Heartache With Hard Work

It’s always fraught to describe a record as ‘mature.’ Even with the best of intentions, the word conveys a certain listlessness. Artists make ‘mature’ records when the vibrant, provocative energy that used to drive them has faded away, we tend to think.

But in spite of the danger, I want to take the risk and say that Foxhole Prayers, the latest from (longtime favorite of the blog) Vanessa Peters, is a mature record. That doesn’t mean there’s no fun here, and it certainly doesn’t mean that there’s no energy. But it would be impossible to think seriously about these songs without drifting into a contemplation of mortality, morality, and all things in between. And it’s a record that demands some serious thinking.

Peters has always had a wonderful capacity to communicate oceans of meaning with a single deft phrase. Her songs are filled with people who lead rich lives who are merely drifting past for the moment, like rafters on the old Mississippi who wave from a distance as the river carries them slowly over the horizon.

All that ability is still in evidence here. And yet, this record feels different. These songs do not glide by; they pull up to the shore, set up shop, and urge you to come forward. Hear the news. Because these are songs with purpose, which seek to illuminate, perhaps even persuade. They are deft, able to argue without ever coming across as didactic, and introspective. They are also urgent, defined by a sense of dread at the conditions of our world, but also infused with a deep and generous hope. More than anything, it’s a record that challenges us to stop being careless: to take ourselves and our country seriously. To feel compassion, even when the pain threatens to drive us mad. To do something, no matter how small, to make the world a kinder place.

All of which is to say: this is a powerfully topical record, one very much centered in 2018. But it’s also a timeless record. Because time is a great wheel and there’s nothing truly new under the sun. So if we want to understand why there is so much pain, we have to look inside, to seek out those parts of ourselves that we keep hidden for fear of what they might reveal. The dark parts, where fear dominates and suspicion reigns. But also the parts that remain hidden because we’ve never truly needed. Reservoirs of hope, compassion, faith, and resolve. We run from all of these pieces, both the dark and the light, because life is so much simpler without them. But in the end, she says in the final track, we are all “what we can’t outrun.” For good and for bad.

The theme is touched on in many of the songs. “Foxhole Prayers” describes the universality of loss, the way that pain drives us to a sense of self understanding. And the terrible combination of hope and despair that fuses together in these moments. Meanwhile, “Fight” describes the aftermath, when you gather together your resolve, get up off the floor, and take that next determined step.  “Just One of Them” describes the feeling of discovering yourself to be a fraud—a false prophet to values that you aren’t truly willing to defend. It asks us to consider: what would you fight for, against all odds? What would you sacrifice? It’s a terrible question, and an important one.

This is a dark record, but it’s not a cynical one. Nor is it joyless. It asks big, important questions, but does so with an incredible generosity, and playfulness. It’s a room with a fire and a warm meal for a weary traveler on the road. An offer to listen, in a world full of people all too ready to talk. A restless spirit pacing long into the night. And a challenge to all of us to remember: those who are careless with the hearts of others will often find great success, but they will rarely find satisfaction.

Nicki Minaj is the Queen, with all the good and bad that implies. In this case, it means an album that could have used some heavy editing, but which still contains enough pieces of genius to deserve serious attention. Because at the end of the day, Minaj is an exciting artist precisely because she’s willing to take on so many roles, so many perspectives, so many chances.

And if the final product is a little overstuffed, it just means every listener is free to construct their own 11 track ‘just the good bits’ version of Queen. For me, that means shying away from a lot of the processed pop stuff, which mostly falls pretty flat to my ears. But my condensed Queen is filled with gems, starting with the opener Ganja Burn – the chillest diss track I’ve heard in a long time – and the gloriously meta Barbie Dreams. The middle is held up by the beautiful Bed, a collaboration with Ariana Grande, the strutting Chun-Li and the compact aggression of Good Form. And it’s all brought together at the end by the blissed out breakup anthem of Nip Tuck and the I’ll-see-my-way-out torch song Come See About Me.

I’ve been a big fan of Brandi Carlile for a long time. In fact, one of the very first posts on this very blog, all the way back in the spring of 2006, was an enthusiastic endorsement of her debut album. But over all these years, I’m not sure she’s written another song as beautiful as this one. Certainly none as likely to bring a tear to your eye. It’s a love letter to her daughter, one framed by a bracingly honest assessment of what it actually means to become a parent. And this is critical. By dwelling on the difficulties–the terror of knowing that you are now utterly responsible for someone else, the need to organize your life around someone else’s whims, the jealousy of seeing your friends still out enjoying all their free time–Carlile brings home just how powerful the experience really is.

It’s not simply that all those things are worth sacrificing for the sake of her daughter. It’s that having Evangeline in her life helps her to understand that every path comes with loss, that every choice carries the weight of all the roads not taken. But this choice has brought something precious into the world, whose simple presence is able to transform those feelings of loss into something very different. To give them purpose.

The result is a song that’s almost framed as an internal argument–a reminder that it’s okay to sometimes feel the weight as a burden, so long as you also keep in mind the new possibilities that it creates. As she sings:

And they’ve still got their morning paper and their coffee and their time
And they still enjoy their evenings with the skeptics and the wine
Oh, but all the wonders I have seen, I will see a second time
From inside of the ages through your eyes

And every time I hear it, my heart fills up so much that it feels ready to burst.

A little bit dream pop, a little bit shoegaze, and a little bit ambient. It’s a time-tested combination, and while Dustings doesn’t add anything particularly new to the equation, that doesn’t make this album any less affecting.

I haven’t been able to find out much about this band, which in many ways feels appropriate. This is not a record that reaches out and shakes you by the shoulders demanding your attention. It’s one that sneaks up quietly, nudging its way toward the edge of your consciousness. Pleasant, but elusive. Friendly, but mysterious.

On the whole, it’s an album of small gestures and whispered missives. And while it does let loose more than a few times, the explosion always feels tightly contained–like a tornado that whips through town and destroys one building while leaving the ones on either side completely untouched.

And I see from this interview, that Daniel Fritz, the artist behind Dustings lists Sadstyle by S as one of their all-time favorite albums, so it makes a lot of sense why I enjoy this record so much.

Twee pop always walks a bit of a tightrope. Done poorly, it can feel instantly nostalgic–a reference to youthful exuberance that lives far more in our memory than in real life. But done well, there’s a timelessness to it, an expression of innocence that lives on, stubbornly refusing to accede to the slings and arrows of fortune, holding out for the possibility of finding a way to stay present.

Nancy Sin live on the good side of that line. Their music is light and joyful, but with just enough sense of doubt to keep you honest. As they say: “maybe it was just a daydream / but who could know?”

Daydream is from a lovely EP called Fall For You, which came out this summer. Here’s hoping for more from them soon.

“What’s the Deal With David” is a glorious slice of indie pop, ready to warm your soul and soothe your fraying heart.  The engine of the song is a rollicking little bass line, which is then surrounded by a waterfall of ringing notes. Add in some wonderful vocal harmonies, and what’s quite possibly the year’s most infectious chorus, and the whole thing glitters like a rainbow peaking out after the storm.

Oh Pep! are from Melbourne, and their new album I Wasn’t Only Thinking About You​.​.​. drops on October 26.