March 13: To rejoice in the complexity of things.
The Crossover Appeal
I keep crossing rivers, walking through forests, loving the sun. Every day I keep pulling thorns from the depths of my heart. At night I keep igniting dreams to clean every memory with sacred smoke.
Natalia Lafourcade, "Hasta La Raiz"
One of the wonderful things about writing this newsletter every week is the opportunity it affords me to reflect on the goodness of things. It's a time each week for me to pause and remember those moments of discovery that put me face-to-face with the limits of my own experiences. Novelty isn't everything, and in a world where networked screens scream every waking moment for our attention, it can be a shallow substitute for the slower, longer comfort of growth and intimacy. But novelty is also a signal flag, a bright flashing arrow pointing you to a personal frontier, fresh soil, and clear skies. So you try something new, you slip it on like a new pair of sneakers, take a few steps with it, see what the mirror says about you now. Does it fit or does it feel awkward? Can you get used to the awkward things about it? Does it change the way you think about yourself?
The goodness of a new thing is as much about the way it grafts onto who you have already been as it is about the thing itself. When I hear a new track that absolutely fucking slaps it's an opportunity to know myself a little bit better. And when I see a movie that other people hold in high esteem but just doesn't work for me, it's an inflection point for me to consider - why is it hard for me to take this in to the root?
Taste is a weird thing. It's the part of you that feels judged when you learn that something you thought was cool turns out to be bad. That part of you that shames someone else for preferring the remake to the original, the movie to the book, one cover to another. Your taste is something that feels inalienably yours - it's the product of your class, your gender, your traumas, your fears, and everything else in some weird alchemy that sits exposed above the surface like the tip of an iceberg, a cold raw nerve ready to collide with every new recommendation.
The goodness of new things is in the way they keep us sensitive, the way they teach us what our taste is and where it comes from. That's a process that comes with some trepidation - take it from a guy who had a Creed poster on their wall for most of high school. But still, we keep crossing rivers, walking through forests, loving the sun. Seeing who we are at the root.
Listen: Really From, Really From
Have you ever put on a record by a band you’ve never heard of and found yourself stopping every couple minutes to be like “what was that? That was cool.” That’s what this record was for me. Really From, an emo-inflected jazzy indie rock four-piece out of Boston, has put together nine tracks of groovy, mathy, angsty bliss that springs a sonic surprise on you with virtually every new phrase. Take the baroque, theatrical arrangements of mid 00s indie collectives like Arcade Fire and Stars, mix in the complicated, grooving progressions of Deloused in the Comatorium-era The Mars Volta, and sprinkle in some poppy, jazzy predelictions of groups like ALASKALKASA, and you’ll be close to imagining all the textures at play here. The real trick that Really From pulls off, however, is the way it leverages their emotive vocals to anchor the whole production in a beautiful sincerity that keeps all the more proggy stuff from ever getting stuck up its own butt. Because, at the end of the day, Really From isn’t a challenging listen. There are hooks for your ears to get hung up on, riffs to bang your head to, and vocal lines worth singing along with. It’s a ton of fun, and you should check it out.
Watch: Song Exploder, S2E4, Natalia Lafourcade - Hasta La Raiz
"Hasta La Raiz" by Natalia Lafourcade on Austin City Limts
Song Exploder, the podcast, has been around for a few years now, and this show is basically a televised version of what that podcast offers - a deep dive into a pivotal song in an artist’s catalog with that artist providing insight along the way. It’s an easy watch in the same way the podcast is an easy listen - find a song you know you already like, put it on, and enjoy the low-key pleasures of listening to people who are passionate about making good things talk about the thing they made. I’m calling this episode out in particular for a couple reasons though. One, Natalia Lafourcade is a treasure, and every minute you get to spend with her on this show is pure delight. She’s expressive, self-reflective, and just generally beautiful and you owe it to yourself to soak in what she gives in this interview. Two, the light-touch exploration of Lafourcade’s creative process was, at least for me, a comforting reminder that the road back to yourself can be a long one. It’s path the winds, disappears and reappears, and asks things of you that you might otherwise like to avoid. Which brings me to Three, the song itself. “Hasta La Raiz”, to the root, is a gorgeous paean to the places that nurtured us, brought us up, scarred us. If you aren’t already familiar with the song, you should be. It’s extremely good. And there’s no better way to introduce yourself to it, than this episode of Song Exploder on Netflix.
Listen: Blue Collar Cigar
Blue Collar Cigar on Apple Podcasts
Speaking of podcasts, here’s one a friend of mine recently kicked off and, I know I know, full disclosure and all that, but this fledgling project has proven to be a really good listen even as someone whose interest in cigars has generally been nil. Andy and Ben's approach to cigars is to clear some space - for them, cigars are an invitation to chat, a warm room with no judgments and no expectations besides honesty. Their chemistry together is easy going, loose like a favorite flannel in the middle of October. Each episode has two hooks. They focus on a single cigar - something good, but that won't break the bank - and they talk about a whole bunch of things while they smoke the stick down, checking in with each other two or three times to see how it's hitting them. It's a smart approach that lets you, the listener, pull up a seat at the tasting table. Then, they profile a listener's taste based off the answers to three questions: How do you like your coffee? What's your favorite alcoholic beverage? What's your go to dessert? Andy puts together a profile and then Ben makes a recommendation that they (generously) send off to the lucky listener. The show's solid structure allows Andy and Ben to spend most of their time just telling stories, sharing insights, and generally goofing around. Put Blue Collar Cigar on while you're doing laundry, washing dishes, or making dinner - it's a little bit of generous hospitality in an unexpected place.
Read: Vesper Flights, Helen Macdonald
Helen Macdonald's breakout book, H is for Hawk, was a watershed read for me. The way Macdonald's writing blended together deeply personal memoir with nature writing and cultural historiography was a powerful mix that forever changed the way I thought about my own relationship to the natural world. With her most recent collection of essays, Vesper Flights, Helen Macdonald shifts gears from a focused meditation on grief and growth to an earnest montage of histories, moments, and conversations about the ecologies we live in, destroy, preserve, and produce. This book is, as Macdonald herself says, an "attempt to see through eyes that are not your own. To understand that your way of looking at the world is not the only one. To think what it might mean to love those that are not like you. To rejoice in the complexity of things." It is, in other words, a work of hope. Vesper Flights is a foray into the question of what connects us to our environment, and how we might rejuvenate our imaginations for it outside the bounds of capital, dominance, and cultivation. Ecocritical writing is often, for good reason, a huge bummer, and Macdonald is certainly no Mary Sue when it comes to the environmental challenges that worsen with every passing day. She is however brave enough to believe that we humans might yet have enough empathy in us to chart a more compassionate way forward.
Watch: “Teaching Jake about the Camcorder, Jan ‘97”, Brian David Gilbert
Brian David Gilbert has been having a moment on Youtube for a couple years now. He's best known for his incredible work on the Unraveled series for Polygon where he pursues rabbit trails in video game lore like a coke-addled Alice, but he recently left Polygon to strike out on his own as an independent creator. His solo work has up to this point been delightfully idiosyncratic, working well alongside other weird, inventive Internet creatives like Joel Haver or Bill Wurtz, but with the latent bite of Alan Resnick's best work for Adult Swim. With this latest video, BDG (as he is affectionately known among his fans) has created a short ten minute film that, while interesting and moving in its own right, showcases the creativity that our weird world of "content creators" can sometimes produce. There's something wonderful about such a weird, intimate little movie like this having such a huge audience - the fact of it's existence feels like a testament to the creative freedom the Internet sometimes affords. It's not that "Teaching Jake About the Camcorder, Jan '97" is particularly groundbreaking. Chances are you've seen versions of the ideas here played out elsewhere here. And, as with everything BDG does, there's an earnestness on display here that I can only describe as pure theater kid, and that may or may not work for you. But at the end of the day, what you get with this video is a punchy, clever, mournful bit of independent filmmaking that is worth the low, low cost of entry in every way.
That’ll do it for this week. Turn your clocks ahead tomorrow and enjoy the longer days.
Jordan Cassidy.