grooving through: vol. 13
This week: Dntl, Nick Drake, Bob Dylan, and Earth, Wind & Fire.
I have 253 records. Some, I bought; some, Jake bought; others were hand-me-downs.
Every week, I’m going to listen to 5 of them, A-Z, and tell you what I think. It’s music writing, but it’s also about memory, feeling, discovery, and looking back at what we love most. I’ll mostly dive into my favorite of the week and write a few sentences about the others — but anything goes, so who’s to say?
I’m not skipping a single LP: the mountain of Billy Joel records we got from my mom, the video game soundtrack, the used-bookstore impulse buys.
Let’s get spinning.
Dntel — Life is Full of Possibilities (2001)
Jake is fully the reason I know this record, in large part because of his love for The Postal Service. I’m a fan of the space Life is Full of Possibilities occupies: early ‘00s emo, complemented by the glitchy darkness you hear on Bright Eyes’ contemporary records (more on that crossover later).
We start crackling, uncertain, unmoored, but forcing forward through the static with synthy chords. As a whole, Life is Full of Possibilities’ songs are less concerned about plot and structure, and more about creation and continuity.
Sometimes, because of that, there’s not much to grab on to. But you can hear the sketch of what becomes The Postal Service here. (I can also touch the edges of the pro-piano electro-pop that formed Sylvan Esso.) Dntel’s James Tamborello was hearing and forming the sounds of the era hand-in-hand with Ben Gibbard. Even “(This is) the Dream of Evan and Chan” is a clear predecessor to “Transatlanticism’s” driving “I need you so much closer.”
And a certain oscillating sound on Side B pulls me toward Conor Oberst — Tamborello worked with him too; he was credited for programming on Bright Eyes’ “Take It Easy (Love Nothing),” and later brings Oberst on board for Dumb Luck’s “Breakfast in Bed.”
Even now, thinking about this record, I hear in my head the much-more-recent “Sleepwalkin’” by Oberst-and-Bridgers joint Better Oblivion Community Center. The glitchy, emo ‘00s threads just keep on threading through.
How I got it: Jake bought it, I think at Byrdland in DC
When I first listened to it: A few years ago
Nick Drake — Bryter Layter (1971)
Nick Drake is the reason Spotify thinks I’m in my 70s. That’s alright by me.
His second studio record, Bryter Layter is deeply influenced by The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds — an album I’ve whose impact and intelligence I’ve only recently realized. Once you know that, the arrangements crack right open.
At times, Drake’s a little lost in those layers of early-pop production — his voice is often curious enough to poke through, but words get buried. All the same, his hushed, introverted vocals feel honest when they coast under the horns on “Hazey Jane II.” He’s warm and inviting, and extraordinarily patient. Lines resolve with sense and logic.
A clear standout where his voice carries above the track: “One of These Things First.” The airy quality of his fingerpicking and the hollow piano give to soaring vocals, mount all the “could have beens” into a wishful lark until they culminate in the wistful: “I could be here and now/I would be, I should be, but how?/I could have been/One of these things first.”
It’s not too mired in regret, somehow: the meandering melody lightens the song, letting those maybes flutter away in the wind. But, read on the darker side, the song points toward a certain bitterness he had with his career, and American producer Joe Boyd: “[Drake said that] I had told him he was a genius, and others had concurred. Why wasn’t he famous and rich?”
On this listen, I really heard “Fly” for the first time. A sonic arm over the shoulder during golden hour; a grounding through struggle even as the struggle goes on. It’s a cry for help that isn’t weary or pained, but extending out for comfort and knowing.
“Northern Sky” is a triumph too. It’s one of the purest love songs I’ve ever known, and almost my and Jake’s first dance. The movement from “I’ve never felt magic crazy as this” to “brighten my Northern Sky” is utterly euphoric. Here, love is guiding, transforming, opening up to new sensation — and look, maybe this song is actually about hashish; either way, it’s everything.
I love the impact he had on Belle & Sebastian here, the storytelling tone. And I love the gentle hope.
How I got it: Record Safari in Atwater Village
When I first listened to it: A few years ago
Nick Drake — Pink Moon (1972)
I only found Nick Drake’s music a few years ago, but from the moment I did, every song was a deep breath, a greening hillside. I will put on my “Sad Girl” pin and proudly say I adore Pink Moon.
The fingerpicking is light and airy under his tremulously lovely voice. After Bryter Layter’s meager reception, Drake was withdrawn and sullen — he didn’t want to be party to that pop bombast anymore. Pink Moon is thinner and less produced, but it’s more intimate: just Drake and his vocals and little else.
And Pink Moon is an all-timer. Like Van Gogh, Drake’s just getting his due a little late.
There’s incredible efficacy in his brevity: The shorter songs are little marbles, gems — tangible and graspable. At the same time, the ideas feel broad and big. “From the Morning” is lined with transcendental lyricism, transportive and wide. His elusive, diminutive nature isn’t evident both in singing and sound.
Pink Moon is a rare creation, crafted and sketched to soundtrack the barest witching hour.
How I got it: From Boo Boo Records in San Luis Obispo, before the first Rilo Kiley show in ~15 years
When I first listened to it: A few years ago
Bob Dylan — The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963)
Incredibly fun fact: In college, I had to take a 3-hour weekly seminar, and my choices were either rhetoric or Bob Dylan. You might guess which one I picked.
My instructor had written a book on Dylan, and told us about how he’d dated Echo, “The Girl from the North Country.” His book veered on voyeurism at worst, too-close attention at best. But, odd guy aside, the class wasn’t that bad. Early on, he leaned against the desk, staring us down as we spent 6 long minutes listening through all of “Like a Rolling Stone.” At the time, most of my music listening was done on-the-go — sitting and listening closely was a special thing.
My copy of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan skips on the very first song, and bears the important cracks and pops of age, the important cracks and pops that come along with a $7 used record.
On this record, he’s always warm and he’s always worn, driving us ahead with each strum. I’ve always thought of Dylan as immersive. When you’re in a song, you’re inside.
This record is just packed with some of the very best. And I love listening to the building blocks of folk (I know, I know, he’s far from the first folk singer) and thinking about how Dylan carved out so many sections of musical storytelling that wouldn’t exist otherwise. The Decemberists couldn’t exist, at the very least. Regina Spektor, queen of anti-folk. Bright Eyes, I bet. And that’s a biased list — remind me of others in the comments.
Sometimes, when I listen to Dylan, I remember a guy I dated for a moment in college — an older, curly-haired harmonica/guitar player with a croon who played the local bookstore/coffee shop, where I may have bought this record. I think of a drafty upstairs bedroom, a cascading mountain of glittering harmonicas, an elusive cat, asparagus in eggs, his roommate drunk one night at the piano. Walking in untouched snow up to my ankles. A house so steeped in distinctive detail that it feels like artifice looking back.
Bob Dylan’s music feels like that too — like a hazy memory that’s true nonetheless.
How I got it: I bought it used, but I’m not sure when or where (isn’t it the sort of record that just seems like it’s always been on the shelf?)
When I first listened to it: College
Earth, Wind, and Fire — Best of Earth, Wind, and Fire, Vol. 1 (1978)
Hey! Upbeat funk! I should listen to this more. From the first second of “Got to Get You Into My Life,” the joy is tangible, a hi-hat pulsing us ahead. Everything is big, brassy, rounded — hearing their take on The Beatles balloons the song to showboating status. All I hear is confidence.
I don’t reach for funk ever, but maybe that can change.
“Fantasy” reminds me of bar mitzvahs and events and dance floors with my parents. I love “September.” I love “September.” I love “September.”
I had a passing thought about Chicago-like horn arrangements, then saw Wikipedia mentioned their use of Chicago-esque horns — good validation for this listening experiment, because I wouldn’t have caught that if I didn’t listen to Chicago a couple of volumes ago. (Also, a good reminder that sometimes when your brain makes connections that you think are goofy but are actually super valid!)
Being that I know so much of Earth, Wind & Fire’s discography in pieces, I can’t dream up a comprehensive idea off one album — much less a greatest hits record — but wow, how fun.
What a great record to show me that there’s way more music that’s not in my immediate daily listening that I like quite a lot.
How I got it: My mom’s copy
When I first listened to it: In full, right now