Karen Dalton/ In the Evening, Who Can Tell (Who’s Going to Love You the Best): Sinking is easy at this age. Karen Dalton, with her beautiful voice and sad reworkings of lovely songs, died alone and strung out.
Vetiver/ I Know No Pardon: We have a huge capacity for regret (elucidated by strings).
Okkervil River/ O, Dana: Come on, we have someplace better to be. Let’s try to go.
Sing-Sing/ Going Out: And getting there can be half the fun, melancholy as it seems.
Eux Autres/ The Sundance Kid: If we mythologize ourselves less, we might be better off.
Canasta/ Imposters: Or worse off.
Destroyer/ Breakin’ the Law: The more we learn, the more we’ll grow. This song will get better in a few years.
Dolly Mixture: How Come You’re Such a Hit with the Boys, Jane?: But we’re jealous and petty and silly, sometimes in a very justified way. Being snide is okay, as long as it isn’t all we are.
The Blow/ Parentheses: The little things end up mattering more than we’d think. It’s okay to cry in supermarkets, if you are so inclined. I’ll give you a hand.
Joanna Newsom/ Emily: And we are insignificant in terms of the cosmos, but that doesn’t mean we are insignificant to one another.
Swan Lake/ The Partisan But He’s Got to Know: Seriously.
Hidden Cameras/ Death of a Tune: We know how to sing, and yodel, and dance.
Josef K/ Pictures (of Cindy): Or maybe we don’t.
Julie Doiron/ No More: And we’re pretty fucking sick of it all, so we deserve a vacation.
Tom Waits/ Bottom of the World: Which we don’t yet get. Tom Waits writes strangely compelling songs.
Wednesday Week/ I Don’t Know: We are charmed by the things that intend to charm us, often to our detriment.
Juana Molina/ Micael: But we sometimes forget to acknowledge that we ourselves are charming.
Lesser Birds of Paradise/ Take the Leaves: We work to get better, but often end up getting nowhere.
The How/ When I Was a Boy: And nostalgia has value in its own right.
Voxtrot/ Sway: Yet being too nostalgic is a problem.
Elf Power/ Feel a Whole Lot Better: Most definitely. Not that a good cover of a Byrds song isn’t charming in its own right.
Memphis/ Incredibly Drunk on Whiskey: I’ve been thinking some of suicide/ but there’s bars out here for miles.
Manhattan Love Suicides/ Suzy Jones: I want you to want me.
Camera Obscura/ Dory Previn: Or, at least I did. Now I just want to be alone.
Tullycraft/ Dollywood: And I want to go someplace fantastic just to be ridiculous, and it is important that this is my choice and my kitsch and my triumph.
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