A Suburban Girl’s Guide to Music That Doesn’t Suck 08.23.08: The Indie Mix Tape

Posted by Vanessa Willoughby on 08.23.2008

Summer’s about to cave in and I’m afraid to let go. Once again, I let the music do all the talking for me. I’d like to think that Rob Gordon would approve.

In about a week, this'll be just another snapshot for the scrapbooks. Beaches will be closed, pools will be covered, and a collective sigh will shudder the shoulders of thousands as they prepare to abandon their bathing suits for suits and ties, pinstripes and wingtips. In my case, it's a source of equal parts relief and anxiety. Back to school and the city, back to the academia machine and late-nights fueled by pots of stale coffee and red-rimmed eyes.

Don't get me wrong, I love living in the city. But I suppose what's really causing my anxiety is the uncertainty of everything. I prefer a plan of attack, of knowing beforehand what I'm getting myself into. And well, let's just say that last year was a complete shock, a surprise air raid. I can't predict the future, but I don't want to repeat the past. I'm supposed to be twenty years old and often, I still feel like I'm fifteen. It doesn't help that people still think that I am. Does this feeling ever go away? This feeling of fear? I tell myself that I'm excited to get away from it all, to escape my hometown, to drown myself in books and papers. But my workaholic tendencies nearly killed me last year and I don't want an encore.

On the other hand, it's a lifestyle I know like the back of my hand. And no matter how many times I tell myself to give it up, I come back, down on my hands and knees like a sinner seeking redemption. I feel like I always have to be in motion, to be going, going, going, to have a planner that's swollen with appointments to show that I'm actually alive. I've been unable to shake the sense that I'm still stuck behind the starting line, that the gun's gone off and my legs refuse to move. I know, I probably sound like every other person in my age bracket, echoing the same complaints and doubts. Most likely, I'm not unique in the way I envision. I'm just another fish swimming around the bowl. How can I word this without sounding like another drippy blogger? Well, I guess the only other way to explain myself is through music.

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1. "Sleeping Lessons"- The Shins
Sorry Zach Braf, but listening to The Shins didn't change my life. However, that didn't prevent me from going out and buying their album, Wincing The Night Away. "Sleeping Lessons" begins with a mixture of ethereal and surreal. James Mercer's voice seems almost disembodied, the sparse background music matching his airy tone. The tension quickly accelerates, guitars adding to the mixture. Finally, with the kick of the drums, the song takes off like a runaway atom. It sweeps you away and although it's not an easy song to sing along with, its energy demands that you do. The lyrics aren't cut and dry. This isn't a straightforward tale of betrayal or passion gone awry. However, the emotion of the song coupled with the metaphoric lyrics still forms a connection between the band and the listener. In fact, the song seems to begin right in the middle of a sentence, as though you've walked into a fascinating conversation much too late. Mercer says, "Go without/Till the need seeps in your low animal/Collect your novel petals for the stem/And glow/Glow/Glow melt and flow eviscerate." It's almost as tongue-twisting and confusing as picking up James Joyce. Nevertheless, the song is more about capturing an emotion, rather than the mastery of lyrical composition. The title is certainly a contradiction to the song itself. Although it may begin with a sleepy yawn, "Sleeping Lessons" explodes, the notes flowing like water broken free from a dam. I think it's the perfect way to start off this sort of mix tape.




2. "Missed"- PJ Harvey
I'd never heard of PJ Harvey until about two years ago. I started off by buying her album, Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea, and I've never looked back since. The sheer power of her voice can be compared to her other female contemporaries, Fiona Apple, Tori Amos, Patti Smith, even Bjork. But unlike Apple, PJ Harvey has never embodied that costume of "Little Girl Lost." She sings about vulnerability, but never presents herself as vulnerable. She's the type of woman that would leave claw marks on your face, rather than tears on your sweater. To me, her records are timeless. I could go without listening to one of her CDs for years and upon re-visitation, still find myself infatuated with her talent. Her voice captures more than remorse, something much deeper than regret. There's that similar element of floating, as heard in "Sleeping Lessons." Yet, unlike the previous song, your feet remain planted on the ground. Harvey confesses it plain and simple in her chorus, "No, I miss him." There's no need for fancy allusions or graphic imagery. The chorus reveals everything you need to know about the song without going too much deeper. The guitar arrangement sounds biting and crisp, rather than violent and furious. Whenever she reaches the chorus, Harvey's voice nearly reaches a wail, but she controls this impulse with the tiniest of determination. I really can't say enough praise about Harvey; I'm surprised that more people haven't heard of her. For her most recent album, White Chalk, Harvey exchanged her guitar for the piano. This allows her voice to shine, more so than usual. Unlike her other albums, Harvey doesn't personify her demons, but addresses them like the evil characters in a Brothers Grimm fairytale.




3. "You're A Wolf"- Sea Wolf
Ok, so you're probably going to make fun of me, but I first heard this song on Gossip Girl. I'm not going to defend myself for liking the show, but I will defend myself on liking this song. One thing I noticed about this song is that instead of a bass guitar, the song is held together by strings, notably a cello. The string bass opens the song and then fades into the background, barely audible underneath the tap of the drums and the repeated guitar chords. But it's there and without its support, the song would feel incomplete. The lyrics aren't anything too extravagant, mixing the vague ("Old gypsy woman spoke to me/Lips stained red from a bottle of wine") and surface metaphor ("You're a wolf boy/Get out of this town). You get the feeling that the song is hiding a much deeper story than it's painting. However, the strength of the musical composition and the soothing tone of the singer's voice make the mystery seem planned, rather than sloppy.




4. "Love My Way"- Psychedelic Furs
"Love My Way" reminds me of the retro sound that many current bands are hoping to capture. There's the faint throwback of a psychedelic influence, especially with the synthesizer breaks. The drums sometimes mimic the pounding of tribal drums, especially towards the very end. The rhythmic beat of the drums is what closes the song, steady like the thump of someone's heart. The great thing about this song is that although it's got the trappings of its genre and time-period, these aren't restrictions. "Love My Way" could easily have come out in 2008, as the sound focuses more so on the integration of the familiar (bass, guitar, etc) and the new (synthesizer). There are some songs that will forever be associated with one time period, due to the musical composition. For example, when you listen to a band like Flock of Seagulls, you're going to link them to the funny haircuts and the keyboards and the 80's. "Love My Way" avoids having its place in history, time wise, shape the listener's perspective.




5. "Dakota"- Stereophonics
"Dakota" is a song that heavily relies on the richness of Kelly Jones' voice. Usually, I'm not the type of person who likes to play the same song over and over again. I broke that rule when I heard "Dakota." Jones' voice can automatically transform from raspy and reflective, to raw and blazing. Although the lyrics discuss the past, unrequited love, and the nature of memories, the song isn't a weepy ballad. Jones sings the verses with control, only to let loose in the bridges and chorus. As the song edges closer to the end, the urgency and the emotion are increased, relief only achievable through emotional combustion. When Jones repeats, "Take a look at me now," it's as though he's grabbing you by the chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.




6. "1979"- Smashing Pumpkins
Sort of a common oldie, but a favorite. Why the hell is the song called 1979? What is the significance of the year? All good questions I still don't have answers for. Nevertheless, "1979" is an example of what happens when you combine innovative lyrics with a solid execution. An artist or band can have the most breathtaking lyrics on paper. But if the sound is off, then the words ultimately mean nothing. When the Smashing Pumpkins first came out, I don't think they could be compared to any other band. They were operating in a strictly rock/alternative genre, but there was just something about their whole sound that hadn't been done before. Billy Corgan's voice is no Barry Manilow, but the Pumpkins aren't about the lavish or sentimentally flamboyant. The song itself reminds me of riding in a car in San Francisco, navigating all the highs and lows of the endless hills.




7. "Crystal"- New Order
New Order was founded after the late Ian Curtis, of Joy Division, committed suicide. Despite the tragedy, New Order established themselves as New Wave icons, who are still relevant today. Although there are certain elements reminiscent of the old New Order/Joy Division model, the song as an entirety is fresh. The guitar/piano break in the middle is hypnotizing without seeming monotonous.




8. "Fuck And Run"- Liz Phair
Oh Liz Phair, what happened to you? You came out with a kick-ass debut, put out a few more decent albums, faded into obscurity, and then emerged again with girrrl-power melodies suited for Mandy Moore romantic comedies. Phair claimed that Exile In Guyville was a song to song response to The Rolling Stones' Exile On Main Street. Whether or not this is actually true doesn't matter. Although Phair's voice isn't exactly in the glass-shattering accuracy of people like Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston, her songs aren't suited for the traditional vocal approach. Phair isn't afraid to discuss her sexuality, as evident on this song and the rest of Exile In Guyville. Yet, despite the frankness of the subject, there's nothing crude or trashy about her approach. Her honesty is refreshing and admirable, stripped of pretentious sentimentality. I know that artists have to change up the routine and experiment with different sounds. However, I wish that Phair had stuck a bit closer to her original sound.




9. "Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl"- Broken Social Scene
The voice in this song doesn't sound remotely human. Alien. Almost machine-like. Yet the tune is undeniably catchy, nestling itself in the corners of your mind. The faint string accompaniment adds a poignant touch, adding a breath of humanity that the vocals lack. Broken Social Scene isn't afraid to make music that isn't radio friendly; their bravery is evident in the creativity of their songs. The words are simple enough and unlike its title, the song doesn't specifically focus on the trials related to coming of age.




10. "No I In Threesome"- Interpol
Some fans complained that Our Love To Admire wasn't up to usual Interpol standards. I totally disagree. Before The Killers and The Bravery, Interpol was establishing a name for themselves, especially within the New York scene. Interpol is retro without feeling dated or out of place. Although they may have borrowed the style elements of such 80's darlings like Echo and the Bunnymen, Erasure, and New Order, the execution is all their own.




11. "Glory Box"- Portishead
It has to be said that Beth Gibbons has one of the best voices I've ever heard. I saw a video of her on YouTube once, singing "Glorybox" live, with a full orchestra, smoking a cigarette and sounding even better than the actual recording. Her voice is reminiscent of the husky voices usually heard on old jazz and blues records. One sliver Joni Mitchell mixed with a pinch of Ella Fitzgerald, or perhaps Billie Holiday. The tune itself is soothing, ethereal, spiraling. Gibbon's voice jumps from throaty to light and paper thin within a few beats, turning off and on like a light switch. The revving descending scales set the tone and mood of "Glory Box," meshing well with Gibbons' vocals. And throughout the entire song, a hip-hop beat keeps the rhythm and pace. Everything comes together in this song, from the very first note to the very last.

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Maybe my above selection didn't make any sense to you. But that's ok.

Because this is the truth: Summer's practically over and I'm still hanging on. Clinging to a body that's about to heave out its last breath. But I'm going to hang on until I her heart stops beating. Because summer means so much more to me than fast cars and bloody sunsets and sleeping til two. Summer is a break from reality. It's nearly four months of not having to worry about my future, about paying off the student loans, of making the grades. Of trying to befriend strangers, of impressing professors, of locking eyes with boys who'd rather fuck the cherry-mouthed blonde femme fatale; not some too-short dreamer with wild hair and a nervous laugh. You think that the role-playing stops when you get out of high school. (And no, I don't mean it like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.) But here are the facts, straight and simple.

People are always expecting you to be someone; no matter how hard you attempt to defy them, your life is still dictated by the roles society gives you. We're all so quick to label ourselves, to box ourselves into the simplest and cleanest titles. Mother, daughter, father, son, student, teacher, girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, wife, singer, writer, actor, doctor, lawyer, etc. All labels. All categories. We attempt to understand each other through these roles. Know the function of a person and you inevitably begin to comprehend the actual body nestled within the costume. There's always rules to the exception and people who defy the mold. But for every free spirit, there're ten sets of sheep. All my life, I've read about characters that chase the need for freedom, who struggle to reach a point of self-actualization.

I thought college would solidify the idea in my mind. And the years pass and I realize that I don't know anything. I know what I want to do when I graduate, I know what I want to accomplish. I know that I'd love to travel by myself, cut ties with the rest of my world, become absolutely anonymous and bleed into the crowds like water. I know that I'd love to get a book published and write for a magazine and finally feel like I'm worthy enough, that pursuing a literary career isn't just one big delusion. I know that I want to fall in love, despite all my hang-ups and my awkwardness and my cynicism. It doesn't have to be anything out of a movie. But I want it to be real. What pains me even more is knowing that I can't convince myself that this love thing, is a passing fancy. I know the divorce statistics, I've heard the sob stories from friends, read about all the ways even having a heart can fuck you up in the long run. But like the idiot I am, I still want it.

I want a life and every little detail that comes with it.

I'm tired of living in my own thought bubble. If life is an open book and all that gibberish, I want chapters packed with experience, rather than unfulfilled wishes. In Before Sunrise, Ethan Hawke plays a twenty something college student who attempts to mend his broken heart by gallivanting around Vienna. He runs into Julie Delpy on the train and the rest is history. While in a park, he tries to analyze his unhappiness, his anxieties. Underneath a sheet of stars, he turns to Julie Delpy and says something along the lines of, "I've never been anywhere where I wasn't there."

And I totally get it. No, I really do. You think about it and it's amazing, isn't it? Right now, the world is turning and things are happening with and without you. The Thames is flowing without you watching it, the Mona Lisa is still smiling, and you're here. Miles and miles away.

I don't want to wonder anymore.