Hi Darling Ones,

I cannot wait any longer. We have to talk about the flagship in the room.*

My plan was to wait until I had an actual physical copy of Amanda Shires’ new record Take it Like a Man (TILAM) in my hot little hands. There would have been an arty picture of the record with some lyrics on it for the header. I might have been past this obsessive stage of falling for a new record. Who knows? Nobody, because I’m talking about it now. Again. I talked about the song “Hawk for the Dove” already.

I’ve listened to TILAM fourteen times since it dropped Thursday night. I have no shame. This record perfectly fits into a sad/angry/horny groove inside my soul and listening to these ten songs on repeat just feels good.

Also, if you’re the kind of person who loves a really good record/book pairing, might I suggest you try TILAM with Gina Frangello’s blistering Blow Your Own House Down? Both of them feature notes of bravery and brilliance with the subtle aroma of vulnerability and ferocity. These are two works of art by women at the top of their game. For real, if you ever find yourself feeling sad/angry/horny** all at the same time you will find much camaraderie in the book and the record.

Back to Ms. Shires. She is, without hyperbole, one of the greatest songwriters of her generation. The use of imagery in her songwriting is spectacular (see: “Parking Lot Pirouette“). She’s adept at wordplay (see the line: Like a common loon I started hearing birds. in the song “Take it Like a Man.“). And she weaves together ideas in the most unexpected and startling way. One of my all-time favorite lyrics is from her song “Harmless” where she sings, Your eyes a shade of wonder like if thunder had a color.

There’s something really exciting when you recognize an artist pushing themselves further than they have before. This is evident in TILAM. There’s also something really magical when an artist trusts you with their truth and is brave enough to show you their vulnerability. Shires has spread this all over TILAM. And I could go on and on about the sequencing of this record and how side one is angry and sad and how side 2 is bouncy and horny.

Instead, let’s talk about the utter brilliancy of “Fault Lines” the last track on side one.

“Fault Lines” is, as Shires has said many times, about a shitty time in her marriage to Jason Isbell. It’s a spare and desolate. The song expresses the emptiness that comes after the anger has burned through your system and now you’re just done. Done. What raises this song to the level of complete brilliance is how Shires uses Isbell’s own song to explain exactly how she’s feeling. She sings, And the character you wrote yourself out to be, the flagship, all part of my fooling.

When I first heard that word, flagship, in this song while laying in my dark bedroom at 11:30 on Thursday night, I felt my central nervous system start to sizzle. Oh, I thought, she is going there.

If you’re not familiar with Isbell’s catalog, “Flagship” is a song off his 2015 record Something More than Free. It’s a song where he vows to never let their love fade. On this song both Shires and Isbell sing, Baby, let’s not ever get that way. I’ll say whatever words I need to say.

And if you listen to Shires’ new songs, it’s very clear they got that way. You can also hear it on “Empty Cups.” The sound of silence rings in every room.

But the specificity of calling him out for failing to be the character he painted himself to be and her feeling foolish for believing it. . . well that’s a heaping helping of bravery mixed with vulnerability. Also, sweet burn. Also, ouch.

I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say about this record as it continues to reveal itself to me.

Angrily, sadly, and hornily yours,
Jodi

 
*Whenever I hear the word flagship I first think of Kurt Vonnegut because when my friend Shawn got Vonnegut to sign a copy of Cat’s Cradle for me, he called the book the flagship of his fleet.

 
**My Weird-Al brain has been singing a version of John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Lonely Ol’ Night” called Horny Ol’ Night, featuring this line, “I don’t know, I’m just so sad and horny all at the same time.”

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Darling Ones,

I’m not quite done criticizing the Klosterman book. Part of me wants to make a joke about how I have not yet begun to bitch about this insidious book. Then there’s the part of me that remembers I’m a woman who is expressing an opinion contrary to a man’s so the bitching is probably implied.

In his new book, The Nineties Klosterman mostly ignores all the things women did in the 90s. Mostly, I say, because he does spend some time discussing Liz Phair and Alanis Morisette. He pits them against each other. Phair gets the indie cred and not so many sales. Alanis gets all the sales but her artistic integrity is questioned.

He even writes at one point, “Phair, conversely, had made a record for dudes who collected records about dudes.”

Yes. He is saying Liz Phair wrote “Exile in Guyville” for dudes. There are not enough rage/barfing emojis or metaphors to adequately express how angry that sentence makes me. Quit trying to kick women out of the music club, Chuck. For christ’s sake maybe not every single fucking thing in rock & roll has to be centered around your boner. Fucker.

He claims that what people wanted was young women who were talking about sex autobiographically. Not Liz Phair and Alanis Morisette as individuals, I guess? Any chick in a skirt would do?

Then he says the long term consequence was an artistic impediment to both of them because people were only interested in their sex songs. . . he does this while lumping them onto female songwriters who sing about sex. He does the thing he claims has been an impediment to their success. He’s right there doing it in the book.

If that’s not enough sexist bullshit from him, he also claims Morisette selling 33 million copies of “Jagged Little Pill” makes her too popular to tell the truth. However, Nirvana selling 30 million copies of “Nevermind” is music-history altering and generation-defining. If Alanis was a man named Alan, she would be as revered as Kurt Cobain.

At one point he says Phair cannot dismantle the patriarchy because the patriarchy has a crush on her. Because, of course, Liz Phair is responsible for men’s feelings. What kind of rape culture bullshit is this?

Oh, it’s the exact kind of rape culture bullshit he was spinning for Spin in 2003 when he included this sentence in an intro to a Q&A with Phair:
“And even though she’s now 36, Ms. Phair can still bring the pain: She showed up at our interview wearing the most distracting denim miniskirt I have ever seen”

In the same article he also asks her, “Do you ever exaggerate your interest in sex for artistic purposes?” and basically goes on to nag her about not making songs that are as sexy to him as her previous work.

Tell me again why he gets to keep writing books and be held up as some sort voice of a generation, a cultural critic? As far as I can tell he still can’t see past his own fucking boner to take Phair seriously as an artist (Morisette too for that matter).

Okay, I think I’ve said my piece now. Maybe.

Fumingly yours,
Jodi

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Hey Darling Ones,

As you may remember I read Chuck Klosterman’s new book, The Nineties, last week. I read a lot of it twice because I was really fucking sick Monday and nothing stuck with me, so I gave him another go just to make sure I was right in my assessment of the book.

I was. It’s a hot mess of things that happened in the 90s, the importance of which were determined by Chuck Klosterman. That’s the only common thread I can find through these disparate topics that include Pauly Shore, something I’d never heard of before called “The New Sincerity,” college football playoffs/bowl games, The Matrix, doping in 90s baseball, and Zima.

The book is not very good and the arguments he puts forth on the significance of some of this bullshit are frequently flimsy and occasionally specious. It’s typical Klosterman fare where instead of making a point he just inundates his readers with a salad of 50¢ words so he appears smart because nobody takes the time to parse what he’s actually trying to say.

“But it’s hard to exaggerate the pervasion of self-constructed, self-aware apathy that would come to delineate the caricature of a time period that already feels forgotten. . .” SEE WHAT I MEAN?

His continuing popularity baffles and infuriates me. He’s seen as a cultural critic, which I hate because that gives the things he chooses to focus on way more weight and significance than maybe they deserve. It also means the things he chooses to not write about seem insignificant. That’s what is infuriating, because what he chooses to focus on are the same things most white, male, GenX straight dudes focus on. So things that were important to all the other people who can’t check off all those boxes are pushed ever further into the fringe.

Honestly, I was kind of shocked Klosterman wrote an entire book about the 90s and never mentioned Riot Grrrl and third-wave feminism or discussed at any length the AIDS crisis.

So yeah, I have about 206 bones to pick about this book but I’m choosing my bones wisely, limiting to only the most important bones of all the bones.

The first one is about “Reality Bites.”

Warning, there’s gonna be some spoilers here. If you haven’t seen this twenty-eight-year-old hilariously and often cringingly dated romcom yet and you want the ending to be a surprise, stop here.

Klosterman argues that 1994 is the only moment in time where Lelaina (Winona Ryder) would choose genuine Troy (Ethan Hawke) over artificial vanilla Michael (Ben Stiller). He argues that Michael treats her better than Troy does. He argues the only reason she chooses Troy is because in 1994 she’d never go for anyone with a whiff of sell-out about them.

Except, there’s a a lot more wrong with Michael than the fact that he stands for nothing and is a sell-out.

In the movie Michael steals Lainey’s documentary, and shows it to the big wigs at faux-MTV without her permission. That’s kind of a big deal. Not only does Michael do that, he lets them edit her work without her knowledge or permission, and then premieres it to more big wigs without showing her first. Then, when she does finally choose Troy, he steals the concept of her work and makes a ham-handed knockoff while taking all the credit.

Michael is a dirtbag.

Troy’s not the greatest either, and this movie falls into that trope where romantic interests say horrible things to each other to mask their true passion and love. Barf.

Anyway, Klosterman makes the point that both Baby Boomers and Millenials see this movie the same way and that Lainey should have chosen Michael. Though if he were to ever be able to open his mind even the tiniest of little bits and see things from a not white-heterosexual dude perspective he’d realize that no matter who Lainey chose it would have been wrong in the eyes of the future.

Because, surprise, women cannot do things right. If Lainey had chosen Michael she too would be a sell-out who chose comfort and money over her true passion. Choosing Troy means she’s shallow and concerned with how people see her. . . maybe? I’m not entirely sure why Troy is the bad option here. Sure, as I said, he’s kind of a dick, but so was virtually every other 20something in the early-to-mid 90s. I thought that was our job.

However, he’s really wrong about Millenials being #TeamMichael. If I know anything about Millenial women it’s that they would say fuck this false dichotomy. Lainey should have told them both to fuck off into the sun, and then those women would write 9402 fan fics about Vickie and Lainey falling in love.

And they are right. One thing I have learned from my Millenial sisters is just because you’re given two options that doesn’t mean they are the only options.

Why of all the 206 bones did this one stick in my craw so much? Because, much like Michael, Klosterman did not take Lainey’s work into account. Her work is really important to her and this is made clear throughout the movie. Also, while he views Michael as someone who treats her better, all I see is a bland nice guy with zero actual interest. Troy’s kind of dick but at least he has the face of Ethan Hawke, loves to read books, and challenges Lainey on her bullshit.

Still, the correct answer here is that Lainey chooses nobody because romantic validation by a man is not the be all and end of all of a woman’s life.

You’re welcome,
Jodi

P.S. Raise your hand if you can literally hear the picture at the top of this post in your head.

The post The Correct Answer is Nobody appeared first on I Will Dare.

So Darling Ones,

Last night I watched “Kurt Vonnegut: Unstuck in Time.” As I’m sure you’ve surmised it’s a documentary about Vonnegut. You can watch it on Hulu.

At one point in the movie they show a clip of a speech where he utters this famous line from Man Without a Country:

“And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’”

I murmured, exclaimed, and thought that very thing many times last night throughout the movie, especially the parts of the movie that were accompanied by a bowl of kettle corn smothered in everything but the elote seasoning.

There were times I wasn’t sure my heart was going to be able to handle the movie. Like when Vonnegut talked about how much he loved his sister and when I learned she grew to be six-foot tall and had bad posture because she hated it. Or when his daughters talked about the weird way he sat when he wrote. Or when he cackled about the odd/funny deaths of so many men he knew in WWII.

Since I’ve read a ton of his books, I knew Vonnegut had a deep vein of sadness that ran through him, and that sadness lived comfortably next to his humor and his optimism. Seeing all that in his eyes as he spoke, as he walked around, and he lived his life was difficult sometimes. Even though he was a much beloved author his loneliness was palpable. I’m convinced some people are just born that way.

When John Irving, pictured above, came on the screen I unexpectedly burst into tears. I had come unstuck in time.

All I could think about was how much it would have meant to 1992 me to see this movie. To see Irving talk about how fascinating Vonnegut was would have made that lonely, twenty-year-old nerd feel so good. I don’t know why twenty-something me was forefront in my mind because I had ample evidence dripping down my cheeks that this meant quite a bit to 2022 me. However, now that I think about it a bit buried deep in 2022 me is still 1992 me who was so lonely and afraid. That version of me did not have much besides the joy discovered in John Irving’s book and shortly thereafter Vonnegut’s.

I’m not entirely sure why I find this kind of thing makes me so happy and validated, but I do. Remember when Elizabeth McCracken talked about Geek Love?

Maybe when someone I idolize loves and appreciates the same things I do it makes me feel like I’m part of their magical karass. It’s not even like these literary loves of mine are obscure. It is not shocking that great writers admire other great writers, and yet. . . it still turns me into a giant goober.

It doesn’t even have to be writers. Wolfdogg told me recently the first line of Phoebe Bridgers’ “The End is Near” is a riff on a Bill Sullivan, tour manager for The Replacements, bit he’d do when he’s on tour.

Anyway, the movie is most excellent. It portrays Vonnegut as a flawed man, which I liked because it makes him more real. You should watch it when you have a chance.

Gooberly yours,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

I was eight when John Lennon was killed outside The Dakota in December, 1980. I do not not remember a lot about his death, though I do have vague memories of reading about Mark David Chapman and his obsession with Catcher in the Rye in an issue of People, my mom’s favorite magazine.

The Beatles meant nothing to me at that age. Not a lot of things did, I was a pretty oblivious kid. My favorite song at the time was probably “Boy From New York City” and I thought that Fonzie and Richie Cunningham were actual people who lived in Milwaukee, whose lives we got to see once a week. Yes, as a child I thought all TV was reality TV.

I only became aware of John Lennon and his death when I watched the video for Elton John’s song “Empty Garden (Hey Hey Johnny).” Having lost my own grandfather shortly before seeing the video for the first time, I paid extra attention to it because the VJ introduced the song by saying John and written it about his friend John Lennon who was murdered, etc. You know the story. New grief, I was absolutely mesmerized by the idea that you could take your sadness and make into something for your dead friend.

For that exact reason I’ve always had a soft spot for Paul Westerberg’s “Good Day”, which I wrote about last year for Valentine’s Day.

Are you sensing a trend? Do you know what’s coming?

I’ve been obsessed with Frank Turner’s song “A Wave Across a Bay” for nearly a week now. I listen to it roughly seven times a day. I sing it to myself as I’m getting ready for bed and when I wake up in the morning.

It’s the soundtrack to these lingering days of COVID-related low-energy and unending congestion. I really thought once I got my taste back this COVID nonsense would be over. I was wrong. I feel like this is never going to end. I decided I was all better this morning and went about my pre-sickness routine. My body was pissed off about that and so I spent a lot of the afternoon tipped over on the couch wondering if I would ever get back to normal or if I would just die instead.

This song wrecks me in the most excruciating way. There are certain deaths by suicide that squeeze at my heart and make my stomachache in an anxious sort of way — Sylvia Plath, Robin Williams, Anne Sexton, David Foster Wallace. Scott Hutchinson, the subject of this song and the lead singer of Frightened Rabbit, is also on that list. I’m not sure why these people’s deaths feel extra painful to me. I did not know any of them. However, the way they turned their pain and inner turmoil into something tangible and beautiful makes their deaths seem extra-sorrowful. It’s like Turner sings, “You had something in your soul that we could recognize.”

Can you think of a better, finer tribute than that line? I can’t, at least not at the moment. Isn’t this what all artists want? Someone to recognize something in our souls?

Unrecognizably yours,
Jodi

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