Monthly Wrapped (up): What I’m Listening to in…January

“One step forward, Two steps back; Nobody gets too far like that”

Wise words from the Desert Rose Band. An appropriate start, I think, to a new year of playlist-building. A reminder that, no matter the winds that blow and the tides that turn, we must always strive to move forward: however slowly we may perceive our progress.

The song has always been a bit of a favourite of mine, since I discovered it - along with a good deal of other music - as a result of my copious playing of GTA: San Andreas in my early teenage years. It's funny to think that, what I can only describe as my musical awakening, occurred through the conduit of a 2004 video game (well over 10 years old as I played it) run on a laptop (with a rather awkwardly-reduced resolution in order to do so smoothy), where the songs played on a virtual radio station. I remember well the sensation of driving around the cities, deserts, and towns enjoying the likes of K-Rose (Country), K-DST (Classic Rock), and WCTR (Talk Radio). I didn't know it at the time, but listening to those songs stirred something within me - a deep appreciation for the sounds, the textures, and the colours of great music.

This month's proverbial (and musical) feet have been firmly planted in the 'classic' country genre: with the likes of the merry Juice Newton (Queen of Hearts), the more melancholic Mary Gauthier (I Drink), as well as the aforementioned Desert Rose Band's terrific offering. Most of the others on the playlist have a country thread sewn through, though the decades are shuffled. A few outliers are there too, though, with Paolo Nutini's lights-out 'Writer' (closing song of his 2022 album, Last Night in the Bittersweet - well worth checking out); as well as Prelude's somewhat experimental (refreshingly hippy) 'After the Goldrush'.

A few songs certainly did surprise me: particularly up-and-comer folk artist Jesse Welles' 'No Kings' blew me away on first listen, and continued to impress as I delved in further to his discography. He has even managed to bag a collaboration with the Joan Baez, and this is the version of the song that I have submitted to this month's playlist. Her voice, seemingly accepted in the historical record as somewhat as a love it or [...], manages to elevate the song beyond anything I could have expected. Not least, as it's a deeply political song, does her participation grant the song a great deal of additional weight. I'm positive the comparison has already been drawn (although I'm hesitant to do so, as it feels as to do so would be issuing a curse on Welles' career) to Bob Dylan, whose voice - both sonically and spiritually - appear to echo in his own throughout the song.

I shall, as they say, be watching his career with great interest.

Another song that floored me is Phil Ochs' 'The Highwayman'. Adapted from the legendary poem by Alfred Noyes - considered one of the most sonorously enjoyable poems to read aloud - the song follows a Dick-Turpin-esque hero as he searches for an illicit 'prize' (some form of ill-gotten gains) in the darkness while he promises to return to his lover by moonlight. The story, predictably, ends poorly for almost all involved (what do you expect when you court a landlords' daughter), but that doesn't stop Ochs from gleefully drawing in your ear to hear the tale in all its gory detail. His voice has a powerful intensity and raw edge rarely heard in our modern sonic environment, which, much to our loss, appears to value aesthetics over originality. And, although the lyrics are mostly ripped straight from Noyes' poem, they are assembled and abridged with some skill. A particularly impressive verse is as follows:

He did not come at the dawning

No, he did not come at the noon

And out of the tawny sunset

Before the rise of the moon

When the road was a gypsy's ribbon

Looping the purple moor

Oh, a redcoat troop came marching, marching, marching

King George's men came marching

Up to the old inn door

Even reading the stanzas now I feel myself shudder. I owe a great debt to Phil Ochs for beckoning me to discover Noyes' original poem in its entirety.

If You Only Listen to One Song in January...

My unrivalled favourite this month must go to Nanci Griffith's 'Love at the Five and Dime' - a song so good that I've been more or less continuously kicking myself for never having discovered it (and indeed Nanci herself) before. It's an utterly flawless piece of music - equally mournful and optimistic - lifted by Griffith's tremendously airy yet warm and grounded voice, and held together with a delightfully sparse instrumentation and none other than Lyle Lovett's (whose refreshingly uplifting 'If I Had A Boat' also features in this playlist) backing vocals.

A real 'story song' - the lyrics tell of a humble diner at the centre of a young couple's life as they navigate through the trials and tribulations of time:

Eddie traveled with the barroom bands,

'Til arthritis took his hands,

Now he sells insurance on the side.

Rita's got a house to keep,

Dimestore novels and a love so sweet,

They dance to the radio late at night.

The coda has both profound depth and perfect simplicity:

'Cause Rita was sixteen years, with hazel eyes and chestnut hair

She really made the Woolworth counter shine

Eddie was a sweet romancer, and a darn good dancer

And they'd waltz the aisles of the five and dime

It's everything a great country song needs to be - straightforward, frill-free, and celebratory of the everyday. If only every song in the genre could lay claim to such greatness.

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That's it for January's wrapped! Check back next month for a new post!

Finlay