I just can’t this week1. It’s been a confusing mix of head-scratching weirdness in Hollywood and genuine tragedy both abroad and right here in my own town. Add the grind of daily life, the challenges you face when you’re a vessel of love2, and reading how Clarence Thomas’s wife was actively trying to overthrow the government. The blankets beckon; I’m going to write about music.
This week will be more of an embellished listicle, with the parting gift of a playlist at the end.
Islands in the stream, that is what we are
I’ve seen the pyramids along the Nile, I knew when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. I was familiar with both kinds of music–country and western. The truth is, however, I’m an adult-onset country music fan.
Several years ago I caught Brandi Carlile’s song “The Mother” on the radio.
“All my rowdy friends around accomplishing their dreams
But I am the mother of Evangeline.”
I thought this was the song that hooked me on her but then I learned she’s the one who wrote “The Joke,” and “The Story.” I already was a Brandi Carlile fan! Her memoir is a great listen too, even if you’re not a devotée. She’s playing the Grammys this weekend, but I’m not sure I’m ready for the violence of another awards show.
Brandi was my gateway drug–she reminded me of the music I used to listen to all the time, like Lyle Lovett and of course Joni Mitchell. I’m so old and fusty, consumed by NPR, audiobooks, and podcasts these days. In my defense, four years of Trump gave me this nervous tic where I felt like I needed to check my phone every 20 minutes to ensure we hadn’t declared war on the Queen of England, or invaded Greenland, or something asinine. I forgot how simply good it is to listen to music.
I also forgot that the best music doesn't instantly reveal its hook to you. Top 10 hits are great but they’re junk food next to the homegrown gourmet meals of really great music. It’s a little complicated the first time you listen. It demands something of you, but it delivers so much more than the boppy tune you can hum along to right away.
Just like the white-winged dove/Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing
Brandi led me to the Highwomen and The Secret Sisters. She rekindled my love affairs with Dolly Parton, Liz Phair, Jenny Lewis, and Stevie Nicks.
Stevie Nicks is like Joni Mitchell, though. She’s never too far from my mind. She’s been a source of awe and fascination for me ever since I first caught a glimpse of her when I was maybe 11. Her outfits, her improbable shoes, her weird compelling voice, the witchy women in her songs. I’m still energized by those “oooohs” in “Edge of Seventeen” that transform into a scratchy caw. Even when the women in her songs were at their lowest, they were strong.
The New Yorker recently ran an interview with Nicks by Tavi Gevinson that is magical for a fan, especially if you don’t know the Prince-Stevie connection. Stevie has a special “sisters of the moon” gold pendant necklace she gives to women she befriends. How badly do I want to be in Stevie Nicks’s sisters of the moon club? (That’s a rhetorical question. The answer is I want to, very badly.) Much of the Q&A echoes the stories Nicks told in a fantastic concert I saw a few years ago. She and Chrissie Hynde played for a crowd of women like me, grateful to be plugged back into our teenage selves.
A universal heart/Glowing, flowing, all around you
Some good friends raved about Sturgill Simpson’s album Cuttin’ Grass but the bluegrassy twang put me off. I’m glad I kept trying, or maybe I was just too far away from my phone to turn it off. Because finally I got it—by year’s end his song “All Around You” became my most-played song on Spotify, my daily necessity, like a prayer. Simpson’s lyrics are poetry and they float on music that evokes every emotion the words convey.
These songs are all pretty sad. Most country music usually is I guess; so is great literature. The best novels I’ve ever read are all devastatingly sad. Life is suffering.
But you drift in and out of my dreams now
Like a ship out at sea in a storm
And when I wake up every morning
I roll over to find you still gone
Gone
Sturgill Simpson has a song called “You Can Have the Crown” that includes the line “I’m so broke I can’t pay attention” which might be a C&W cliché but it’s new to me and I love it.
I’ve also recently discovered Margo Price, and she has a song called “Learning How to Lose” that she sings with Willie Nelson. It’s sad, but it’s beautiful. This week a child in our town’s high school killed himself with a gun that was in his home. One power-mad dictator is killing thousands of people and ruining the lives of millions more. Learning how to lose seems to be something we all have to do at some point—particularly Ginny Thomas —and songs like this one help.
Is winning, is winning, really learning to lose?
Is winning, and is winning, really learning to lose?
Fun facts
Here’s a playlist of the songs I mentioned (except Joni Mitchell)
Substack also has a pretty cool app, and so many other writers to check out. It’s the best kind of rabbit hole. Try Drawing Links by Edith Zimmerman and A Newsletter by Alison Roman to start. Find the Substack app in the App store.
This blog has a comment section! Who knew? I think you have to read this on the site or in the app to use it. But do use it, tell me the songs you love. I have about 45,000 more I might toss in the comments too, by the way.
There also seems to be a thread feature I might try out to encourage you to give me suggestions too. Stay tuned for that clumsy exercise in techfail humor.
As all the cool girls know, the title is a lyric from “People’s Parties,” by Joni Mitchell. She took her music off Spotify so I can’t include her in the playlist, but if I could I’d add every song on Court and Spark and on Blue, and a few from Hejira too.
I decided to not write down all my thoughts about Will Smith hitting Chris Rock. I have plenty but instead I suggest you read what Kareem Abdul-Jabar has to say instead:
I’m commenting on myself. Great post! But really testing this feature to see how it looks.