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those like you who lost their way, murdered on the interstate, while the red bells rang like thunder
Some confessions are harder than others, and this is one: I've fallen in love with a country album.
Neko Case's Blacklisted can be prettied up with distracting labels like alt-country or country noir or the endless David Lynch references that litter nine out of ten critical reviews, but all that really means is that every Neko Case fan is as ashamed as I am. But then, is it Neko Case's fault that modern country's bad image is rather like Christianity's, that country is something that, at heart and in the right hands, is beautiful and pure?
Labels aside, it's my belief that only the greatest music inspires people (seldom wisely, often embarrassingly) to try to compose an apt description of what experiencing that music feels like. I had about a dozen within the space of the first song alone. They are paltry and cliched, as such attempts inevitably must be. And then they were all put away and utterly forgotten with the first notes of the second song, and though I did eventually finish the whole album, "Deep Red Bells" is where I'm stalled, enraptured, terrified, deeply intoxicated, addicted. It's the kind of song I want to ration, because its full-body impact just doesn't come along that often. So I quash the urge to hit repeat, and repeat, and repeat, knowing that the headiness will wear off eventually, and wanting to delay that inevitability for as long as possible.
In a way I almost hate "Deep Red Bells," because it keeps overshadowing the rest of Blacklisted, and the rest of it is so chillingly awesome that it gives me goosebumps. (And I use awesome very specifically; this album is not just a little bit scary.) It's like sitting in some dusty northwoods bar, sipping whiskey and feeding quarters to an ancient jukebox, making small talk with ghosts, while outside there is the darkness of a new moon.
(I swear, that just *slipped* *out*)
I suppose this isn't much of a confession, for I fully embrace my sinning ways - I love a country album, I love Neko Case - and so should you. It's such a beautiful apple; I swear, one bite won't hurt.
Neko Case's Blacklisted can be prettied up with distracting labels like alt-country or country noir or the endless David Lynch references that litter nine out of ten critical reviews, but all that really means is that every Neko Case fan is as ashamed as I am. But then, is it Neko Case's fault that modern country's bad image is rather like Christianity's, that country is something that, at heart and in the right hands, is beautiful and pure?
Labels aside, it's my belief that only the greatest music inspires people (seldom wisely, often embarrassingly) to try to compose an apt description of what experiencing that music feels like. I had about a dozen within the space of the first song alone. They are paltry and cliched, as such attempts inevitably must be. And then they were all put away and utterly forgotten with the first notes of the second song, and though I did eventually finish the whole album, "Deep Red Bells" is where I'm stalled, enraptured, terrified, deeply intoxicated, addicted. It's the kind of song I want to ration, because its full-body impact just doesn't come along that often. So I quash the urge to hit repeat, and repeat, and repeat, knowing that the headiness will wear off eventually, and wanting to delay that inevitability for as long as possible.
In a way I almost hate "Deep Red Bells," because it keeps overshadowing the rest of Blacklisted, and the rest of it is so chillingly awesome that it gives me goosebumps. (And I use awesome very specifically; this album is not just a little bit scary.) It's like sitting in some dusty northwoods bar, sipping whiskey and feeding quarters to an ancient jukebox, making small talk with ghosts, while outside there is the darkness of a new moon.
(I swear, that just *slipped* *out*)
I suppose this isn't much of a confession, for I fully embrace my sinning ways - I love a country album, I love Neko Case - and so should you. It's such a beautiful apple; I swear, one bite won't hurt.
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i'll be doing soem downloading tonight.
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But any art form with the roots of beautiful bluegrass music such as the "O Brother Where Art Thou" soundtrack can't be all bad; it's just been pigeonholed and twisted by rednecks and bigots, IMO. I detested country music when I was younger, but I enjoy some of it now. It's rarely the mainstream stuff, but the Dixie Chicks, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Emmylou Harris, Alison Young... they're all very, very talented. I'm excited to check out Neko's work. Thanks for the tip!
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