A series
American Crisis Playlist #16
“This much madness is too much sorrow” (NY)
Of course, I wasn’t feeling complacent or even steady. My wife and I chose to view Otto Preminger’s Anatomy of a Murder Friday night, the perfect way to greet the Jewish New Year. Love James Stewart and Lee Remick — my mother looked like Lee Remick, which in this film kind of creeped me out.
We had made plans to order a kosher takeout pizza and share with friends, but my wife started feeling too bad for that.
And we both felt sick later when we got the news of Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s death.
The madness and sorrow of this year just won’t quit, and there are still three plus months left to go. It certainly feels “impossible to take” today, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, but what choice do we have? So I grieved again and then found some music yesterday to see me through, which I now want to share because you and I — those of you who follow this weekly list — we’re in it together.
In this strangeness, we have each other.
AMERICAN CRISIS PLAYLIST #16
- “You and I,” Local Natives, from 2013’s Hummingbird. I tell myself that I must be strong, that we have to be strong, you and I, because whatever we’re feeling or facing now, we might be looking back on soon and wishing that we were here again. The darkness can get darker, though I hope we wake up soon and keep the greater, truer light on. I so regret not seeing Local Natives back in Louisville when this record was hot. Looking back isn’t always the best thing to do.
- “Alison,” Slowdive, all the way back in 1993 on a record called Souvlaki. I don’t know what I was doing in 1993 not to know about this band. And where would I have heard it? FM radio played mainstream rock, and our alternative public station focused mainly on Americana. Bands like this found homes on college stations, I suppose, but I could have used the dreaminess then, in those days before our second child was born. Yep, looking back again, but those moments right before and right after her birth do seem all of a dream.
- “Hallucinogenics,” Matt Maeson, from his EP, The Hearse. I see the theme emerging: is all of this real, or am I on a drug that I forgot taking? Thanks to an old friend, who used to provide me the alternatives to my reality, I found this song and artist. I know what reality is: exiting Facebook, which I have informally done. Who needs the angst and the heartache and the vitriol? The news provides a daily dose, though I sometimes think we’re all tripping.
- “Send in the Clowns,” Tyler Childers, from his just released record, Long Violent History. You should know this song from Stephen Sondheim’s A Little Night Music, or from Judy Collins’ version, found on her LP, Judith. Oh, you weren’t so alive and well back in 1975? My sophomore roommate used to play this song over and over, almost crying, or maybe doing so for real when I wasn’t around. His name was Mark, and maybe still is, though I haven’t laid eyes on him since 1976. Anyway, the song’s last line, “Don’t bother, they’re here,” makes me want to cry, too. They wear orange hair, have orange skin and turkey necks. They don’t call themselves clowns, though, so send in the drugs.
- “Bluebird,” Buffalo Springfield, from Buffalo Springfield Again (1967). I think it’s the sky outside today, the bright sun, cool wind, and low humidity that put this song back in my head. Stephen Stills at his most brilliant, both in the writing and the singing. The banjo at the end really takes me home, and if I had to have one record to take with me wherever I go, and this one was it, I wouldn’t suffer a bit, even though sadness is my home. Good points to raise with my therapist tomorrow.
- “You’re All I Want,” Cigarettes After Sex, a brand new single. I hear David Lynch really likes this band, and why not? Play this song to get settled and add the Alpha Stem to your earlobes. Pet your dog; have a cup of Red Rooster coffee and sit back, ease into it all. What’s out there matters less than what’s in there. It’s easy to want more, and how do you know when you’re content with what you have?
- “Breathe Deeper,” Tame Impala, from this year’s The Slow Rush. When I first began teaching at my little college in the wildwood, I had such angst; people there still disparaged The Beatles, and the KKK was present in and out of all town shadows. So my wife — so present too — made a sign for me to hang on my office wall. The sign said “Breath,” though she meant it to say “Breathe.” Everyone gets confused and it’s the same thing really, though she added a sideways “e” later. I kept it for years until I learned its lesson and heeded its message.
- “Get Gone,” Seratones on 2016’s Get Gone. I want to say so much here; but instead I’ll say that I discovered this band while watching an episode of John T. Edge’s True South on the SEC Network. Maybe it was the Nashville episode, but who cares? What an edge they have, and I need edges, serotonin, and maybe some Alabama football this coming Saturday night. Won’t cure my blues away but might keep the orange-haired devil from the door.
- “Help Me Stranger,” The Raconteurs, from 2019’s Help Us Stranger. “If you call me, I’ll come runnin’. You can call me anytime.” Strangers and angels and devils and backwater musicians, but please, find me a better guitarist right now than Jack White. I do need my friends and I am mistrusting strangers, though as Max and I walk through our neighborhood, I’m seeing all the potential friends — they have the right yard signs — and if it weren’t for Covid, I’d have a house party and invite them all, to help.
- “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” Simon and Garfunkel from 1970’s album of the same name. Play it and think of RBG and all we’ve lost and all that we need to have to ease our minds. Our weary and troubled minds.
Gotta stop now, but if you at all enjoyed this playlist, then please consider these:
And thanks to The Riff, Noah Levy and Jessica Lee McMillan, whose good work I’ve sadly neglected lately.
