in a yellow el camino, listening to howlin' wolf
[this is a post from the archives - originally sent january 27, 2018]
A couple years ago I read something that said, if you really wanted to be successful, when thinking about the future you shouldn't set long term goals focused on concrete milestones like "buy a house by x" or "get a new car by y" or "be a brain surgeon by z" because a page on a calendar's a poor motivation if there's not more behind it. The trick was, instead, to try and imagine what you want a day in your life to feel like at a certain point in the future and then start doing the things that get you closer to being the person that feels that way. I've never been good or comfortable with goal setting, which means that when I tried this exercise all I could solidly come up with was that on my 30th birthday, I want a party at which all of my friends and family gather to do karaoke renditions of Lucinda Williams' album Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, start to finish. As weird as this likely sounds, this goofy party plan actually has morphed into something that pushes me to be a better person because the kind of person who can pull that off is a better person than I am today. The kind of person who can pull that off is the kind of person who has put in enough time and given enough attention to the people that matter in their life to be able to cash in some serious goodwill points. I've got more than a little work to do to become that kind of person but I'm closer today than I was a few years ago and I'm learning, slowly, to do and be better - to miss fewer birthdays so that it won't be easy to skip mine.
Consider this a warning to start learning lyrics.
All of this is a long and winding way of getting around to the fact that yesterday was Lucinda Williams' birthday. I doubt she gathered her friends and family around to sing her own album, but I like the thought. She's playing a show in New Orleans tonight that I'd thought about making a mad dash to see, but a case of the reasonable human / too busy blues set in before the keys made it into the ignition.
I have spent a lot of time this week thinking about Car Wheels though, and spent more than a little time driving in aimless circles to its songs. This is an album that I can sing forwards and backwards. I can probably recite the lyrics in my sleep because this is an album that, a few years back, carried me safely halfway across the country on a sleep-deprived and foolish solo road trip, along the way helping me re-learn that it's okay to not always feel fine and that it's more than okay to say that out loud.
At the time, I was emerging from a long voiceless fog during which I'd set aside female songwriters and musicians. As bad-feminist as it sounds, at the time I just needed male voices to tell me everything was going to be fine. I didn't want songs to relate to, didn't want to see my story mirrored, wasn't ready to confront those demons or sing anything that'd give voice to what was going on. This was when Gram Parsons and I got familiar.
One day, still foggy and dependent on GP lullabies, I found myself in line for hours to see Lucinda play in a record store, not so much to see her but mainly because I needed a way to kill some hours and because she'd be signing albums after and I had a lot of bad gifts I could redeem myself for if I could get her to sign something for my mom. I couldn't see her for anything but the last half of the last song, but crammed against record bins, listening to songs I knew but hadn't really heard, I realized enough was enough and it was time to be human again.
Car Wheels is a masterclass in the range of human emotions. If you ever find yourself in a position where you need a reminder on how to feel broadly and deeply, it's the text I recommend. I listened to it, and nothing else, for 900 miles, and came out of the other side better for it. Its opening track is a lesson in how to articulate and get what you want. I listened to "Can't Let Go", because it was true, on repeat, until I realized it wasn't anymore and that I had let go a hundred miles back when the clouds cleared just outside of Memphis. "Joy" was the reminder that it's okay to be righteously angry; "Still I Long For Your Kiss", the reminder that you won't always be and that that's okay too. The album's near perfect closing song taught me that it's just fine to admit it when you're heartbroken but not beaten.
It was years ago now, that I needed these lessons, but I still like to put on this album when I want to drive around to the reminder that you don't even need a destination in mind to step out of a car better than the person you were when you sat down.
Lucinda's lyrics give such a specific sense of time and of place, it's not a surprise that she grew up on the knees of a poet and in the sprawling south. She'll give you a line about a person, and you'll feel like you've gotten to know them, too. Her description of Blaze Foley in "Drunken Angel", a song through which she grieves and grapples with his death - "Some kind of savior, singing the blues. A derelict in your duct tape shoes, your orphan clothes and your long dark hair - looking like you didn't care" puts the man right in front of you. "2 Cool 2 Be 4-gotten" sets you down, a couple beers gone, right next to her in that dive bar. Her songs are a reminder to look around you and to listen to Car Wheels is to be reminded that the world can be a big, weird, crazy place and that people can be cruel but they can also be kind and there's always another story worth listening to if you're willing.
Other stuff I've been jamming:
Khruangbin has a new album out and it. is. excellent. They also put together a plane ride-themed playlist generator that is super extra rad and my new favorite thing on the internet. You get to plug in any two airport codes you want and it spits out a playlist for you and I'm so keen on it. The fact that this band calls their online merch store "SkyMall" also makes me love them.
Kyle Craft has a new album coming out next week and you can stream the whole thing in advance here (Thanks, NPR!). I've had this single on heavy rotation since it dropped a few weeks ago, and his album of covers is also great.
Damien Rice is still very good at making me feel all the feelings. La Blogotheque still kills it on the video front.
When I was a kid, I was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. Lately, I've been obsessed with this Alice-inspired album by Little Simz. Some moments take the concept album concept a little far, but Picture Perfect is just that and such a solid groove.