kevinsfavoritetracks

[kevinsfavoritetracks]

Tracklist, Vol. 1

“Seaweed” / Mount Eerie / 2017

“Our daughter is one and a half / You’ve been dead for eleven days / I got on the boat and came to the place / Where the three of us were going to build our house / If you had lived,” begins the second song on the album devoted to Phil Elverum’s -- performing under the moniker Mount Eerie -- wife, who died of cancer.

Jesus fuck.

The song -- and the album it’s from -- is a difficult listen. The arrangements are sparse, the vocals unsteady. As a piece of art it could be thought of as a reflection of our times in that it is a very public form of grief. Think of what your Facebook feed looked like when David Bowie or Prince died, only this is 1000 times more intensely personal.

“Seaweed” strikes me not just because its lyrics are relentlessly sad, but because of the little details within: “What about foxgloves? / Is that a flower you liked? / I can’t remember / You did most of my remembering for me.” Your details of your own loss don’t have to match his to foster a connection over having lost something dear to you.

To be honest I was shook up the rest of the day after listening to this, and I’m not sure if I ever need to listen to it again. You don’t listen to this kind of music to have a good time, or even to drown your own sorrows. (Though that could probably work.) You listen to it because it ignites a pang of empathy and sadness within, the things that can make us feel connected as human beings.

(Listen on Spotify)  (Listen on YouTube)

“I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times” / The Beach Boys / 1966

Surfing. Girls. Cars. Those were the subjects of The Beach Boys’ hit singles up until the release of the landmark Pet Sounds. It wasn’t just an artistic statement but an emotional one. “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times” might as well be Brian Wilson’s mission statement.

Wilson’s arrangements and lyrics on the album brought a certain lushness and beauty to teenage longing. ‘Times’ in particular perfectly captures that feeling of not quite fitting in, of feeling alien amongst one’s peers. The repeated refrain of “Sometimes I feel very sad” hammers home the point of just how awful being alone and different really feels.

I fell in love with this song in my late teens and early twenties -- a flag of lonerism I could proudly fly. But it still resonates with me today, what with our divisive political landscape and the stranglehold social media has on our lives. I still don’t fit in, and I’m pretty sure I never will. If that is something that seems ridiculously teenage and desperate**, than I’m not sure I ever want to grow up.

** Stolen from Radiohead’s “Fitter Happier”

(Listen on Spotify)  (Listen on YouTube)

“Stairs” / Joyce Manor / 2016

Pop music is fraught with quarter-life crises both real and imagined. “Yeah, I'm 26 and I still live with my parents / Oh, I can't do laundry / Christ, I can't do dishes” goes one such predicament from pop-punk outfit Joyce Manor. It is both mundane and utterly ridiculous, but that is not why I was drawn to write about this particular song. (It really isn’t even the song itself, as the lyrics about an obsessed lover are actually kind of creepy.)

As a thirty-five year old with a college degree and a full-time job, I can do laundry and dishes. But I keep coming back to these songs about millennial malaise because I don’t really think it matters how old you are, the goalposts for what it feels like to be an adult keep moving. I might have a job, but it’s not a career; I have a place of my own to live, but it’s not a house that I own. I’m married but I don’t have kids. The longing for something more in this song is universal.

They say it gets better but I -- and Joyce Manor and countless other artists -- don’t buy it. “Be happy with what you have” is only really said by people that already have what you want.

(Listen on Spotify)  (Listen on YouTube)

“(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay” / Otis Redding / 1968

What do you say about Otis Redding’s most famous song that hasn’t already been said? I’ve been staring at the blank space underneath the title for parts of two days now, and I’m not sure I have anything. (This is, of course, why I’m writing this on a stupid personal Tumblr and not for a job.)

The aching in his voice that is present in so much of his work is in full force here; the fact that he doesn’t belt it out underscores the feeling of the lyrics beautifully. The line “This loneliness won’t leave me alone” is probably the hook for me. To feel alone is like being in a room thick with cigarette smoke. It never dissipates fully; it just lingers. And even when it seems like it’s gone, the stench remains. Its doggedness would be admirable, if it were a feeling I actually want to have.

Sometimes all there is to do is listen to a good, sad tune. Wallow in it and empathize. That lonesome whistle at the end gets me every time, and serves as a sign that, despite the pain inherent in living, one has got to keep moving on.

(Listen on Spotify)  (Listen on YouTube)