Sometimes I sit down and start writing and I have zero thoughts in my head, and I don’t know what’s going to come out because it’s all intuition. It’s hard to write about music. Sometimes there’s concrete things to say or stories to tell, but a lot of times what comes up is a lot of incoherent feelings and recollections. That’s when it’s easy to start rambling or get too personal. Especially when it’s love songs we’re dealing with. Especially longing sad ones that cut to the bone. And especially if it’s an artist I was attached to in a particular moment in my life. Like Lucinda Williams, who I discovered and became slightly obsessed with at a pretty crucial junction. That was when I was first living on my own and needless to say there was a bad romance. 90% imaginary, but a romance nonetheless. Now I realize that it was a dumb mistake (not the dumbest mistake I’ve ever made, but pretty dumb) and not worth the energy I put into it, and it’s not something I think about or try to remember very often. In fact, it only ever pops up on my radar when I listen to certain music. Like Lucinda Williams. She makes me remember how I was feeling. For a while I found it irritating and I avoided listening to her music. Now it doesn’t bother me anymore and I’ve started to really enjoy her again. Because she writes so much about her own rocky love life, it’s impossible not make a strong emotional connection to her music and start relating it back to your life. And when you’re young and impressionable, those connections stay vivid for years. But after a while it doesn’t hurt anymore, and it becomes almost a pleasant nostalgia. You begin to smile at your own stupidity. I remember how much I felt this song when I first heard it (it’s one of her less depressing numbers). There was someone I would’ve drove my car all night to go see, if I’d had the chance. Those feelings turned out to be misdirected and didn’t lead to anything good, but it would be nice just to get that excited again. I’d like to really feel this song again like I used to.
Has a song about lust ever been sadder? Or more truthful? I have seen myself in so many of Lucinda Williams’ songs, and this one is one that I come back to again and again. It’s sad that I’ve had to, but that’s life – when you fall in love, you’re signing up to get hurt. As I’ve got older, I haven’t had to resort to Lucinda Williams as often as I used to, but sometimes I still do. Because she writes about broken hearts and thwarted desire so beautifully and she sings it so you know that she’s been there every step of the way. I don’t have to tell you there’s nothing worse than not getting what you want, except when after you get you have to pay the price for it. Forgive me for such a cynical assessment of love, but as far as I’ve experienced it, there is no true love. There’s only lust and delusion.
For anyone who thinks Lucinda Williams is just down and miserable all the time. Yes, she’s a master of writing about heartaches and suicides, but she’s cheered up a bit since she got married. I’m assuming she wrote this sexy love song for her husband, or then-fiancee. You should see her rip it up live. Which again disproves her reputation as a downer. The lady can rock!
To summarize the year in the bluntest way possible: January and February were awful; March and April were alright; May, June and July were amazing; August and September were torture; October was ok, November was boring and December was good. That all the highlights of 2011 were sex, drugs and rock’n'roll is either great or humiliating, depending on what view you take on such things. I didn’t achieve jackshit, but I wasn’t trying to either, and I got some of what I wanted, though not nearly enough. Just like the year before. I saw an amazing line-up of concerts: Robyn, Diamond Rings, Gogol Bordello, Brownout, Love Inks, Bobby Birdman, YACHT, The Kills, The Decemberists, Liza Minnelli, Lucinda Williams, EMA, CSS, Morrissey. There were some sad moments; saying goodbye to Elizabeth Taylor, Amy Winehouse, Clarence Clemons and Cesaria Evora. Also upsetting, Jack White’s triple whammy of betrayal; breaking up the White Stripes, divorcing Karen Elson and associating himself with ICP. He’s got some major making-up to do. In the end, the uneventful nature of 2011 should be taken as a good thing. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, almost.
1) In music, Lady Gaga has been the guiding light of the year. I’ve had to swallow my elitist tendencies (that’s ok, they were unattractive anyway) and admit that I’ve fallen in love with Gaga and her messianic gospel of self-love. Her boundless enthusiasm for all things theatrical - be it haute couture, lengthy videos, half-crazed TV interviews, opulent arena shows, or those inescapably memorable hit singles – is a blinding blast of sincerity in an ocean of staged, wooden, pre-scripted and impersonal ‘stars’ who have nothing to present of themselves besides their glossy backsides. All of which would be null and void if it weren’t for the most vital thing: she can sing circles around nearly every one of her peers and many of her elders too. Her songs might be lyrically incoherent but that doesn’t stop them from delivering, with the cutting efficiency that only a pop song can have, her message of paws-up! empowerment. Which would be intolerably cheesy, except that she believes it so hard, and that makes us believe it back. Therefore, Born This Way, album of the year.
2) Proceeding in no established order, then. Recent years have shown a heartening trend of artists growing gracefully older, making great work from a mature perspective, and proving that if you’re never too old to rock’n'roll if you’re too young too die. One example was the comeback of Lucinda Williams, who finally made her album of happy woman blues. She’s still preoccupied by past loves who wronged her, haunted by old friends who died, and concerned with the regular hardships of life, but age (and presumably, married contentment) has taken the edge off. The very title, Blessed, hints at her contemplative attitude this time around. I think it’s her best since World Without Tears, only without tears.
3) The Kills have made their best album yet. Blood Pressures is their most professional sounding record, which is no detriment. They don’t rock any less hard for having learned to use the studio to better advantage. The album is dark and mesmerizing, like Alison Mosshart’s persona. She’s become a leading light for me, a new rock icon who deserves to be remembered as one of the great frontmen. She and Jamie Hince have great chemistry together but how far will the duo go, I don’t know. But I’m certain that someday Mosshart will be subject of many ‘I saw her when’ tributes.
4) SuperHeavy definitely takes the cake for best surprise of the year. Just when it seemed that Mick Jagger would only get off his pile of money to marshal another greatest-hits tour for the Rolling Stones to amass more money, here he comes with something entirely fresh and off-the-wall. Jagger’s choice of super group was seemingly random, but turned out to be impeccable. With the help of Dave Stewart, Damian Marley, A.R. Rahman and Joss Stone, Mick gets to indulge his taste for the exotic, combining flavors of Bollywood, Kingston, rap, funk, soul, and the blues-based rock’n'roll he helped invent. It could’ve been weird, it could’ve been self-indulgent, it could’ve not worked at all, but it work it does, and how. I can’t stop being delighted to get such a treat.
5) Again with older people rocking out like there’s no tomorrow. Tom Waits is another veteran who suddenly found his creative spark burning brighter than ever. Waits has never really had a slump in his career, he’s been consistently himself for decades, staying in character and undistracted by passing fads or the winds of fashion. Though he’s never let us down, it feels like he’s upped his game. Bad As Me stands out for sheer relish and for that has brought on a bout of critical and commercial success. The old devil has grown in stature from fringe-dwelling eccentric to a figure of such coolness he can not only write a song sending up The Rolling Stones, he can then compel a certain Mr. Richards to come play on it.
6) More of oldsers doin’ it like it’s new. Paul Simon was never given to childishness anyway. Come-ons, double entendres, party anthems, glorification of drugs and cars, none of those things were ever his thing. He’s written some great love songs, which all are somehow tinged with mournfulness, as if every love was already heavy with regret. On So Beautiful Or So What he’s right on track with the formula he mastered with Graceland, a combination of African and Latin beats, equal parts blues, piano pop and gospel, and a view of the world as a place of sadness and beauty, redeemed by love. And of course, a little humor at his own expense, as in The Afterlife, where he’s an ordinary schlub trying to get into heaven and finding that it’s a bureaucracy, and the girls still don’t like him.
7) I know I’m the only person on the planet to say this, but I really liked Lulu, Lou Reed‘s collaboration with Metallica. The record got blisteringly bad reviews across the board. It topped many a critic’s worst list. Clearly not one of those critics was a Lou Reed scholar. They all complained that it’s too weird and doesn’t sound like regular Metallica. No one saw it in context of Reed’s career or noticed the many references to and parallels with Berlin. Admittedly, I can’t recommend it for everyone, but for lifelong followers of Lou Reed, it’s a must. It’s hard to listen to, yes, but it’s not the first time Lou Reed has been hard to listen to. There have been many moments in his career that I find unlistenable. For example, Lulu is considerably less painful for me than The Blue Mask. Reed continues to be a challenging, uncompromising experimenter. I had misgivings about such a strange mash-up, but found myself getting thoroughly drawn in by Reed’s storytelling, his powerful lines, and his wrenching delivery.
8) This year I fell for Florence. The first Florence + The Machine was good, but Ceremonials was epic. Florence Welch has come into her own on this one. She knows the power of a big emotional climax, and provides climax after climax, every song a cresting wave. I can only describe the music as opulent. A minimalist she is not. There’s layers of tumbling sound, everything and the kitchen sink it sounds like, but expertly marshaled for maximum effect. And of course, the style, the look the personality. Red hair!
9) Speaking of epic and convoluted, the Decemberists were just those things on their 2009 album The Hazards of Love. That album was a musically and lyrically dense concept album. Now, on The King Is Dead, they’ve taken the opposite track, making it stripped down and folksy. Though I love the highly ambitious and complex concept album, the simplicity of songs for their own sake is its own charm too. It looks like this might be their last album in the foreseeable future, so enjoy it thoroughly. It’s sad that the most literate and intelligent band going has gone on hiatus. Perhaps Colin Meloy has an as yet untapped future as a novelist, and music was just a youthful pursuit, or perhaps they’ll make it back together after a restful year or two. Either way, not a bad note to bow out on.
10) Amid all these heavy hitters there’s room for something more out of the blue. The five-man duo YACHT combines high-energy electro-pop with an endearingly earnest New Age sensibility. Led by the androgynous Claire L Evans, they’re at one spiritual, cerebral and fun to dance to. Shangri-La takes as its topic dual visions of utopia and dystopia. But to call it a concept album would be reaching. YACHT has their worldview and iconography, but they’re still more interested in playing fun music than drawing out big ideas. If Evans isn’t a star now, she certainly deserves to become one soon. She’s got the stage presence of a guru, with the laying-on of hands for her following of devout fans.
Hell hath no fury like Lucinda Williams. This has to be ranked among the top angry woman scorned songs of all time. It’s a low-blow kiss-off, delivered by a woman who knows. I think this is the ultimate song for sweeping aside a bad lover. Lucinda is fierce enough on record, and fiercer yet on TV, but there’s nothing like the shock wave of seeing her play it in person. There’s anger that shows in the studio, but it’s tame compared to the anger she shows on stage. If Stubb’s had a roof, she’d have blown it the hell off. I’ve had an on/off affection for her work over the years. I devoured her records when I first discovered her, at a time when I felt like feeling sorry for myself, and she provided an excellent soundtrack for that. Then I went through some years when I couldn’t stand to hear her voice, because of the way it made me feel. I didn’t need to be reminded that I had a reason to cry. I’ve embraced her again after seeing her live, which was enormously cathartic. To see her performance, the way she relived her old songs, made me hear her music in a different way. I heard a different message than I had ten years ago. When I was younger she made me want to mope, now she does the opposite. You might think this song is too broad, too easy a target to hit, or you might find it empowering as hell. For me, it’s an anthem. It’s a reminder of all the things that aren’t worth moping for.
I’m trying as hard as I can to turn you all on to Lucinda Williams’s new album, Blessed. Because it is so good, obviously. Some of her albums have been pretty rough, not in the sense of being bad, but being too immediate, too shot through with anger and hurt. She’s mellowed out, on account of being happily married, probably. But she’s not running out of stories to tell about bad boys past and present. She knows how to hang an ex out to dry, that’s for sure, and this isn’t even the worst she can do – we’ll come later to what has to be the ultimate cut-down song.
Another one from Lucinda Williams. Is it getting repetitive in here? I’m trying focus on people who made albums this year, albums I really like. So, yeah, heavy on certain people. Actually this jam isn’t from her newest album but a few years back. The new one was good but Essence is still the best, maybe because it’s the first one I heard or maybe because it just is. I don’t think Williams is exactly religious but she’s fascinated by it. I heard she’s got a collection of tacky Jesus-kitsch in her house. There isn’t anything specifically Christian in here; walking on coals and lying on a bed of nails are more of an Eastern thing. But the image is tent revival. Lamb sacrifice, snake handling. Not the last time she visits those themes – remember Atonement? There’s a weird fascination in that, no question – the drama of those creepy Deep South Baptists or whatever with their snakes and their speaking in tongues. And of course this is Lucinda’s idea of being upbeat.
This reminds me of all the wretched boys I’ve known who want so badly to be loved but just don’t know how. Girls too. Some people just can’t find their way. Then some of us have the self-indulgent fantasy that we’re going to take care of them and love them and fix them all better. Except that it can’t be done, and they’re only going to hurt you and infect you with their crazy. Lucinda knows all about it. She’ll always be there to sympathize with both sides. As much as it’s possible to learn from anything besides your own mistakes, I’ve learned a lot from her. To paraphrase some old book, unhappy families are more interesting than happy ones. That goes for love affairs. Happy loving couples, you just want to smack those sick-sickly smiles right off of them. Smug bastards. But hearing about someone else’s broken heart is a comfort to your own. Is that why we cherish our depressing music over our happy music?
On the depressing side of the line, Lucinda Williams. Sometimes I find myself, as below, trying to explain my attraction to music that I realize is insubstantial. Though that leads into debates why good dance music is less respectable than good cryin’ music. Why is comedy, laughter and dancing considered less important than drama, crying and deep feelings? Does fun make less of a mark upon the soul than tragedy? Are we the sum of our hard times or of our good? I guess that debate has been going on, in one form or another for as long as humans have had the leisure to ponder such essentials. There’s no call to rationalize liking Lucinda Williams, because there’s no impeaching her substantiality as a poet and musician. Though she’s been marginally less of a gloomy presence since she got married, she’s still inspired by the same grit she’s always been drawn to. She’s counting her blessings, knowing them to be hard-earned ones. She’s a voice of experience. Why is that so affecting? Is it because we’ll gladly recall all the fun times, but we need reminding of the bad, so we can stop and think and maybe learn something?
“I been cryin’ for you boy, but truth is my savior”
If you’re the type to be put off by the sight of a cowboy hat, I understand, I’m the type to be put off by cowboy hats. But you’d be missing out if you let the hat put you off Lucinda Williams. She’s capable of writing a happy song, but it’s the sad ones that are her bread and butter. She’s kind of gal who gravitates to the wild, the bad and the suicidal. She’s had more than a fair share of loss, and it’s the loss that has been her muse. She’s happily married now, but she’s still got enough stories from her past to keep her songwriting going for another thirty years. World Without Tears is a record with not a cheerful moment. What she was going through when she wrote it, or if she was just reminiscing, I don’t know. But it’s the album you want to put on when your heart feels robbed, stripped and bereft.
Baby, see how I been living
Velvet curtains on the windwos to
Keep the bright and unforgiving
Light from shining through
Baby, I remember all the things we did
When we slept together
In the blue behind your eyelids
Baby, sweet baby
Traced your scent through the gloom
‘Til I found these purple flowers
I was spent, I was soon smelling you for hours
Lavender, lotus blossoms too
Water the dirt, flowers last for you
Baby, sweet baby
Tangerines and persimmons
And sugarcane
Grapes and honeydew melon
Enough fit for a queen
Lemon trees don’t make a sound
‘Til branches bend and fruit falls to the ground
Baby, sweet baby
Come to my wolrd and witness
The way things have changed
‘Cause I finally did it, baby
I got out of La Grange
Got in my Mercury and drove out west
Pedal to the metal and my luck to the test
Baby, sweet baby
I been tryin’ to enjoy all the fruits of my labor
I been cryin’ for you boy but truth is my savior
Baby, sweet baby if it’s all the same
Take the glory and day over the fame
Baby, sweet baby
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