You didn’t miss anything—check out 634 had to go, 635 this close, 636 the shape, and 637 champion.
Sometimes, I feel like Rumours (1977) is a vanilla latte and Tusk (1979) is black coffee, the latter being more of an acquired taste only for the strong among us:
I’m learning to love Tusk, with all its fruity and bitter notes. “Over & Over”—and “All I Ever Wanted”—were cribbed from the absolutely immaculate pre-show playlist at the Lorde concert. The way that I discover new music has changed significantly since the pandemic; I used to listen to podcasts like NPR’s New Music Friday religiously, but now find them insufficiently or overly stimulating. I might try to reform that habit, because I first heard some of my favorite songs on podcasts, but for now I’m mostly seeking out music recommended by artists I like via Instagram story, curated playlist, or direct involvement.
I’ve written before about the web of musicians in Los Angeles and their delightful cameos in each other’s projects, the world made small by the Internet and the 405. Geographical proximity aside, I think that there is a cultural basis for this collaboration; music is unique amongst other forms of art in that it is most often done in group settings, unlike writing or painting or moving 1.3 million cubic yards of dirt to make the Roden Crater. Unless you’re Paul McCartney on McCartney (1970), you require assistance from others to complete your projects. Musicians have transformed this dependency into an opportunity for the expression of community; there is trust and respect inherent in the vulnerability of sharing a song with a potential collaborator. Especially now that streaming has made music so accessible (for better and for worse) and the Internet has given everyone direct connections to one another, it’s easy to work with people you admire.
Stevie Nicks is a fairy godmother of sorts to a few lucky young women. I first read about her retirement job of benefactor supreme in this blogpost about HAIM, but they were not her first protégées. She began working extensively with Sheryl Crow in the 90s after giving her the very good advice to never date men in bands. They’ve blessed this world with many incredible performances since then, but the most impressive and precious of them all is this 1998 recording of Sheryl Crow’s “Strong Enough.”
Sheryl Crow is my idol, but I would have to imagine that Stevie Nicks is hers; working with someone that you revere like that would be terrifying and absurd, a constant sensation of living in a dream. Apparently she’s unflappable, because she has worked extensively with other artists, both those that she’s inspired and those that inspire her. The song on this playlist, “Redemption Day,” was covered by Johnny Cash and released posthumously in 2010. Later, those vocals were used for a duet version on her collaborative album Threads (2019). Sheryl Crow has always written and released political music, and her uncompromising attitude around her beliefs and musical vision has won her the admiration of many musicians.
The Sun June song “Bad with time” has got to break some sort of record for number of lyrical references to famous women:
I am Jackie O
I am Patti Smith
I am Stevie Nicks
When you wanted it bad
There’s also another song on the record about Karen O, fittingly called “Karen O.” This kind of direct homage is sweet, almost devotional in its earnestness. I often write little allusions to my favorite songs and artists into my music, like Woodcock sews messages into the lining of his dresses in Phantom Thread (2017). Musicians are fans first, people so inspired by the work of other artists that they feel called to make something of their own. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get to meet your heroes. If you’re even luckier, you get to sing with them.
There are some amazing women singers. Stevie Nicks stands out to me with her amazing voice. Her tonality is something absolutely special and Tusk was an awesome album.