The you puts the album on and winces at how minimally the music still aligns with what you love, for all the fervor and the cassette tape trading you may have devoted to it in your teenage years.
The you puts the album on and winces at how minimally the music still aligns with what you love, for all the fervor and the cassette tape trading you may have devoted to it in your teenage years. But then there are the artists that age with you, that burrow warm like a nest around your body and your heart as you grow.
They are the ones that you can look back at after having lived through a few more years and heartbreaks and deeper joys than you ever predicted, and find that their songs can still bloom for you, can still come along with you through the currents.
I was a colossal Toad the Wet Sprocket fan in high school. Dulcinea had just come out in , Fear is still an unbeatable record, and my skies were wide open and cerulean blue. I was on a text-based email listserv devoted to Toad yup , and we would tree cassette tapes of shows and unreleased songs, and talk about band details and show reviews.
I have every single record they ever released, and all sorts of CD singles. I think I was in a fanclub — remember those?
Life being the funny thing that it is, on a cold night this past autumn, I ended up sitting in an echoey church at midnight with Glen Phillips, after a long dinner filled with rich conversation and some good wine, beaming ear to ear as he played so many songs for our session — some old, some brand new, and one jaw-dropping cover — and we just enjoyed the heck out of that particular brand of magic.
I interviewed Glen back in Nashville in during his tour with the spirited Works Progress Administration super-musician band, and we hit it off as friends immediately.
There is a specific timbre his voice hits that other longtime fans will understand when I say just slices through all those deadened layers that calcify around my insides. Just a straight shot through. As the years pass, I hear him harnessing a certain type of weariness —no, quietness, maybe— but also there is still that bubbling current of hope and a satisfaction with the lives we have woven together from all of this crazy life.
As I recall, this was played on a ukulele the night got pleasantly fuzzy and somehow manages to feel sad and effervescent, all at the same time. Liars Everywhere Wow, when I recognized the chords to this one…. On the album version Glen sounds like the shiny, slightly-sullen, longhaired teenager that he was, and I love it fiercely. After those opening guitar notes when I realized what song he was playing, boy did the tears start flowing silently as I sat there quietly humming harmonies.
That was a permanent win life-moment of beauty for me. There is so much to be grateful for. All I have to say is that this might be the most perfect cover ever recorded in a chapel session. It was the last song of the night, nearing 1am. Incisive, plaintive, capturing the spirit of the original but in a terrifically unique way — like this version was always meant to be.
The world that you need is wrapped in gold silver sleeves.
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