Go check out Spectrum Culture's always-amazing Five Years Later feature for the full list. Go now men and women.
8. Okkervil River
Black Sheep Boy
[Jagjaguwar]
Black Sheep Boy established Okkervil River as one of indie's most emotionally-wrenching and literate bands, marking both a massive musical and lyrical leap forward for the group and especially frontman Will Sheff. A pseudo-concept album inspired in part by the Tim Hardin song of the same name, Black Sheep Boy wove connected themes and topics together from song to song, an approach the band would later utilize on both The Stage Names and The Stand Ins. It mixed roughly-strewn American indie rock with ballads whose darkness dripped from every line and note; both types still sound remarkable five years later.
The violent and tragic world that unfolds in Black Sheep Boy is still vivid and palpable today, with references to childhood abduction and possible molestation, tragically unrequited love and victims being led "up the hill in chains." Its arrangements are expansive and precise, played out via guitar, brass, strings, keyboards and other instruments, while Sheff's vocals heighten each song's impact. Sometimes he lulls us in gently, his slowly-drawn vocals on "A Stone" paced perfectly as perhaps the album's saddest song unfolds and recedes in lovesick despair. In other places Sheff violently spits out his words, most menacingly on the revenge-and-murder fantasy of "Black" and the explosive last few moments of penultimate track "So Come Back, I Am Waiting."
Whether it's described as an allegory or simply a series of inter-related songs, Black Sheep Boy will likely stand as one of the past decade's most enduring albums. Music can rarely comfortably be described as poetry, but the record is precisely that. The ghosts of poets and porn stars would eventually haunt Okkervil River's later work, but their origins can be found here, in stunning detail. - Eric Dennis
Showing posts with label Okkervil River. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Okkervil River. Show all posts
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Friday, May 08, 2009
Saddest Songs Ever
Go to http://spectrumculture.com/2009/05/now-aint-the-time-for-your-tears-the-saddest-music-in-the-world.html for the complete article. Do it now. Look both ways before crossing the street.
In the meantime, here's my entry. Enjoy.
Nothing quite cuts through the sunny disposition of an eternal optimist like a depressing song. Forget all the joy, happiness, peace, harmony and the rest of that shit that music inspires in listeners; those emotions are easy. When a song can make listeners sob softly or catatonically stare at their shoes and ponder life's utter bleakness, that's when a song is truly special. Whether it's Richard Thompson telling a small child that there's nothing at the end of the rainbow or Tom Waits asking us to hang down our heads for sorrow, we all have songs that affect us in a certain way. So grab the tissues and open up those tear ducts as Spectrum Culture's staff presents their choices for most depressing song ever.
Okkervil River- "Savannah Smiles"
from The Stage Names (2007)
"Savannah Smiles" takes as its subject Shannon Wilsey, a porno actress who traded under the stage name Savannah. By 1994, after appearing in hundreds of skin flicks, she was dead at the age of 23, shooting herself in the head hours after an automobile accident left her with a broken noise and facial lacerations. Wilsey's was a short and tragic life - her parents divorced when she was two years old, she had a miscarriage before turning 18, and large amounts of her porno dollars went to support her drug habit - and, all cynicism aside, consisted of the type of stuff ripe for lyrical interpretation.
In Okkervil River's The Stage Names, an album whose inherent despair and sadness are largely offset by up-tempo and precise instrumentation, "Savannah Smiles" is its bleakest and most heartbreaking track, sung from the point of view of Wilsey's father struggling to come to terms with the contrast of the daughter he thought he knew and the adult she's becoming. In an album where somehow even a song about the suicide of poet John Berryman carries a tone of liberation, maybe even optimism, there's none of that here. Singer Will Sheff assumes the father's persona and sings in a world-weary and utterly defeated voice as he tries to reconcile the "baby doll" he knew with her far-different adult version. The father accidentally discovers his daughter's diary - why he's rooting around in her room at midnight and how he "didn't know what it might be until it was open" are never explained - only to immediately regret his decision after reading only one page. We never find out what the father read, but it's clearly nothing good: "Talk about your big mistakes/ Hey Shan, nice going" is all he can muster as he's left staring at photos of his daughter when she was eight years old. There are, of course, "no tears in her eyes" in those pictures.
Sheff's vocal approach and lyrics are enough to turn anyone into a sobbing wreck; even the fall sky is gray and the song on the radio offers no comfort, for chrissakes. What's equally devastating is the song's arrangement. Occasional guitar strums, strings, xylophone and what sounds like a ticking clock are subtly blended together to haunting effect. Unlike many of Okkervil River's other songs, "Savannah Smiles" has no major musical highs or crushing lows; it just counts the days away slowly as the distance between the girl a father knew and the adult she is becomes greater and greater. Where portions of Black Sheep Boy could be faulted for being melodramatic, here the song's restraint actually heightens its impact.
Certainly Okkervil River has recorded its fair share of ultra-depressing songs; "A Stone" and "Song Of Our So-Called Friend" immediately come to mind. Hell, Black Sheep Boy should have been packaged with a case of tissues so listeners could dry their tears as they listened to it. Still, with its pitiable narrator, tired vocals and mournful arrangement, it's one of the darkest and most hopeless songs from this, or any, decade. -
In the meantime, here's my entry. Enjoy.
Nothing quite cuts through the sunny disposition of an eternal optimist like a depressing song. Forget all the joy, happiness, peace, harmony and the rest of that shit that music inspires in listeners; those emotions are easy. When a song can make listeners sob softly or catatonically stare at their shoes and ponder life's utter bleakness, that's when a song is truly special. Whether it's Richard Thompson telling a small child that there's nothing at the end of the rainbow or Tom Waits asking us to hang down our heads for sorrow, we all have songs that affect us in a certain way. So grab the tissues and open up those tear ducts as Spectrum Culture's staff presents their choices for most depressing song ever.
Okkervil River- "Savannah Smiles"
from The Stage Names (2007)
"Savannah Smiles" takes as its subject Shannon Wilsey, a porno actress who traded under the stage name Savannah. By 1994, after appearing in hundreds of skin flicks, she was dead at the age of 23, shooting herself in the head hours after an automobile accident left her with a broken noise and facial lacerations. Wilsey's was a short and tragic life - her parents divorced when she was two years old, she had a miscarriage before turning 18, and large amounts of her porno dollars went to support her drug habit - and, all cynicism aside, consisted of the type of stuff ripe for lyrical interpretation.
In Okkervil River's The Stage Names, an album whose inherent despair and sadness are largely offset by up-tempo and precise instrumentation, "Savannah Smiles" is its bleakest and most heartbreaking track, sung from the point of view of Wilsey's father struggling to come to terms with the contrast of the daughter he thought he knew and the adult she's becoming. In an album where somehow even a song about the suicide of poet John Berryman carries a tone of liberation, maybe even optimism, there's none of that here. Singer Will Sheff assumes the father's persona and sings in a world-weary and utterly defeated voice as he tries to reconcile the "baby doll" he knew with her far-different adult version. The father accidentally discovers his daughter's diary - why he's rooting around in her room at midnight and how he "didn't know what it might be until it was open" are never explained - only to immediately regret his decision after reading only one page. We never find out what the father read, but it's clearly nothing good: "Talk about your big mistakes/ Hey Shan, nice going" is all he can muster as he's left staring at photos of his daughter when she was eight years old. There are, of course, "no tears in her eyes" in those pictures.
Sheff's vocal approach and lyrics are enough to turn anyone into a sobbing wreck; even the fall sky is gray and the song on the radio offers no comfort, for chrissakes. What's equally devastating is the song's arrangement. Occasional guitar strums, strings, xylophone and what sounds like a ticking clock are subtly blended together to haunting effect. Unlike many of Okkervil River's other songs, "Savannah Smiles" has no major musical highs or crushing lows; it just counts the days away slowly as the distance between the girl a father knew and the adult she is becomes greater and greater. Where portions of Black Sheep Boy could be faulted for being melodramatic, here the song's restraint actually heightens its impact.
Certainly Okkervil River has recorded its fair share of ultra-depressing songs; "A Stone" and "Song Of Our So-Called Friend" immediately come to mind. Hell, Black Sheep Boy should have been packaged with a case of tissues so listeners could dry their tears as they listened to it. Still, with its pitiable narrator, tired vocals and mournful arrangement, it's one of the darkest and most hopeless songs from this, or any, decade. -
Monday, September 15, 2008
Music Review - Okkervil River - The Stand Ins
Essentially a sequel to 2007’s The Stage Names, which was briefly considered for release as a two-disc album before being scaled down to a single album, Okkervil River's The Stand Ins uses central images of musicians and life on the stage to again address many of the themes that first surfaced on the band's 2007 album. Such a back story might also perhaps keep some of the more fickle indie music fans from initially dismissing Okkervil River’s latest effort as a collection of also-rans or throwaways that weren’t good enough for inclusion on The Stage Names.
Against a backdrop of songs that ranged from straight-on rockers to hushed ballads, singer and lyricist Will Sheff explored themes of death, celebrity, identity, and life’s little tragedies and disappointments throughout The Stage Names, often with a dark and black sense of humor. Though perhaps not quite as bleak as 2005’s Black Sheep Boy – that one could turn even the most emotionless hardass into a weeping, quivering emo ball of misery – it was still a decidedly emotional, and engaging, album. To be sure, The Stand Ins does in many ways sound like a coherent musical and thematic extension of its predecessor. It still predominantly deals in the dark stuff; though not exactly brooding – “On Tour With Zykos” and “Blue Tulip” being the obvious exceptions – it’s heavy on gloom and short on even the faintest glimmer of hope. “Singer Songwriter” addresses the nature of fame with a harsh dismissal of its protagonist’s legacy: “the kids once grown up are going to walk away.” “Pop Lie” likewise treads this territory with similar results; in this case the song drips with contempt as Sheff cynically implicates musicians and fans as frauds in the same game of (self) deception.
Tragic figures and their equally tragic stories are invoked in other songs. “Starry Stairs,” previously available on the bonus track edition of The Stage Names (at least it sounds the same to these ruined ears) , likely references doomed porno actress Shannon Wilsey (check the previous album’s “Savannah Smiles,” perhaps one of the most depressing songs ever recorded, and then mope and sob appropriately). Coupled with a nice horn arrangement, the song finds its character uneasily on display (“all these guys/all these curious sets of eyes/safe behind the TV screen”) and filled with regret ("what a hot half life I half lived"). Unlike The Stage Names, there isn’t much humor this time around. The possible dry humor of “Pop Lie,” which describes a supposed intellectual musician who did his “thesis on the gospel of Thomas,” is shown to be a mirage, supplanted by a mocking tone in which Sheff tells the musician that his “world is gonna change nothing.” “On Tour With Zykos” is drenched in piano and describes a relationship on the skids, with some harsh language that probably wouldn’t work well as a wedding vow: “take your shit/take your clothes and get out of my home.” All that’s left for the narrator is “another day tossed and done.” At times this cynicism threatens to overwhelm the listener; it’s not quite Berlin but it’s not too far off.
The album reveals some stylistic shifts for the band. Three brief orchestral instrumentals are scattered throughout, though these sometimes interrupt the album’s overall flow. The music breaks from previous Okkervil River albums in other ways. “Singer Songwriter” incorporates elements of country music, “Starry Stairs” relies heavily on a horn arrangement, “Pop Lie” is evocative of 1980s new wave, “Calling and Not Calling My Ex” has a carnival feel to it, and “Lost Coastlines” has enough tempo and instrumental changes to make the listener dizzy (in a good way). “Pull down the shades/let’s kill the morning,” Sheff sings in closing track “Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed on the Roof of the Chelsea Hotel, 1979.” Though perhaps not as immediate as final track “John Allyn Smith Sails” from The Stage Names, it’s a resigned and fitting conclusion to Okkervil River’s latest album. Emotional without being weepy, literate without being pretentious, The Stand Ins is another excellent release from a highly creative and evolving band.
Against a backdrop of songs that ranged from straight-on rockers to hushed ballads, singer and lyricist Will Sheff explored themes of death, celebrity, identity, and life’s little tragedies and disappointments throughout The Stage Names, often with a dark and black sense of humor. Though perhaps not quite as bleak as 2005’s Black Sheep Boy – that one could turn even the most emotionless hardass into a weeping, quivering emo ball of misery – it was still a decidedly emotional, and engaging, album. To be sure, The Stand Ins does in many ways sound like a coherent musical and thematic extension of its predecessor. It still predominantly deals in the dark stuff; though not exactly brooding – “On Tour With Zykos” and “Blue Tulip” being the obvious exceptions – it’s heavy on gloom and short on even the faintest glimmer of hope. “Singer Songwriter” addresses the nature of fame with a harsh dismissal of its protagonist’s legacy: “the kids once grown up are going to walk away.” “Pop Lie” likewise treads this territory with similar results; in this case the song drips with contempt as Sheff cynically implicates musicians and fans as frauds in the same game of (self) deception.
Tragic figures and their equally tragic stories are invoked in other songs. “Starry Stairs,” previously available on the bonus track edition of The Stage Names (at least it sounds the same to these ruined ears) , likely references doomed porno actress Shannon Wilsey (check the previous album’s “Savannah Smiles,” perhaps one of the most depressing songs ever recorded, and then mope and sob appropriately). Coupled with a nice horn arrangement, the song finds its character uneasily on display (“all these guys/all these curious sets of eyes/safe behind the TV screen”) and filled with regret ("what a hot half life I half lived"). Unlike The Stage Names, there isn’t much humor this time around. The possible dry humor of “Pop Lie,” which describes a supposed intellectual musician who did his “thesis on the gospel of Thomas,” is shown to be a mirage, supplanted by a mocking tone in which Sheff tells the musician that his “world is gonna change nothing.” “On Tour With Zykos” is drenched in piano and describes a relationship on the skids, with some harsh language that probably wouldn’t work well as a wedding vow: “take your shit/take your clothes and get out of my home.” All that’s left for the narrator is “another day tossed and done.” At times this cynicism threatens to overwhelm the listener; it’s not quite Berlin but it’s not too far off.
The album reveals some stylistic shifts for the band. Three brief orchestral instrumentals are scattered throughout, though these sometimes interrupt the album’s overall flow. The music breaks from previous Okkervil River albums in other ways. “Singer Songwriter” incorporates elements of country music, “Starry Stairs” relies heavily on a horn arrangement, “Pop Lie” is evocative of 1980s new wave, “Calling and Not Calling My Ex” has a carnival feel to it, and “Lost Coastlines” has enough tempo and instrumental changes to make the listener dizzy (in a good way). “Pull down the shades/let’s kill the morning,” Sheff sings in closing track “Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed on the Roof of the Chelsea Hotel, 1979.” Though perhaps not as immediate as final track “John Allyn Smith Sails” from The Stage Names, it’s a resigned and fitting conclusion to Okkervil River’s latest album. Emotional without being weepy, literate without being pretentious, The Stand Ins is another excellent release from a highly creative and evolving band.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Concert Review: Okkervil River and New Pornographers - St. Louis, MO - April 19, 2008
Somehow I had managed to convince my wife that attending the Okkervil River/New Pornographers concert in St. Louis was the best way to spend our two-year anniversary. Certainly better than a quiet, romantic dinner and a few glasses of wine. After all, if spending an April night in a packed concert club with various hoody-wearing indie fans isn’t romantic, I don’t know what is.
I understood her trepidation; she hadn’t heard anything by Okkervil River, and her knowledge of the New Pornographers didn’t extend far beyond the song “Twin Cinema” and “that poppy song that was used in the University of Phoenix commercials.”
Top that off with several failed attempts to impose my musical tastes on her (“there’s no way you can’t like this"), and several brutal Bob Dylan concerts over the years (synopsis: sweltering St. Louis summer, lawn seating, and a dancing concert neighbor sporting what appeared to be a massive case of scabies), and the possibility of a disastrous evening was very real.
But a person unfamiliar with the musical performers brings something that those familiar with the band’s music sometimes lack: objectivity and a lack of preconceived notions. Chances are very good that if you really like the band on stage, nothing short of a complete disaster (chemically-disabled musicians, abysmal venue acoustics, or Woodstock 1994) will change your opinion about that band. You’ll enjoy the songs and be reminded of why you downloaded the latest album on the sly; maybe on the way out you’ll stop at the Merch stand and buy a size medium t-shirt that shrinks to the size of a postage stamp upon first washing. Roughly paraphrased, Bob Dylan once said in an interview that he plays for the people who don’t attend every concert and who might not be familiar with or fans of his music; those Dylanphiles who roam the world popping up at every Dylan show (and they are out there, living among us, biding their time, corrupting our children…) are already converted.
Applying this concept to the show at the Pageant Saturday night, both my wife and myself largely had the same experience and opinions for both bands: headlining act New Pornographers was solid and tight; opening act Okkervil River was nothing short of spectacular.It’s not that the New Pornographers mailed in the performance; far from it. The band was clearly energetic and enjoying themselves, and there were some musical highs. The live versions of songs from their latest, and underrated, album Challengers were played well enough, even if they didn’t sound much different from the actual album version. And a cover of ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down” unleashed the closet pogo dancers throughout the pit. The biggest letdown from their performance is that the band and their playing almost seemed too controlled, too proficient, too note-perfect. There weren’t many rough edges or new twists: just another day at the musical office.
This impression was at least partially shaped by Okkervil River’s standout opening performance. At times quiet and controlled, and other times unhinged and wild, the band delivered one of the most memorable performances I’ve seen at the Pageant.
Cramming songs from recent albums Black Sheep Boy and The Stage Names into an hour-long set list, singer Will Sheff and the band delivered an emotional, sometimes theatrical performance that successfully communicated the themes that run throughout the band’s songs: life’s small disappointments (“Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe” and “A Girl In Port”), self-inflicted endings (“John Allyn Smith Sails”), and a whole mess of ugly emotions (“Black” and “A Stone”).My wife was hooked from the opening song (“The President’s Dead) and I suspect she wasn’t the only one. The band’s music and Sheff’s lyrics didn’t so much nudge us awake as they grabbed us by the throat. After an hour that seemed to pass all too soon the band was done and left to loud applause.
Despite both being indie bands, Okkervil River and the New Pornographers are far more different than similar. With their open-ended lyrics, catchy tunes, and controlled stage demeanor, the New Pornographers are somewhat traditional. Okkervil River’s lyrics tend to be more direct and attention-grabbing, and their music often veers into various styles and tempos. At the Pageant on Saturday night, each band played to their strengths. One band was solid. The other was spectacular.
I understood her trepidation; she hadn’t heard anything by Okkervil River, and her knowledge of the New Pornographers didn’t extend far beyond the song “Twin Cinema” and “that poppy song that was used in the University of Phoenix commercials.”
Top that off with several failed attempts to impose my musical tastes on her (“there’s no way you can’t like this"), and several brutal Bob Dylan concerts over the years (synopsis: sweltering St. Louis summer, lawn seating, and a dancing concert neighbor sporting what appeared to be a massive case of scabies), and the possibility of a disastrous evening was very real.
But a person unfamiliar with the musical performers brings something that those familiar with the band’s music sometimes lack: objectivity and a lack of preconceived notions. Chances are very good that if you really like the band on stage, nothing short of a complete disaster (chemically-disabled musicians, abysmal venue acoustics, or Woodstock 1994) will change your opinion about that band. You’ll enjoy the songs and be reminded of why you downloaded the latest album on the sly; maybe on the way out you’ll stop at the Merch stand and buy a size medium t-shirt that shrinks to the size of a postage stamp upon first washing. Roughly paraphrased, Bob Dylan once said in an interview that he plays for the people who don’t attend every concert and who might not be familiar with or fans of his music; those Dylanphiles who roam the world popping up at every Dylan show (and they are out there, living among us, biding their time, corrupting our children…) are already converted.
Applying this concept to the show at the Pageant Saturday night, both my wife and myself largely had the same experience and opinions for both bands: headlining act New Pornographers was solid and tight; opening act Okkervil River was nothing short of spectacular.It’s not that the New Pornographers mailed in the performance; far from it. The band was clearly energetic and enjoying themselves, and there were some musical highs. The live versions of songs from their latest, and underrated, album Challengers were played well enough, even if they didn’t sound much different from the actual album version. And a cover of ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down” unleashed the closet pogo dancers throughout the pit. The biggest letdown from their performance is that the band and their playing almost seemed too controlled, too proficient, too note-perfect. There weren’t many rough edges or new twists: just another day at the musical office.
This impression was at least partially shaped by Okkervil River’s standout opening performance. At times quiet and controlled, and other times unhinged and wild, the band delivered one of the most memorable performances I’ve seen at the Pageant.
Cramming songs from recent albums Black Sheep Boy and The Stage Names into an hour-long set list, singer Will Sheff and the band delivered an emotional, sometimes theatrical performance that successfully communicated the themes that run throughout the band’s songs: life’s small disappointments (“Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe” and “A Girl In Port”), self-inflicted endings (“John Allyn Smith Sails”), and a whole mess of ugly emotions (“Black” and “A Stone”).My wife was hooked from the opening song (“The President’s Dead) and I suspect she wasn’t the only one. The band’s music and Sheff’s lyrics didn’t so much nudge us awake as they grabbed us by the throat. After an hour that seemed to pass all too soon the band was done and left to loud applause.
Despite both being indie bands, Okkervil River and the New Pornographers are far more different than similar. With their open-ended lyrics, catchy tunes, and controlled stage demeanor, the New Pornographers are somewhat traditional. Okkervil River’s lyrics tend to be more direct and attention-grabbing, and their music often veers into various styles and tempos. At the Pageant on Saturday night, each band played to their strengths. One band was solid. The other was spectacular.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Music Review: Okkervil River - The Stage Names
It’s difficult listening to an album for the first time after fans and critics alike have already picked it clean and are working on the bones. Setting aside the question of whether it’s even possible to listen to a new record without any preconceived ideas of either it or its creators, hearing a months-old album for the first time is a bit like catching a must-see movie after the fact. In many cases, it’s hard not to be disappointed, as overblown hype and positive reviews can lead to unrealistic expectations.
For several months Okkervil River’s The Stage Names remained on my Must Listen To Before I Spring Off This Mortal Coil list. I liked 2005’s Black Sheep Boy well enough, especially its ragged sound and subject matter, even if it sometimes bordered on the overly melodramatic. Yet for whatever reason, as the plaudits for The Stage Names poured in, my doubts about how good an album it really was continued to increase.
Perhaps the attendant hype and eventual letdown around recent albums like Magic and Neon Bible have made me too skeptical. Despite this, The Stage Names is one of those rare albums where listeners hearing it for the first time won’t walk away wondering what all the spastic fuss is about. Over nine songs, Will Sheff and company craft a remarkable album that reveals new layers with each subsequent listen.
Most of the album’s reviews have focused on its obvious themes of the relationship between musicians and fans, the role and meaning of popular music in everyday life, and life on the stage. Certainly these are littered throughout the album: references to “some midlevel band” and “the ghost of some rock and roll fan, floating up from the stands with her heart opened up” make these themes obvious and impossible to ignore.
But this is an easy and somewhat lazy analysis. Such reviews make the album sound like a modern-day Ziggy Stardust, or, at its worst, a humorless and bleak concept album like Pink Floyd’s soap opera drivel The Wall. What’s most striking after several listens are the album’s “smaller” themes and how they unfold: life’s disappointments and boredom, little and massive failures, and lost and wasted opportunities.
These come in a variety of shapes and sizes and are almost always skewed with a wry and dark sense of humor, whether it’s a messy breakup that references Paul Simon (“The 51st way to leave your lover, admittedly, doesn’t seem to be as gentle or as clean as all the others…”), an unspectacular 17th birthday (“not everyone’s keen on lighting candle 17. The party’s done. The cake’s all gone. The plates are clean.”), or simple, biting observations that offer only small consolations (“It was your heart hurting, but not for too long, kid”).
These themes are perhaps most clearly evident in “Savannah Smiles” and “John Allyn Smith Sails,” two musically disparate songs that bookend the album. “Savannah Smiles” is a bleak account of groupie and porno actress Shannon Wilsey, told from the point of view of a father simply trying to figure where and how things went wrong. Will Sheff’s vocal is sufficiently fragile to convey the father’s emotions: “Photos show no tears in her eyes. All those pretty years gone by I just cannot believe could do that to a child.” The dark humor found throughout the album surfaces again, this time with a nasty tone. Shannon’s father reads her diary but regrets what he’s read: “Talk about your big mistakes – hey Shan, nice going.”
“John Allyn Smith Sails” addresses the suicide of poet John Berryman and is the album’s standout track. Sheff sings in Berryman’s voice as a defeated man, a “fall-down drunk with his tongue torn out and his balls removed” whose best days and writings are long behind him. Sheff supposes that Berryman might have viewed his death as a welcome change, of course with a twisted sense of humor: “From a bridge on Washington Avenue, the year of 1972 broke my bones and skull, and it was memorable… Oh, but wise men know when it’s time to go, and so I should too.”
Those familiar with Berryman’s work will also notice that the lyrics also mirror some of the phrases found in the poet’s Dream Songs: “I’m stripped down to move on own, my friends” and “stupidly, I lingered on” as examples. With additional details about Berryman’s life scattered throughout the song – the Brass Rail bar, his university job in Minnesota – it’s a convincing take on how Berryman might have felt about himself.
The Stage Names isn’t exactly depressing – the anthemic and driving instrumentation in some of the songs, the wild horn arrangements, the band’s mostly upbeat playing, and enough musical and cultural references to satisfy any sick muso ensure that listeners won’t be violently sobbing at the album’s close – but it isn’t entirely uplifting either. Its characters exist in an uneasy space between hope and hopelessness, resignation and stubborn determination.
For several months Okkervil River’s The Stage Names remained on my Must Listen To Before I Spring Off This Mortal Coil list. I liked 2005’s Black Sheep Boy well enough, especially its ragged sound and subject matter, even if it sometimes bordered on the overly melodramatic. Yet for whatever reason, as the plaudits for The Stage Names poured in, my doubts about how good an album it really was continued to increase.
Perhaps the attendant hype and eventual letdown around recent albums like Magic and Neon Bible have made me too skeptical. Despite this, The Stage Names is one of those rare albums where listeners hearing it for the first time won’t walk away wondering what all the spastic fuss is about. Over nine songs, Will Sheff and company craft a remarkable album that reveals new layers with each subsequent listen.
Most of the album’s reviews have focused on its obvious themes of the relationship between musicians and fans, the role and meaning of popular music in everyday life, and life on the stage. Certainly these are littered throughout the album: references to “some midlevel band” and “the ghost of some rock and roll fan, floating up from the stands with her heart opened up” make these themes obvious and impossible to ignore.
But this is an easy and somewhat lazy analysis. Such reviews make the album sound like a modern-day Ziggy Stardust, or, at its worst, a humorless and bleak concept album like Pink Floyd’s soap opera drivel The Wall. What’s most striking after several listens are the album’s “smaller” themes and how they unfold: life’s disappointments and boredom, little and massive failures, and lost and wasted opportunities.
These come in a variety of shapes and sizes and are almost always skewed with a wry and dark sense of humor, whether it’s a messy breakup that references Paul Simon (“The 51st way to leave your lover, admittedly, doesn’t seem to be as gentle or as clean as all the others…”), an unspectacular 17th birthday (“not everyone’s keen on lighting candle 17. The party’s done. The cake’s all gone. The plates are clean.”), or simple, biting observations that offer only small consolations (“It was your heart hurting, but not for too long, kid”).
These themes are perhaps most clearly evident in “Savannah Smiles” and “John Allyn Smith Sails,” two musically disparate songs that bookend the album. “Savannah Smiles” is a bleak account of groupie and porno actress Shannon Wilsey, told from the point of view of a father simply trying to figure where and how things went wrong. Will Sheff’s vocal is sufficiently fragile to convey the father’s emotions: “Photos show no tears in her eyes. All those pretty years gone by I just cannot believe could do that to a child.” The dark humor found throughout the album surfaces again, this time with a nasty tone. Shannon’s father reads her diary but regrets what he’s read: “Talk about your big mistakes – hey Shan, nice going.”
“John Allyn Smith Sails” addresses the suicide of poet John Berryman and is the album’s standout track. Sheff sings in Berryman’s voice as a defeated man, a “fall-down drunk with his tongue torn out and his balls removed” whose best days and writings are long behind him. Sheff supposes that Berryman might have viewed his death as a welcome change, of course with a twisted sense of humor: “From a bridge on Washington Avenue, the year of 1972 broke my bones and skull, and it was memorable… Oh, but wise men know when it’s time to go, and so I should too.”
Those familiar with Berryman’s work will also notice that the lyrics also mirror some of the phrases found in the poet’s Dream Songs: “I’m stripped down to move on own, my friends” and “stupidly, I lingered on” as examples. With additional details about Berryman’s life scattered throughout the song – the Brass Rail bar, his university job in Minnesota – it’s a convincing take on how Berryman might have felt about himself.
The Stage Names isn’t exactly depressing – the anthemic and driving instrumentation in some of the songs, the wild horn arrangements, the band’s mostly upbeat playing, and enough musical and cultural references to satisfy any sick muso ensure that listeners won’t be violently sobbing at the album’s close – but it isn’t entirely uplifting either. Its characters exist in an uneasy space between hope and hopelessness, resignation and stubborn determination.
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