As the final proverbial guitar string was breaking in the late fall of 2020, I found myself staring into space. A position my limbs have learned to occupy in these last few months with such accuracy, the leather in my couch literally cracked beneath the weight of the world. I can never do such mind work silent, however. To keep the internal screaming to a minimum, music, a podcast, the memories of all my past failures, anything, needs to be playing through my headphones.
For this, I should be grateful. If there is anything this pandemic has given me, it has been time. I am one of those rare, privileged introverts with no kids, no pets, a job I was able to keep through most of the year (that’s an entirely different blog post), and a room of one’s own to stare out of. So, I’ve had time. And a depression that lets me function at least enough to listen to an album when getting off the couch seems like watching Sisyphus’s boulder roll back down the hill again.
One of those albums I have been able to devote myself to, is Adrianne Lenker’s late 2020 offering “songs”. Back when the world was still full of possibilities, I caught Big Thief in the tiniest room in St. Louis opening for M. Ward on their “Masterpiece” tour. I came away from their set in absolute awe and with a CD and a sticker clutched in my left fist, my other hand awkwardly waving and telling Lenker how much I had loved their performance. She nodded politely and confirmed that the sticker was free.
Fast forward almost six years and Adrianne has never left my sights. Between her solo albums and her work with Big Thief, a steady stream of her trembling mezzo soprano now follows me around like the angel on my shoulder. (One of the new songs on “songs” is aptly titled “my angel”, a figure to which I have always associated her with.)
But while her music can be ethereal, she is no stranger to how far things have fallen and the deep, painful beauty that comes with being alive. She often grapples with the darker side of nature, making us look at the blood we have shed, when we would rather look away. Her intricate and precise guitar picking holding both of our hands and saying, “this, this is the human experience, embrace it before we all turn back to dust.”
While her albums have always been hauntingly beautiful, “songs” seems to encapsulate the wistfulness more completely. Created in almost complete isolation in a cabin in Western Massachusetts, the underexposed landscape seeps into the recordings themselves. And while the upbeat “two reverse” cascades to open the album, we quickly descend into the lush cautionary tale “indygar”, a soundscape so deep, you could throw a coin in and never hear it reach the bottom.
She is no stranger to love, often writing about her needs primally and unashamedly. On “anything” she shifts her focus from romantic love, to the more unconditional and rebellious act of wanting to be with another person wholly and being a whole person back.
Which makes me pause at my angelic label that I pronounced upon her earlier. Lenker often sings of motherhood, and the deep pain and connection of it. Maybe instead of sitting on my shoulder, quieting my demons, she sits behind me, her music cradling me, adding cracks to my couch.
The album chugs, a feeling of forward momentum, and of Spring. The bright flowers blooming on the cover, a painting by her grandmother, remind us of new life. “zombie girl” opens with the sound of wind-chimes and birds chirping and if you close your eyes tight enough, you might be able to believe its truth.
In “indygar”, Adrianne professes, “everything eats and is eaten, time is fed”. And maybe this strange time we live in will not be wasted. The 40 minutes I take to sit and listen to this work won’t have been unproductive or unmeaningful. Maybe as we feed time, we feed ourselves, and nourish in us something stronger, ready to face the Spring.
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