I made this playlist in the early pandemic, when it was unclear if going outside would kill you and we were sanitizing our produce after bringing it home from the grocery store. If you had a mask, it was sewn by your grandma and if you didn’t, you got creative with scarves. The news was full of stories of people getting sick and dying. Everything felt scary.
Music was a refuge to me at that time especially. I listened to upwards of seventy thousand minutes of music in 2020; the first thing I did when I woke up was put in my headphones and I pretty much didn’t take them out of my ears until I went to bed. Sometimes I slept with them in, because the silence made me so anxious I couldn’t fall asleep.
I returned to my comfort genre, indie folk. I clocked so many hours of Wilco that it felt like the lyrics of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002) were tattooed on the insides of my eyelids. After exploring more of their discography for the first time the previous year, I picked up new favorites: “Sunken Treasure,” “She’s a Jar,” “Red-Eyed and Blue.”
We've got solid-state technology
Tapes on the floor
Some songs we can't afford to play
This song is too short, only two minutes forty five seconds, but it’s perfectly developed. The vagueness of the lyrics lends itself to all kinds of interpretations. The extended live versions are meditations on the melancholy, more electronic than the studio cut but heart-wrenching all the same. They often take it into “I Got You (At the End of the Century),” a song I’ve never really listened to off the album but which brings bold and brash energy into the mix.
I’m seeing Wilco (twice!) this upcoming weekend. I’ve just checked and they have become my most-listened-to artist of all time. I’m excited, but since next week’s issue will probably also be about Wilco, I’ll save more of my coverage.
Madison Cunningham’s Who Are You Now? (2019) became one of my favorite pandemic records. I remember many times playing this record all the way through while I flew down the flat paths near the water on my bike. I played it at night when I needed to focus on something other than the stillness of my life, the closeness of the walls.
Guitarist and songwriter extraordinaire, she creates worlds out of non-standard tunings and unconventional song structure. Her music is distinct but her influences shine through: Jeff Buckley, the Beatles, Fiona Apple, Joni Mitchell. Strangely enough, she grew up rather sheltered and didn’t hear any of these artists until she graduated high school. I can’t say for sure, but I think that developing her musical skillset from a young age basically in a vacuum is part of the charm of her music—there are no rules.
I saw her in Portland last weekend. The venue was minuscule and below street level; my friend commented that it was smaller than some of the basements our bands had played in at school. The walls were made of massive stacked logs, like we were in some sort of underground cabin situation. We were less than six feet from her while she played our favorites and also a good bit of new material.
After the show she came out and we spoke to her. I panicked and blacked out, but I think I said something about how important her music had been to me in a dark time, how it’s grown with me as I get through it. I hope she understood what I meant.
My favorite live version of “Song in My Head” is the one from Live from Here with Chris Thile. She appears often in the rotating cast of all-star players on the show, who I think are just Chris Thile’s many friends. He adds really grounding harmonies to the chorus and their voices blend perfectly. The addition of a fiddle into the mix is an excellent choice as well.
I’ll write about my other favorites from this record soon, as it’s coming back into my regular rotation. I’m still finding new gems that I appreciate in different ways; she played a new version of “Song in My Head” that really highlighted the intricacies of the lyrics:
There's not much that I can protect
So I keep my good humor alive
Nothing disturbs your intellect
Like the feeling of something you can't deny
I mentioned Chris Thile earlier, a man who wears many, many hats: Goat Rodeo, Nickel Creek, a MacArthur Genius grant, Live from Here, Punch Brothers. The Phosphorescent Blues (2015) is a landmark record, full of hooky and expansive songs. “Julep” has the easy summertime energy that my pandemic year might have lacked, if not for the escape of music. It gives this playlist a sense of place for me, specifically a park near my house where I used to go and sit when I needed a change of scenery. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but listening to this playlist and seeing Madison Cunningham has reminded me of the bright spots, the community and self-discovery.
Heaven's a julep on the porch
You and me rocking
A grandfather clock is tick, tick, tick, tick, tocking to time
We used to wind it