Well for those of you who know me, you know that I'm back in the district, an incredible year of tumult, heartbreak, last minute defeats and painfully acquired lessons behind me -- the most I've ever endured, which is no insignificant statement knowing my history. And while the wounds are too fresh and deep to detail here, allow the fact that I had to leave everything behind in Chicago to return to much the same in DC -- with one major (and I would claim the most important) piece changed -- to suffice as explanation for now.
But as I regroup and reassess, trying to figure out what's salvageable and what's damaged beyond repair, I wanted to come out of hiding to offer these two songs from albums I've been wearing out lately as illustrative tokens from my reflection. The first represents my relentless hope and optimism -- that despite the pain and fire of the last eight months, the things I felt were unassailable truths will still be found intact once the ashes have settled. It's me at my most irrational -- some would say simply foolish -- but the heart follows its own logic and needs only make sense once.
The song is from The Features, a nifty little band from Tennessee I caught opening for the Kings last month, which speaks to all the above -- big heart, big hooks, all buried in a big hopeful singalong. The album mixes soaring choruses with quiet-loud Gypsy flourishes to great effect, but none more so than this one. Check out "Lions" off the band's latest album, "Some Kind of Salvation:"
The second offering speaks to my more rational side, the one that's heard everything that's been said and questions whether love really is enough; whether putting someone else first and not more vigilantly protecting your own interests is an inevitable precursor to relationship failure. It's the clear-eyed, cerebral contrast to the dewy-eyed romantic above -- and despite the symmetry of their end result (me bruised on the ground like an overripe peach) the two are in direct opposition most days.
The song's from the Avett Brothers, a Carolinian trio whose big label debut is full of fantastic songs -- simple, heartbreaking lyrics and beautiful melodies, all wrapped in the warm embrace of banjo, piano, and acoustic folk. "January Wedding," "And It Spread," and "Kick Drum Heart" are all undeniable winners, but none surpass the title track, "I and Love and You." It captures the emotional back and forth I've been going through lately, switching from the romantic optimism above to gutshot, defeated realism as the brothers switch verses. By the time they get to the chorus -- the title of the song and the album -- it seems like she's singing directly to me and the latter part comes crashing home like a sledgehammer to the stomach. Beautiful, bracing stuff, even with the emotional toll it exacts. Here's the video, and check out the entire album here, streaming free on the band's website:
Well, I'm off to resume reflecting (and unpacking), an act whose soundtrack seems to be an endless repetition of Bon Iver's question at the end of "The Wolves (Act I & II)" -- what might have been lost...
Until next time, my friends.
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