Do I Listen to Julien Baker Because I’m Sad? Or am I Sad Because I Listen to Julien Baker?
I’m paraphrasing Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity” in the title above. His narrator/protagonist Rob Fleming asks a similar question,
“What came first — the music or the misery? Did I listen to the music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to the music?”
I’ve recently discovered the music of Julien Baker, a twenty year old singer/songwriter from Memphis. Her debut record, “Sprained Ankle” has been tearing a hole in my heart for the last few weeks. It’s achingly gorgeous; headphone music, built for solitary absorption. So stark and intimate in its aesthetic, it can make you paranoid. Comprised mainly of her powerful cum vulnerable voice and lyrical guitar playing, the words and melodies suck all the oxygen out of the room. It often leaves me breathless.
That breathlessness is equal parts awe and piquant sadness. I am wowed by the sheer ferocity of her talent and the rawness that she lays bare in these songs. Her back story is vague, but the lyrics speak of rabid addiction (“The devil in my arms says, ‘feed me to the wolves, tonight’” - “Blacktop”), tested faith (“I think there’s a god and he hears me either way. Whether I rejoice and complain’” - “Rejoice”), self-loathing (“You’re gonna run when you find out who I am. Everybody does.” - “Everybody Does”) and failed relationships (“Every situation ends the same. With a blank stare, me in the tap water, circling the sink drain.” - “Good News”) . That she’s recording, touring and giving eloquent interviews like this one speaks to the fact that she’s made it to the other side with her intellect, sense of humor and musical gifts intact. I imagine that composing these songs robbed her of an epidermis. Catharsis, masquerading as emotional-baggage grave robbing.
I too was a “confessional” songwriter. I put it all out there in the songs I wrote. I tried to honor and be true to myself by never sugarcoating life's experiences. I was an awkward performer, but at my best, could silence a room with just voice and guitar. That silence was incredibly powerful to sit inside of. I often lacked the fortitude to let it wash over me. The discomfort imploring me to reassure everybody that I was okay. Those songs were a way to reckon with my inner-life and I felt compelled to write and perform them. Then the impact of my own returning echo would scare the shit out of me on stage. So I’d walk backwards from the message like I was running for President. Julien Baker isn’t afraid of the impact.
I am a glutton for art that stirs emotion. I want, beg to be moved by most of the art and entertainment I consume. I like songs, books and movies that deal with difficult subject matter. Most of the time I find it uplifting. I know I’m not alone in saying that. But there’s something about Julien’s songs and performances that actually makes me sad. I am fascinated by this sadness so I keep listening to her record and watching her performances on YouTube. But then I feel sad. I question what I’m doing with my life. I think I should be creating my own art, writing, playing guitar, instead of watching her do it. She’s become my go-to procrastination destination. I’m inspired by her, yet somehow enjoying her work makes me counterproductive. AND THAT MAKES ME SAD. I shouldn’t be blaming her hard work for my lack of effort or the stasis I feel in my life. She’s a supremely talented young artist who wants to graduate college and become a teacher. SHE should be running for President. That she’s so humble despite the praise that’s being heaped on her is proof that she’s made from quality, high-definition human parts. Fuck me for being such a bummer around her music.
This week I bought a ticket to see her upcoming show in Toronto. I want to connect to the sadness in real time. I fully expect to cry. Word on the street is that people do a lot of crying at her shows. So in a few weeks I will be standing in a room full of sad, weeping Julien Baker fans having the night of their lives. I imagine I’ll be like Courtney Cox in Springsteen's “Dancing in the Dark” video.
Julien will spot me, call me up on stage and we’ll both just stand there awkwardly crying at each other. Then I’ll get my own show on NBC and I’ll finally be able to thank her for inspiring me to get shit done.
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