Julien Baker – Audiofemme

AF 2021 IN REVIEW: Our Favorite Albums & Singles of The Year

If you went into 2021 with high expectations, you weren’t alone. Even if it was hard to feel optimistic this time last year, it certainly seemed as if things could get no worse. Live music did return, after all – though with the appearance of Delta, and now Omicron, the joyful noise comes with a caveat. After sixteen months of having to livestream shows (fun, but not the same) little could stop me from attending shows in person; wearing a mask as an extra precaution felt like no big deal, even if no one else was doing it. But luck (and vaccines) feel like the real reason I emerged unscathed from dozens of risky experiences, and with performances on the horizon canceled once again, maybe it’s wise to enter 2022 with slightly lower expectations.

There’s always recorded music, anyhow. Maybe the tumult of the year just has me personally feeling a bit unfocused, but it seems as though I barely scaled the mountain of this year’s musical offerings without getting a bit buried in the avalanche of releases – ones that had been pushed back, ones that were created in lockdown. I’ll be playing catch up well into the new year, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t gems I connected with almost immediately, and very deeply. And that’s what I’ve heard across the board, from those in the industry as well as casual music fans – is that our favorites this year stayed on heavy rotation, as we latched onto music that accurately reflected our moods, which evolved moment to moment and of course happened to be different for all of us at any given time. What does that mean for year-end lists? Audiofemme has always compiled an eclectic list, including favorites from each of our contributors without overall rank – consider any repeats to be the best of the best. But this year, the list seems even more diverse, meaning there’s a wealth of weird and wonderful music below to discover, dear reader. Thanks for sticking with us through another wild year.

EDITOR LISTS

Marianne White (Executive Director)
- Top 10 Albums:
  1) PinkPantheress – to hell with it
  2) Mdou Moctar – Afrique Victime
  3) Low – Hey What
  4) Jazmine Sullivan – Heaux Tales
  5) Julien Baker – Little Oblivions
  6) Dawn Richard – Second Line: An Electro Revival
  7) Indigo De Souza – Any Shape You Take
  8) aya – im hole
  9) Flock of Dimes – Head of Roses
  10) Tyler, the Creator – CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST
- Top 5 Singles:
  1) Japanese Breakfast – “Be Sweet”
  2) Loraine James (feat. Eden Samara) – “Running Like That”
  3) Hand Habits – “More Than Love”
  4) Sharon Van Etten & Angel Olsen – “Like I Used To”
  5) Julien Baker – “Faith Healer (Half Waif Remix)”

Lindsey Rhoades (Editor-in-Chief)
- Top 10 Albums:
  1) Low – Hey What
  2) Tirzah – Colourgrade
  3) Nana Yamato – Before Sunrise
  4) Emma Ruth Rundle – Engine of Hell
  5) Jane Weaver – Flock
  6) Tonstartssbandht – Petunia
  7) Arlo Parks – Collapsed in Sunbeams
  8) Squirrel Flower – Planet (i)
  9) Veik – Surrounding Structures
  10) Cassandra Jenkins – An Overview on Phenomenal Nature
- Top 10 Singles:
  1) Sharon Van Etten & Angel Olsen – “Like I Used To”
  2) Special Interest – “All Tomorrow’s Carry”
  3) Squid – “G.S.K.”
  4) Julien Baker – “Bloodshot”
  5) Mandy, Indiana – “Bottle Episode”
  6) Remember Sports – “Pinky Ring”
  7) Cedric Noel – “Comuu”
  8) Gustaf – “Mine”
  9) June Jones – “Therapy”
  10) MAN ON MAN – “Stohner”

Mandy Brownholtz (Marketing Director)
- Top 5 Albums (in no particular order):
  Spellling – The Turning Wheel
  King Woman – Celestial Blues
  Macy Rodman – Unbelievable Animals
  Marissa Nadler – The Path of the Clouds
  Kinlaw – The Tipping Scale
- Top 3 Singles (in no particular order):
  Often – “Deep Sleep”
  Mannequin Pussy – “Control”
  Spice – “A Better Treatment”

STAFF LISTS

Alexa Peters (Playing Seattle)
- Top 10 Albums:
  1) Wye Oak – Cut All The Wires: 2009-2011
  2) Dori Freeman – Ten Thousand Roses
  3) Isaiah Rashad – The House Is Burning
  4) Fawn Wood – Kåkike
  5) Carmen Q. Rothwell – Don’t Get Comfy / Nowhere
- Honorable Mention: Mike Gebhart – Co-Pilot
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Doja Cat (feat. SZA) – “Kiss Me More”
  2) Mitski – “Working for the Knife”
  3) DoNormaal – “Baby May”

Cat Woods (Playing Melbourne)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Deap Vally – Marriage
  2) Mod Con – Modern Condition
  3) Laura Stevenson – Laura Stevenson
  4) Joan As Police Woman – The Solution is Restless
  5) Black Country, New Road – For the first time
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Black Country, New Road – “Sunglasses”
  2) Lana Del Rey – “Dealer”
  3) jennylee – “Tickles”

Liz Ohanesian (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Hackedepicciotto — The Silver Threshold
  2) Saint Etienne — I’ve Been Trying to Tell You
  3) L’impératrice — Take Tsubo
  4) Pearl and the Oysters— Flowerland
  5) Nuovo Testamento — New Earth
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Midnight Magic – “Beam Me Up”
  2) Jessie Ware – “Please”
  3) Gabriels – “Love and Hate in a Different Time (Kerri Chandler Remix)”

Gillian G. Gaar (Musique Boutique)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Dolphin Midwives — Body of Water
  2) Sarah McQuaid — The St. Buryan Sessions
  3) Low — Hey What
  4) Witch Camp — I’ve Forgotten Now Who I Used to Be
  5) Full Bush — Movie Night
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Maggie Herron — “Sweet Lullaby”
  2) Sleater-Kinney — “High in the Grass”
  3) ONETWOTHREE — “Give Paw”

Jason Scott (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Jetty Bones – Push Back
  2) M.A.G.S. – Say Things That Matter
  3) Lyndsay Ellyn – Queen of Nothing
  4) Kacey Musgraves – star-crossed
  5) Christian Lopez – The Other Side
- Top 5 Singles:
  1) Hayes Carll – “Help Me Remember”
  2) Jake Wesley Rogers – “Middle of Love”
  3) Adele – “To Be Loved”
  4) Carly Pearce – “What He Didn’t Do”
  5) Kacey Musgraves – “what doesn’t kill me”

Michelle Rose (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Alex Orange Drink – Everything Is Broken, Maybe That’s O.K.
  2) Billie Eilish – Happier Than Ever
  3) Kacey Musgraves – star-crossed
  4) Magdalena Bay – Mercurial World
  5) Japanese Breakfast – Jubilee
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Blonder – “Ice Cream Girl”
  2) Mitski – “The Only Heartbreaker”
  3) Kristiane – “Better On Your Own”

Victoria Moorwood (Playing Cincy)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Polo G – Hall of Fame
  2) Benny the Butcher & Harry Fraud – The Plugs I Met 2
  3) Megan Thee Stallion – Something For Thee Hotties
  4) Pooh Shiesty – Shiesty Sessions
  5) blackbear – misery lake
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Benny the Butcher & Harry Fraud – “Thanksgiving”
  2) Lil Nas X (feat. Jack Harlow) – “INDUSTRY BABY”
  3) 24kGoldn (feat. Future) – “Company”

Jamila Aboushaca (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Kacey Musgraves – star-crossed
  2) Snoh Aalegra – Temporary Highs in the Violet Skies
  3) Lil Nas X – Montero
  4) Darkside – Spiral
  5) Blu DeTiger – How Did We Get Here EP
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Kaytranada (feat. H.E.R.) – “Intimidated”
  2) Kacey Musgraves – “simple times”
  3) Snoh Aalegra – “In Your Eyes”

Sophia Vaccaro (Playing the Bay)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Aly & AJ – A Touch of the Beat Gets You Up on Your Feet Gets You Out and Then Into the Sun
  2) Julia Wolf – Girls in Purgatory (Full Moon Edition)
  3) Megan Thee Stallion – Something For Thee Hotties
  4) Lil Mariko – Lil Mariko
  5) Destroy Boys – Open Mouth, Open Heart
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) daine – “dainecore”
  2) Julia Wolf – “Villain”
  3) Doja Cat – “Need To Know”

Sam Weisenthal (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Indigo De Souza – Any Shape You Take
  2) Katy Kirby – Cool Dry Place
  3) Mega Bog – Life, and Another
  4) Ada Lea – one hand on the steering wheel the other sewing a garden
  5) Olivia Kaplan – Tonight Turns to Nothing
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Charlotte Cornfield – “Drunk For You”
  2) Dora Jar – “Multiply”
  3) Joe Taylor Sutkowski, Dirt Buyer – “What Luck, Goodbye”

Sara Barron (Playing Detroit)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) PinkPantheress – to hell with it
  2) Summer Walker – Still Over It
  3) Erika de Casier – Sensational
  4) Jazmine Sullivan – Heaux Tales
  5) Adele – 30
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) Lana Del Rey – “Dealer”
  2) Liv.e – “Bout It”
  3) SZA – “I Hate U”

Eleanor Forrest (Contributor)
- Top 5 Albums:
  1) Arlo Parks – Collapsed in Sunbeams
  2) CL – ALPHA
  3) My Life As Ali Thomas – Peppermint Town
  4) Halsey – If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power
  5) Remember Sports – Like a Stone
- Top 3 Singles:
  1) FKA twigs (feat. Central Cee) – “Measure of a Man”
  2) Sabriel – “Pulse”
  3) Lexie Liu – “有吗炒面 ALGTR”

Wrestling with “Sad Girl Indie” and the Limits of Rawness

Earlier this year, in a March listening party following the release of her acclaimed third album Little Oblivions, Julien Baker sat down with NPR columnist and host Jewly Hight and Mackenzie Scott (who performs as Torres). Their conversation revealed an uncomfortable undercurrent of the way today’s booming female indie musicians are framed in popular media: the ever-present discourse of “rawness” and emotion that accompanies critical reception of their work.

“Sure, call it ‘raw’ because it was totally spontaneous,” Torres remarked sarcastically; the term hardly applies to Little Oblivions, Baker’s first release with a full studio band and released after a lengthy reckoning with her creative persona. “It’s just a journal entry. Right.”

Hight describes this “raw” characterization as a misplaced focus on “purging as opposed to craft,” and once identified, it’s easy to see how often that lens is focused on the performers who comprise the loose umbrella of contemporary “sad girl indie.” The term “raw” has not only been used for Phoebe Bridgers’ debut Stranger in the Alps, but also her 2020 release Punisher, which was praised by NME for its sonic experimentation and Stereogum for its “biting, hilarious” lyrics. It’s been bounced around to describe Lucy Dacus’ Home Video, featuring “Thumbs,” a track so layered and personal that Dacus spent years refining and reconsidering it in live show performances that she asked audience members not to record. Last month, she released another version of the song, too, with additional instrumentation.

“Raw” is an odd term for the intimate, candid work of these musicians. It implies a certain undoneness, a lack of artistic focus resulting from ecstatic emotional clarity. It also connotes an ancient, patriarchal idea that art created by women is taken directly from personal experience, rather than the filtration of creative vision and process. Conor Oberst, for instance, a longtime influence and current frequent collaborator of Phoebe Bridgers, has largely escaped seeing his music called “raw” — except when he’s specifically sought it out.

“When people hear ‘sad boy music,’ they don’t assume it’s a heartbreak,” Audrey Neri, who releases music as Cherry Flavor, points out in Marissa Matozzo’s zine Sad Girl Indie: The Genre’s Relevance in 2021. In contrast to “rawness,” men like Oberst, Christian Lee Hutson, and King Krule – who create music on the same emo-folk-indie pop spectrum that “sad girl indie” comprises – are seen as philosophical troubadours, engaging with emotion on an abstract level. Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier, who lays claim as Christine and the Queens to unabashed, public female sadness in “People, I’ve Been Sad,” put it this way in a recent conversation with Crack magazine: “even in art, women are refused the apersonal.”

Linked to “raw,” the term “sad girl indie” occupies a complicated gendered space in contemporary pop culture. It’s been cited as a space of solace by New Yorker staff writer Jia Tolentino, and claimed as a moniker of feminist community and genre by fans and certain artists. But it’s also been lambasted by Dacus, who doesn’t even consider most of her songs to be sad — as well as Bridgers and Baker, her fellow members of supergroup boygenius, who joined forces after being relentlessly pigeonholed and compared to each other as members of the “sad girl” set. These recent criticisms have led some to argue for abolishing the categorization altogether.

The question of who gets to be in the “sad girl” club has also been raised. Though sad girl indie has been praised for its queer narratives, transfemme musicians like Ezra Furman and Ethel Cain are rarely included in the conversation, to say nothing of the “girl” moniker’s implicit exclusion of nonbinary musicians. Discussions of Black and Indigenous artists like Arlo Parks, FKA Twigs, Black Belt Eagle Scout, and Indigo de Souza are also rare, though de Souza recently offered a compelling perspective on “sad girl indie” hagiography in the Michigan Daily podcast Arts, Interrupted. As TN2 Magazine points out, the women of color who are included under the “sad girl indie” umbrella (typically Mitski, Jay Som, and Japanese Breakfast) have been tokenized and ascribed troublingly-racialized descriptions like “feral,” in addition to the old standby of “raw.”

Of course, effusive emotion has always been a double-edged sword for women in the public eye, dating back to Victorian diagnoses of hystericalism, or even the dismissal of medieval “madwoman” mystic Margery Kempe for her public, psychosexual devotion. Reclaiming this patriarchal notion and finding strength in intense, uncomfortable vulnerability has been a hallmark not only of contemporary “sad girl”-ism, but also the musical forebears who influenced it.

Take Joni Mitchell for instance, who Brandi Carlile recalls dismissing for being “too soft” before listening to Blue at the behest of her wife, which forced her to “reconsider what ‘tough’ is.” Proto-“sad girls” like Mitchell, Joan Armatrading, and those that followed in the ‘90s feminist punk and singer-songwriter scenes used the aesthetics of emotion to construct artistic spaces in a world that refused to listen to them, giving voice to complex narratives ranging from unwanted pregnancy to systemic poverty, environmental anxiety, and queer desire. This is echoed in today’s “sad girls,” whose music reckons explicitly with abuse, addiction, and mental health concerns.

The potential strength of sad girl indie, however, is diluted by the critical presumption that its artists’ songs are “raw,” unprocessed “journal entries,” rather than artistic acts of ownership and cultivation. It’s also vastly diminished by the exclusion of trans and BIPOC artists, for whom the reclamation of the complicated, ruminative emotions so key to the subgenre’s success is even more urgent.

There may be hope for “sad girl indie,” if it can escape the “raw” paradigm and be considered expansively as a springboard for artistic community. At the very least, moving on from “sad girl indie” may offer a chance for something new to rise from its ashes: an evolved understanding of the queer and feminist undercurrents of today’s musical landscape, one that appreciates the complexity and artistry of its performers outright.

ONLY NOISE: Seven Songs That Help Me Navigate Depression and Anxiety

Soccer Mommy’s “Your Dog” reminds the author that everyone deserves respect, even on their darkest days. Photo by Daniel Topete

ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Lauren Rearick compiles a playlist of songs she’s leaned on to cope with mental illness.

Nearly eight years ago, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I had long suspected that my lifetime of continual worries and lingering sadness had been something more, and although receiving confirmation made me feel validated, it also made me feel afraid and alone.

The stigma surrounding mental illness continues to lessen, but there are still times when it can seem as if you’re the only one in the world going through it. It’s hard to explain to others why you constantly worry, or fear something as simple as driving to a new destination, when you don’t even understand the reasoning behind your own emotions. Additionally, it feels like mental illness is some secret that, once shared, will forever impact your relationships – it becomes this hidden extension of you.

I continue to work towards getting better, and while I have found methods of treatment that work for me, I’ve also found coping mechanisms. Along with watching endless amounts of uplifting cartoons (Sailor Moon and Adventure Time are my go-tos) I’ve turned to music, and those feelings and fears that I once thought were unique to me have revealed themselves through others’ songs. From my fear of being alone to a promise that even the most broken pieces will eventually fit together into something beautiful, here are the seven songs that helped me navigate relationships and life while contending with depression and anxiety.

“Your Dog” – Soccer Mommy

I used to believe that having a mental illness made me unable to have normal relationships. As it turns out, I was waiting for someone who practiced understanding. “Your Dog,” from Soccer Mommy’s 2018 LP Clean, is a note to demand your worth, and to accept nothing less than kindness from others. There’s a furious beauty to the song, a message of empowerment that seems so soft when presented, but is made to land with an impression. In particular, the line, “I don’t wanna be your fucking dog/That you drag around/A collar on my neck tied to a pole/Leave me in the freezing cold,” struck an immediate chord with me, reminding me that one should never be forgotten, even on their darkest days.

“#23” – IAN SWEET

The entirety of IAN SWEET’s Shapeshifter album is an ode to anxiety, with the release detailing vocalist Jillian Medford’s struggles with mental illness. While I’ve found myself connecting with the whole album, “#23” openly talks of isolation, and as it continues, Medford expresses a desire to change, but an inability to make it happen. I have so often been there; wishing I could make my emotions just disappear. When I’m feeling totally alone, I know I have others I could call upon, but sometimes just listening to this track is enough – it reminds me that someone else potentially feels the same.

“Everybody Does” – Julien Baker

The intimacy of Julien Baker’s music has connected with numerous fans, including myself. In my initial experience with depression, I had a constant fear that I would be left alone. Even without depression, I think we all have a fear that we could potentially lose a friendship or a relationship, and on “Everybody Does,” — a single which appears on Baker’s 2015 debut album — the singer appeals to that worry. The song isn’t meant to encourage; rather, it reminded me that I’m not the only one fearful of being alone, and knowing that is comforting. In particular, the line: “I know myself better than anybody else / And you’re gonna run / You’re gonna run when you find out who I am” really resonates with me, but as Baker explained in an interview with Stereogum, she’s come to realize “it’s a fallacy to believe everyone will run when you tell them who you really are.”

“TV Dreams” – Katie Ellen

Even with continuing work, medication, and treatment, I still have bad days. And for those moments when I need a reminder that it’s okay not to be okay, I listen to “TV Dreams.” This track was one of the first songs released by Katie Ellen — the project of Anika Pyle and Dan Frelly, born from the ashes of their former band, Chumped — and later appeared on the band’s 2017 debut Cowgirl Blues. It incorporates both soft and harsh moments, with confessional proclamations to be there for someone, even if that someone has since moved on. “TV Dreams” reminds me that sometimes things won’t work out, and I may never understand my every feeling, but the ensuing confusion is something others experience, too.

“Let Down” – Radiohead

There’s no telling when I’ll have good or bad days, and when I’m at my lowest, “Let Down,” from Radiohead’s critically lauded Ok Computer, has provided a small glimmer of hope that things will change. This line: “Don’t get sentimental, it always ends up drivel/One day, I am gonna grow wings,” has etched itself into my memory and heart. There’s something truly comforting in feeling as if one day, I’ll have the ability to move on from where I am now.

“Reality TV” – Remember Sports

Hidden beneath the chaotic drumming and fast guitars of this single from 2015’s All Of Something is a message of just needing someone to rely on. The line “Take my mind off the empty space in this heart of mine / and I’ll take your mind off the empty space in your bed tonight,” has always resonated with me, helping me to realize I was relying on the wrong person to get me through a tough time. “Reality TV” is a musical reminder that no one has it all figured out – sometimes we’re just passing through.

“Bus Ticket” – Cayetana

The music of Cayetana has always been particularly therapeutic for me, and this proves especially true on “Bus Ticket,” a song that explores adjusting to a new medication and finding yourself again. This track, featured on the group’s sophomore release New Kind of Normal, has a quiet rage, and it instills in me a sense of pride, pushing me forward when I’m at my lowest. From reflections on strength inspired by others to the desire to finally get some serious “shit off my chest,” I think this is the track that finally reminded me that feelings things more than others or being afraid of something simple doesn’t make me any less of a person.

ONLY NOISE: My New Year’s Resolution to Listen to More Women Empowered Me

ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Tamara Mesko details the resolution that led to revolution when she decided to bring more music made by women into her rotation. Check out her playlist here.

New year’s resolutions are generally difficult for me to keep. Lofty goals are written down, gym memberships are acquired, healthy recipes are copied to a vision board. But a few weeks into the dark winter, all is abandoned in favor of binge-watching shows and eating comfort foods. Instead of repeating this unsustainable cycle, over the past year I’ve set intentions for myself in areas where I actually felt willing to be challenged, and then worked out the details of incrementally pursuing these ideas. As someone who’s almost constantly listening to songs, I’ve realized that the bulk of my music library consisted of albums by male artists. Looking to diversify and expand my music-listening habits, I decided to immerse myself in more music made by women. By devoting my time and funds to prioritize and promote female musicians, I hoped to amplify their voices and support them. Seeking out women who hadn’t been publicized by the traditional gatekeepers led me to discover such an incredible variety of albums that have transformed my life in countless ways. The connection I now feel with these women has revolutionized my perspective, repaired my self-image, and encouraged me in my daily attempts to navigate the male-dominated world.

One of the most transcendent moments of my year was the night I saw Petal opening for Camp Cope in concert. Both bands are primarily made up of women, and the crowd that night was as well. Petal is primarily the work of bandleader Kiley Lotz, who was touring in support of her second album for Run For Cover, Magic Gone. I’d heard a few of her songs before that night, and was instantly transformed by her performance. The unique energy emanating around the venue was overwhelmingly beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so safe and supported at a show before; at concerts where the band members and crowd skew heavily toward the male side, underneath any positive feelings I have about the music, there’s a constant apprehension, an edgy anxiety that covers my decisions with a shell of protection. Hearing Kiley’s vulnerable stories about mental health between her stunning songs felt like a revelation. Her encouraging and therapeutic presence filled the room with a redeeming light.

Another musician I discovered in the last year was Lucy Dacus. Her latest album, Historian, is a masterpiece, and convinced me that seeing her on a headlining tour early this year would be well worth my time and energy. The evolution happening in my psyche that night was a direct reaction to Lucy’s boldness throughout the concert. Her voice exuded incredible power from the very start, when she opened with a brand new song, to midway through, when she decided something felt off and had to restart another. Her admissions of imperfection spread a sense of authenticity into the audience, urging us to join her in singing through our problems, perceived or real, that we’d carried in with us. As I drove home, I felt my levels of compassion for and confidence in myself rising to new heights.

By extension, I’ve been slightly obsessed with boygenius, a newly formed supergroup comprised of Dacus, Phoebe Bridgers, and Julien Baker (whose music I was already familiar with). All three are masters of their solo craft, yet I was unprepared for the overwhelming harmonies they created together. The day the album was released, I was at the ocean at a women’s retreat, harboring some disappointments while feeling generally directionless. Breaking up the communal times spent with friends by walking along the shore with these songs in my headphones gave me such solace and was a perfect reprieve from “real life.” Singing in community is a sacred act, one that’s sustained me long after that weekend ended. Indeed, the women of boygenius are incredibly supportive of each other, and the music they produced while cheering each other on encourages me to try to infuse my daily tasks with this same love and support for myself.

Lesley Barth’s music came into my life this summer just as I’d canceled on an opportunity to see a male musician playing that same night. I’m sure his show would’ve been good, but seeing Lesley impacted me on a much more deeply personal level. A New York City native, Lesley has been singing and performing for many years. She released her first full-length album, Green Hearts, in 2017, and in a live setting, is engaging and connected to her audience. As part of a local concert series, her set was more of a conversation, with intimate stories to go along with each song. I felt inspired and proud of her as she talked about quitting her unfulfilling office job to pursue being a full-time musician, about how much she loves sad songs, and about how frequently we as women struggle to develop and maintain a healthy self-image.

I haven’t yet had the privilege of seeing Mitski in concert, but she manifests a particular bold energy on her fifth album, Be The Cowboy. These songs seem less personal than her earlier work, though just as powerful. Through a more fictionalized worldview, she introduces a character in “Nobody” who tries on countless personas in an attempt to avoid loneliness. As she progresses through this montage of selves, she realizes that not only is she still alone, but her acts of desperation are destroying the very possibility of connection. Throughout the album, Mitski continually subverts expectations, musically and lyrically, while describing ways to develop a more authentic sense of self.

As a late-December addition to my absolute favorites, I first heard Tomberlin on a podcast, discussing her restrictive religious upbringing. I promptly bought her debut album At Weddings, and was struck by how wise she sounds, how much of her background she’s already deconstructed in a healthy way. Her voice has a stark beauty and a healing quality. She both anchors and directs me in how to dig myself out of my struggles and gracefully move forward. “I’m Not Scared” works its way in mid-album to speak honestly of the female human condition: “And to be a woman is to be in pain / And my body reminds me almost every day.” It’s a song that destroys all my defenses so effectively that I actually don’t want to know specifically what it’s about; I want it to simply exist as a daily incantation for women everywhere to adopt as our own.

For a lot of listeners, music is mainly background noise, something to occasionally notice while they’re busy doing something else entirely. For me, music is a lifeline, and it’s been revolutionary and breathtaking to find new perspectives along that line in the past year. I’ve discovered new facets of my identity that I didn’t realize I was missing. Diversifying how I listen to music and which artists I decide to support has become a year-round, life-long resolution.

ONLY NOISE: Finding A New Gospel in Unlikely Hymns

ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Tamara Mesko reckons with her evangelical upbringing via songs by Julien Baker, Kevin Devine, and David Bazan.

As a child, my world was mostly black and white, consisting of lists of rules to follow and religious rituals to submit to within the evangelical church. The litany of required observances included maintaining a modest dress code, attending church at least twice a week, attending Christian school with weekly chapel services, refraining from shopping on Sundays, and submitting to the ultimate authority of the pastor. This sheltered community of my family, church friends, and school friends was the entirety of my world throughout my childhood. Though some people thrive within structured, controlled systems, I was a sensitive, emotional child, drawn to the mystical areas of life, and longed for more freedom. The high point of my week was always the musical part of church services, and I felt a deep transcendence while I was singing with the congregation.

This subculture’s rigid list of restrictions also extended to my music-listening allowances outside of church. My album choices came from a finite list: songs we sang in church, songs played on the religious radio station, or CDs from the Christian bookstore. On the rare day that our family trekked to the mall, I’d immediately hone in on the music section of the bookstore, joyously scanning the stacks of new cassettes and CDs. This was one of the few places where I felt at home. I was longing for a connection with songs that weren’t listing rules, but rather showcasing love and compassion for all types of people and perspectives. I was searching for musicians who could expand my limited worldview, and hoping they could save me from my restriction-heavy life.

The Beginning

let go of what you know, and honor what exists
daughter, that’s what bearing witness is

Through the end of my teenage years, most of the music I heard was written for churchgoers, save for a few Nirvana songs I’d secretly record off the radio. Finally, in the late ‘90s, after years of searching for more musical substance, right there in my beloved bookstore, I discovered a band called Pedro The Lion. Led by David Bazan, who was also raised in the evangelical subculture, this band was decidedly different than any I’d heard before: though their music had a religious angle, it was made by people with incredible talent, with true care for their listeners, and with brutal honesty in their lyrics. I bought the Whole EP and It’s Hard To Find A Friend CD at the same time, and immediately became obsessed with both albums. The subversiveness of the lyrics astounded me; they were part of this subculture and yet singing about controversial topics? They were calling out hypocrisy in the church instead of focusing on formulaic, pre-approved storylines? I quickly internalized their crystalline lyrics: “Your horse is ready to ride / when morning comes / from this church town / where damning rumors drip from holy tongues.” Or Bazan’s detail of the particular coldness of a routine church service: “But if all that’s left is duty / I’m falling on my sword / at least then I would not serve / an unseen distant lord.” My heart and mind were jolted out of complacency, little inklings forming into an eventual blooming deconstruction of the religion of my youth.

Many years later, I eagerly awaited Bazan’s first solo album, Curse Your Branches, marketed as “a break-up letter to God.” Amidst an existential and spiritual crisis of my own, I intimately identified with all of the questions and accusations laced throughout these songs. The comfort I felt from his words soon turned to hurt as I heard the majority of my religious friends write him off as a lost soul or a heretic. I realized they’d only listened to Bazan as long as he’d kept his proclamations safe within the evangelical worldview, and as soon as he began to grow outside of that label, they seemed to lose trust that he could still benefit them.

One of the healthiest ideas I learned from those in authority over me was the power of discernment. I was taught to consider the source of any truth I was ascribing to, and, if I felt there were harmful messages in it, to not be afraid to question and expose this harm. Yet as I began to share how Bazan’s discerning lyrics helped me reconsider what it really meant to have faith in God, I felt rejected and unwelcome in my community. I wasn’t sure yet if I agreed with his ideas – I just wanted space to discuss them and to articulate my own questions. Although I felt dismissed, I found great courage in Bazan’s example of vulnerable honesty, and knowing I was not alone gave me peace through this anxious time. Bazan has always been a prophetic voice for me, and he continues to challenge me to consider the countless ways my daily actions belie what I say I believe. The transparent way he persists in bearing witness to his experience provides such solace and inspires hope that I may also be able to find a clear, truthful path forward.

Leaving

give yourself a breath
while you’re working it out
the answer’s in between
all the concrete and clouds
it’s anywhere you want
yeah, it’s next to you now

It was an extremely difficult step to start to define myself separate from the entire community I’d grown up in, to enter the scary unknown outside the previously clear, safe waters that now appeared murky and troubling to me. While I was immersed in this process, another musician, Kevin Devine, was beneficial in presenting an alternative perspective. Though all of his albums are incredible works of art, the one that strongly impacted my spiritual development was 2011’s Between The Concrete & Clouds. The title track traces the journey of his formative years, from Catholicism to atheism to existentialism to a mature, nuanced, slightly more solid ground that validates and gives grace to fellow questioners. The entire album pursues a resolution to elevate love and compassion to a first priority in all relationships, and in doing so it exemplifies a genuine Christ-like viewpoint.

Devine constantly examines how he enacts his belief system in real life, reflecting on both the consequences and the rewards of those actions. He’s shown me that I don’t have to ascribe to a religious tenet in order to be a moral, ethical, conscientious person in the world. On this album, his songs challenge me to break a cycle of default thinking, of cynicism, of obsessing about the past, and to instead process the past in a step toward redemption: “Leave ‘10 years ago’ 10 years ago / get back within yourself and listen close.” He places the burden of responsibility on each individual person, and motivates me to leave my comfort zone and consider spiritual, moral, and political viewpoints vastly different from my own. I’ve learned that it’s okay to disagree with those in authority who taught me discernment, and that my own perspective, intuition, and experience is valid and can be trusted. Listening to this revolutionary album, I’m led to reexamine the traditions I was taught, confront areas of cognitive dissonance, and move forward into a more holistic place where I’ve found an authentic path to love myself and to love others.

The Present

I think there’s a God
and He hears either way
when I rejoice
and complain

As I contemplated where I fit into modern religious spaces, often feeling out of place with both the evangelical and more progressive communities, I discovered another musician who solidified a specific, helpful foundation for me. This powerhouse of a writer and singer, Julien Baker, identifies herself as someone who believes in God, but weaves this belief throughout her life in nuanced, open-minded ways that strengthen my resolve to build up my own personal belief system. I so strongly identified with the emotions she expresses on her first album, Sprained Ankle, that I listened to it at least twice a day, every day, for an entire year.

Baker has an enduring, monumental power that she wields with such deliberate love. She makes all types of people feel welcome, even as she’s expressing her frustration with God in beautiful stanzas: “So I wrote you love letters / and sung them in my house / and all around the South / the broken strings and amplifiers / scream with holy noise / and hope to draw you out.” I can hear that she’s a seeker of truth, and she compels me to honestly profess what my current level of faith looks like, even if I continue to feel misunderstood by other people of faith. On this album she dives deep into themes of addiction, death, abandonment, and self-worth. There are no simple answers; life is complex, so it follows that religion cannot be reduced to a few statements. Belief systems must be given hands and feet and lived out, not in fear of, but in communion with other people. I know that as I continue to define my religious identity, Baker and her music will be there for me, to shake me out of complacency and point me toward a mystical spirituality and stability that has love and grace at its core.

Today, the black and white strictures of my childhood have blurred to gray, an evolving swirl of uncertain waters. But these three musicians have provided me a life raft, a sense of calm about setting adrift on my own spiritual journey. My system of morality is now primarily based on loving everyone and celebrating the spiritual connection that all of humanity shares. I try to use my many forms of privilege to advocate for those with less, and – a much harder task – try to have compassion for those with more. Religion doesn’t have to be organized, but I am currently part of a church community where I feel at home, in large part because of the music. Singing together with people who have also, at times, interrogated their faith is still deeply transformative for me, whether that’s in a church service or at a concert. When I think of the importance of these voices, I can’t help but be infinitely grateful for all of the beauty David Bazan, Kevin Devine, and Julien Baker provided as my belief system evolved, pointing me toward a more holistic truth with their unlikely hymns.

Tag: Julien Baker