The Floating World: The Dark Don't Hide It
I own two albums by Jason Molina, and although I will follow his future work with interest, I have no real desire to fill in the gaps in his oeuvre beyond a little downloading. The records are visual and auditory near-opposites within Molina's style; Didn't It Rain as Songs: Ohia (purchased in a record store Todd Burns took me to in NYC) is black and stark on both counts, white bird-outlines perched on a blurred tree. Molina's epic ache during "Blue Factory Flame" (paralyzed by the emptiness), dark hints of demons and skeletons and death. "Ring The Bell"/"Cross The Road, Molina" is almost paralyzing in its stark good(?)'n'evil conflict.
What Comes After The Blues, as the newly-born Magnolia Electric Co, is a whole 'nother thing. White bird-outline again, but pasted in front of a curiously lush, colourful picture of a tree and then a white background. Josh Love's review of it is my favourite review of the year so far, and it correctly points out that here Molina is far more concerned with the earth-bound, brief confrontation with Death on "The Dark Don't Hide It" aside. It didn't do much for me at first, whereas Didn't It Rain I found instantly captivating, but I've listened to it more this year than anything aside from Readymade's All The Plans Resting and Low's The Great Destroyer. It's become one of those records I thought I didn't like much which I've slowly come to realise I truly love.
And even if the rest of the record is too mournful for you, there's always "The Dark Don't Hide It", reprised from the live Trials And Errors album (which I'd love to get my hands on at a reasonable price, something I fear is impossible), which Love describes as a "charged, retributive opener" for the album. And it is, like much of Molina's recent work it brings to mind Neil Young without ever really sounding like Young, and it pops into my head at the strangest times.
When K works the morning and afternoon shift (like today), she and I only share half the working day. On my break I drive her home and eat lunch, then go back to work by myself. I enjoy the place I work, and I enjoy the people for the most part, but invariably on these days I feel a little melancholy as I walk to the Jeep at 10. It makes utterly no sense - I'm always glad to get home and see K, and I'm nearly always in a good mood when I leave work, so why does the interstitial leave me so gloomy? It's always dark, but I don't have a problem with the night. (I think.) I don't have a problem with solitude, for that matter. But that trip always leaves me feeling a little gloomy, in an oddly pleasant fashion. I remember feeling that way sometimes when Erik and I were riding back into town after a shift at the factory (though of course my current job is much less demanding).
In any case, I took What Comes After The Blues with me today, and as I neared the Jeep I realised I was singing "The Dark Don't Hide It" to myself. So for the first time instead of hoping against hope 102.1 had something good playing, I popped a CD in on the way home.
Words can't express how good it felt to caterwaul along with Molina up and down the hills, especially of course to The world was empty on the day when they made it / But Heaven needed someplace to throw all the shit. It's a country-rock number, I guess, one whose steel guitar is more intrinsic to its drive than you might think at first. Molina's always been great at phrasing lines for maximum impact, and he does it here, over and over. Jennie Benford and Michael Kapinus do a great job on the backing vocals, and the song surges forward in fits and starts. It's great musically, beyond any other layers.
And then there's the brush with Death:
Human hearts and pain should never be separate
They wouldn't tear themselves apart
Both trying to fit
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
Now Death is going to hold us
Up in the mirror and say we're so much alike
We must be brothers
"See I've had a job to do but people like you
Have been doing it for me
To one another"
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
Bitter? Just a little. It's actually kind of odd that "The Dark Don't Hide It" is so castigating compared to the calm (a quality I seem to value increasingly in music these days), compassionate likes of the rest of What Comes After The Blues. Anger before acceptance, I suppose, but this is a record that ends with Molina asking, in the very depths of angst:
Will I have to be alright
all of the time?
Only to have Jennie Benford answer, with all the empathy any human being can muster:
No-one has to be alright
all of the time.
Even if you're having a good day, maybe it doesn't matter if you feel sad for five minutes driving home in the post-rain haze. Not as long as people keep making you songs to sing that reassure us that all the shit Heaven threw down isn't so bad when you get right down to it.
[PS: Can blogger do those Livejournal style cuts? If so, does anyone know how? I'd love to be able to do that.]
What Comes After The Blues, as the newly-born Magnolia Electric Co, is a whole 'nother thing. White bird-outline again, but pasted in front of a curiously lush, colourful picture of a tree and then a white background. Josh Love's review of it is my favourite review of the year so far, and it correctly points out that here Molina is far more concerned with the earth-bound, brief confrontation with Death on "The Dark Don't Hide It" aside. It didn't do much for me at first, whereas Didn't It Rain I found instantly captivating, but I've listened to it more this year than anything aside from Readymade's All The Plans Resting and Low's The Great Destroyer. It's become one of those records I thought I didn't like much which I've slowly come to realise I truly love.
And even if the rest of the record is too mournful for you, there's always "The Dark Don't Hide It", reprised from the live Trials And Errors album (which I'd love to get my hands on at a reasonable price, something I fear is impossible), which Love describes as a "charged, retributive opener" for the album. And it is, like much of Molina's recent work it brings to mind Neil Young without ever really sounding like Young, and it pops into my head at the strangest times.
When K works the morning and afternoon shift (like today), she and I only share half the working day. On my break I drive her home and eat lunch, then go back to work by myself. I enjoy the place I work, and I enjoy the people for the most part, but invariably on these days I feel a little melancholy as I walk to the Jeep at 10. It makes utterly no sense - I'm always glad to get home and see K, and I'm nearly always in a good mood when I leave work, so why does the interstitial leave me so gloomy? It's always dark, but I don't have a problem with the night. (I think.) I don't have a problem with solitude, for that matter. But that trip always leaves me feeling a little gloomy, in an oddly pleasant fashion. I remember feeling that way sometimes when Erik and I were riding back into town after a shift at the factory (though of course my current job is much less demanding).
In any case, I took What Comes After The Blues with me today, and as I neared the Jeep I realised I was singing "The Dark Don't Hide It" to myself. So for the first time instead of hoping against hope 102.1 had something good playing, I popped a CD in on the way home.
Words can't express how good it felt to caterwaul along with Molina up and down the hills, especially of course to The world was empty on the day when they made it / But Heaven needed someplace to throw all the shit. It's a country-rock number, I guess, one whose steel guitar is more intrinsic to its drive than you might think at first. Molina's always been great at phrasing lines for maximum impact, and he does it here, over and over. Jennie Benford and Michael Kapinus do a great job on the backing vocals, and the song surges forward in fits and starts. It's great musically, beyond any other layers.
And then there's the brush with Death:
Human hearts and pain should never be separate
They wouldn't tear themselves apart
Both trying to fit
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
At least the dark don't hide it
Now Death is going to hold us
Up in the mirror and say we're so much alike
We must be brothers
"See I've had a job to do but people like you
Have been doing it for me
To one another"
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
At least I don't hide it
Bitter? Just a little. It's actually kind of odd that "The Dark Don't Hide It" is so castigating compared to the calm (a quality I seem to value increasingly in music these days), compassionate likes of the rest of What Comes After The Blues. Anger before acceptance, I suppose, but this is a record that ends with Molina asking, in the very depths of angst:
Will I have to be alright
all of the time?
Only to have Jennie Benford answer, with all the empathy any human being can muster:
No-one has to be alright
all of the time.
Even if you're having a good day, maybe it doesn't matter if you feel sad for five minutes driving home in the post-rain haze. Not as long as people keep making you songs to sing that reassure us that all the shit Heaven threw down isn't so bad when you get right down to it.
[PS: Can blogger do those Livejournal style cuts? If so, does anyone know how? I'd love to be able to do that.]
