Telling Tales
Two of the latter songs on this album by Willy Vlautin and his band The Delines sum up its central
theme of people with a desperate, or even knowingly empty hope for a better
life. Whilst the stories of each of these two is told by a separate female persona,
every female persona across all of the 11 tracks is linked by their shared
sense of ennui, a collective everyperson of accepting despondency – made
beautifully plaintive by the haunting music through which Vlautin carries these
tales and the sweetly lamenting voice of Amy Boone who sings their narratives.
Seventh track State
Line exemplifies the brisk musical vignette in every song, and here the
stark message is presented in the line my
whole life can be seen in one scene. That scene is relayed as the time when
she was a young girl of 15 and left home having stolen her folks’ car and made it as far as the state line, this a
metaphor for the boundary which prevents all of us from moving away and beyond
whatever it is that stifles and diminishes our lives. The narrative is
reflected through her life now as a 44 year old woman who never made it away
and beyond in all those years since that teenage attempt, where she feels everyone else is blurring by in their better
lives, unable to grasp [as all these vignettes tell us] that no one actually
escapes – it just seems so because one has to believe it is possible. The most
despairing line in this song is how the teenage attempt was prompted by the realisation
that she should leave with the certainty of a life doomed to drown in that house or to drown in the world. And we know the
outcome as the song closes on the repeated line stuck on the state line.
Eighth track Flight 31
presents a different but equally transient mode of transport and fruitless
means of escape. The persona here imagines how her travel to a lover’s arms in
a different city embraces an effective break because it won’t be long now…probably over Toronto….it won’t be long
now….I’ve been drowning for years now, I’ll just drown in your arms and the
hope for change and something better is anchored by the more obvious
connotation of ‘drowning’ when first sung rather than the romanticism of the second
reference.
The slow meditative musical backdrops for these two songs
have been played at this empathetic pace from the start. Album opener Calling In begins with slow strummed guitar
then slower pedal steel painting the backdrop wistfully when our first persona
of the many begins her story, this time about a couple who decide to stay at
home from work by calling in sick to stay
in bed and watch the day fade, trying to escape the ordinariness of their
lives and as slaves to precarious, unrewarding occupations. The music has a long slow pan again, as if
the despair/resignation has nowhere to go, and then the declaration, so full of
that empty hope, gets posited with darkness
ain’t such a hard road, let’s never go back, a repeated line, any tentative
conviction there is lost in the repetition of the musical surround.
The semi-title and second track Colfax Avenue is told by a wife who gets a call at home about her
hurt brother and then tells how she goes out in search of him, leaving husband
and kids at home – the familial tie of siblings made stronger by his apparent
vulnerability. She searches the alleys,
the liquor stores and the bars they still let him into after he returned
from being in the army where she can only guess helplessly at what happened to
him - in the army what do they do? – and
now she can only worry that nights can be
so long and it’s so cold outside, he’s just a kid and he’s seen too much, he’s
just a kid. This narrative is so Carveresque in the nothingness of where
the story goes: there is no ending, it just is. There is no resolution
Third track The Oil
Rigs at Night has an opening line Golden
lights on the oil rigs at night that paints
a seemingly poetic picture, drawing our female persona this time to
something meaningful that seems to shimmer there. However, we learn that her
husband works on those rigs - 23 more
days he’ll be away – and she contemplates leaving home before he returns,
her connection to him now just an endurance having been childhood friends, but any spark blew out if it ever did exist,
the scenario of where she might go and end up as an even emptier reality offering
the simple – though dark – solace of difference, but the line at least I won’t be cursed adds bleak
layers to that familiar pang of feeling trapped by ordinary life.
The fifth and my favourite track I Won’t Slip Up is yet again a tale of leaving, no matter how
fleeting or far: the escape is all that matters. Here we have another younger
female protagonist, not yet fully buried in her life and trying to tell herself
– and those probably too knowing to listen and believe – that she has her hopes
and ambitions in perspective and therefore control: It’s
Friday night and I just can’t stay at home and I know your shift starts at
midnight…so come on, come on…hey Ray, could you give me a ride into town….I won’t
slip up, I won’t slip up….. She
wants to momentarily escape as far as
Lombard Street….have a couple of drinks…. I get so tired of people worrying about me. It is a clichéd but all
the more real for this tale of a mom who lectures
her and a boss who out of daily and endemic mistrust checks up on her work [checks
the till]: her life is constantly and diminishingly monitored/measured by
others. The repetition of the promise I
won’t slip up is so achingly doomed, the melancholic organ and pedal steel fading
out empathetically with that hopelessness. The pathos is so painful, truly
painful. It is a beautiful tune, that organ tone somehow so apt, and it is this
balancing act of the music and the stories – the sweetness and the pain – that makes
this album so paradoxically uplifting. I think it is so because there is an
honesty in the observation, and because of that there is hope in the listening.
At least someone understands and someone is telling the stories for others to
engage with and hear.
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