are surrounded by a community, and surrounded by the love that it breeds. Amidst it all, there’s more than this. It feels like the answer to Roxy Music’s “More Than This”—that song pondered what could exist outside of the all-consuming sorrow, and Peter Gabriel blows aside the curtain of fog to show the many arms reaching out to you, offering their guidance and warmth. It also feels like the prequel to “i/o”—”More Than This” song is the realization of connectivity, and “i/o” fully embraces it, going from a community of people to the connectivity to the Earth and all of its creatures.
“More Than This” was a wonderful surprise to re-stumble upon—the music recaptured me at first, but with every listen, it feels more like an anthem. Not only are you not alone, you have never been alone, and if you can only look beyond yourself, you can find joy in connection. The choir slowly snaking into the backing vocals towards the end of the song…almost gets me choked up, like you’re seeing the fog lifted and the love revealed.
“Fellows” – Daughter of Swords
Another calm one to end this week’s song lineup. It’s getting cold outside, the hearth is ready, and I intend to rock you to sleep with this gentle melody. Grab your blankie, kids.
My halfway deep dive into The A’s (see last week’s songs) only went as far as a few songs on the album, but it also led me to Daughter of Swords, Alexandra Sauser-Monnig’s solo work with a gloriously tarot-sounding stage name. Like The A’s, the tidbits I skimmed through from her album Dawnbreaker (title also goes hard) ventured into territory that was too twangy for my taste, but quiet moments like “Fellows” stood out to me in their calmness. The sea of lo-fi graininess that “Fellows” is drowning in coats the acoustic guitar plucking in a state of drifting, only anchored by the gentle, lilting waver of Sauser-Monnig’s voice. From the moment that faint, ominous noise scratches at the background (it sounds like a train whistle to me, but I could be wrong), you feel like you’re stepping into a sepia-tinted photograph, all hazy edges and soft, grassy ground. Alexandra Sauser-Monnig has the perfect voice for this kind of folk—as she sings about all of said fellows (who get noticeably taller and skinner as the song goes on…I guess she’s figuring out her type? Is Jack Skellington next? No judgment, but he’s taken…), her voice rings out amidst the grainy sea. It can ring when it needs to, but it has the effect of bedtime tea: calm enough to rock you to sleep, but rich enough to savor the herbal flavor as you close your eyes.
Since today’s 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!
The Bookish Mutant 