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fuckatherineI have to be so honest when I say that I truly and deeply had a shocking, near-apathetical lack of interest towards Big Thief and Adrianne Lenker as a whole up until three months ago. Part of it definitely stems from the general policy I've developed against bands falling in the Suki Waterhouse to Boy Genius range because often the fans, presenting the music of their idols as the panacea to modern life and love, appear to me as foaming masses of hysterical white young adults. All love, but I would just like to avoid that energy.
But then -- the messiah comes (see how fucking crazy that sounds) -- in the form of "Ingydar"! I, decomposing from heartsickness and weak sun, was particularly susceptible when it found me, but the lyrics have pushed through that awful February fog to shine as truly devastating:
I think of a moorland, rays of sun filtering through a rain-heavy canopy onto a fresh body. No corpse but still and rue-like. Yellow sky after a thunderstorm yellow straw slick on a leg Irish knots angel's ladder braids undoing doing nothing.
And "anything". I'm late to this one but just look:
Update on the book slog: two chapters into An Inventory of Losses and I don't love the narrating voice. Unnecessarily longwinded (maybe a consequence of translation from German) but if you use more than four semicolons in a sentence regularly you need to go on a run to knock around a couple of things up there.
But then -- the messiah comes (see how fucking crazy that sounds) -- in the form of "Ingydar"! I, decomposing from heartsickness and weak sun, was particularly susceptible when it found me, but the lyrics have pushed through that awful February fog to shine as truly devastating:
Fragilely, gradually and surrounding
The horse lies naked in the shed
Evergreen anodyne decompounding
Flies draw sugar from his head
...
Early еvening, the pink ring swallows
The sphеrical marigold terrain
Sleepily, Venus sinks and hollows
The stationed headlight of a plane
...
Ingydar bares a scar like a meteor
Crystalline amber guilds her cheek
Tambourine of the beech leaves lead her
To the raven playing hide and seek
The horse lies naked in the shed
Evergreen anodyne decompounding
Flies draw sugar from his head
...
Early еvening, the pink ring swallows
The sphеrical marigold terrain
Sleepily, Venus sinks and hollows
The stationed headlight of a plane
...
Ingydar bares a scar like a meteor
Crystalline amber guilds her cheek
Tambourine of the beech leaves lead her
To the raven playing hide and seek
I think of a moorland, rays of sun filtering through a rain-heavy canopy onto a fresh body. No corpse but still and rue-like. Yellow sky after a thunderstorm yellow straw slick on a leg Irish knots angel's ladder braids undoing doing nothing.
And "anything". I'm late to this one but just look:
Staring down the barrel of the hot sunShining with the sheen of a shotgun
...
Circle of pine and riddleCirclе of moss and fire smokeFan on the ceiling like a wheel spokePush the clutch in and I pull the choke
...
...
Circle of pine and riddleCirclе of moss and fire smokeFan on the ceiling like a wheel spokePush the clutch in and I pull the choke
...
Weren't we the stars in HeavenWeren't we the salt in the seaDragging the newborn mountainDidn't you believe in me?
Huuuuuuuuuh. That last verse! So Evan Goldhagen. I need to text him this. I need to paint.
Update on the book slog: two chapters into An Inventory of Losses and I don't love the narrating voice. Unnecessarily longwinded (maybe a consequence of translation from German) but if you use more than four semicolons in a sentence regularly you need to go on a run to knock around a couple of things up there.
