Joanna Newsom - The Milk-Eyed Mender
Author: Marisa Bardach
Release Date: 2004-03-23
Label: Drag City
Our Rating:
Reader's Rating:
I haven’t loved music in a while. Perhaps that is why I haven’t written for Kludge in several months. Perhaps that is why I lost my secret life, the life that existed between my stereo and I. “You never make time for me anymore,” my light-gray JVC stereo cried. I looked at its neglected speakers sandwiching the stereo with bruised and dusty shoulders. I said, “I’d explain, but I can’t. I just stopped loving you.”
But I missed it. I missed it so much that I couldn’t even admit that I missed it. I figured I had aged, grown more mature. I had outgrown music, my first love, at the ripe old age of 20. But, I knew that wasn’t the real cause. A tragedy had happened in my life, and it rose from the earth like a massive bodybuilder and stood like a bouncer between music and myself. I jumped up and down, trying to catch a glimpse of music over the big, burly tragedy, but my 5’2 stance landed the peak of my jump at eye-level with the bouncer’s belly-button.
I gave up.
My whole life, music understood me. At age 12, when my camp crush dissed me for another girl (whose name was also Marisa, but spelled Marissa), Alanis Morrissette felt my pain. Dude, going for a girl with the same name?? You Oughta Know that was dick! I was 12 and pre-first-kiss and pre-boobs and totally naive, but I was sure that whatever Alanis did in the movie theatre to prove her love was something I would have done, too.
Years later, with kisses on my lips and boobs on my body, Emo replaced Alanis. (Thank God, because then Alanis went to India and things went downhill from there.) But, even kisses and boobs couldn’t prepare me for my big, burly tragedy. I was used to boyfriend trauma, ex-boyfriend trauma, grandma-and-grandpa-kicking-the-bucket-at-ripe-old-ages trauma, and life-confusion trauma. This was differnet. Even my reliable sad singers Dashboard Confessional (pre-commercial bullshit) and Bright Eyes (“Fevers and Mirrors”) misunderstood my sadness. Their pain was so cliché, so formulaic. My heart was broken, but not by long-distance romance nor drunken sorrows. I was all alone because no musician knew how to weep my same tears. No musician sang of cancer and chemo and watching your mom die. Maybe ‘cancer’ is one of those words like ‘orange’ that nothing rhymes with. (Except for Dancer and Prancer, but those probably would have been inappropriate).
(I swear: I will talk about Joanna Newsom.)
So, I existed in my musicless state. Then, recently, I bought Spin magazine. Everyone said Spin sucks lately, so I wanted to see if Everyone was right, but, as usual, Everyone was wrong. The layout is sloppy, the paper is thin, but the content is a lot more real than glamorous glossies Rolling Stone and Blender. Spin’s “The Underdog Issue” (June 2004), which applauded underdog bands, seemed laughably appropriate: the underdog magazine touting the underdog bands. I found comfort in reading articles that were a bit overripe. I studied the review of a Pixies concert in April and admired enviously photos from March’s South By Southwest Conference. It’s so hard to keep up with the biweekly Rolling Stone and the ever-punchy Blender. Sometimes, life is just too fast.
I bought Spin for other reasons, too. 1- I hope to work there one day (assuming they'll never read my previous bashing) and 2- A column guest-written by Dave Eggers, author of my favorite novel, "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius," which actually is about cancer and parents dying, and founder/publisher of McSweeney's magazine. He wrote of his tortured addiction to the emotional, strangely compelling music of Joanna Newsom. He compared her original style to Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Newsom plays a harp. Eggars couldn’t get over that; I can’t either. I mean, a harp? I don’t even know who plays a harp. Angels? Fairies? Anyone with a halo, I guess, and Newsom’s pretty, twinkling, tinkling harp plucks certainly sound angelic.
Bjork fans will sweat Newsom. Her odd, nasal, kidlike voice and fierce, staccato wail sound like Bjork, but Bjork's lyrics congeal under a choppy Icelandic accent and guttural moans, Newsom’s have found a peaceful utopia. Newsom’s lyrics wander and meander and think aloud and process, whereas Bjork does those things privately and then provides “the big conclusion” in her songs. Perhaps that is why Bjork sounds like a superstar and Newsom sounds like the weird girl who lives next door and plays the harp in her backyard.
I have to admit, most of the time I have no idea what Joanna Newsom is actually singing about. I catch odd objects like “thimble” and “boat” and snippets of sentiment like “You’ve changed so” and the sensual “I woke with his taste,” but most words and phrases sound like the make-believe language of toddlers. It is this disssociation from modern language, this break from normalcy, that enabled me to relate to music again. Newsom relies so heavily on mood and sympathy and quirkyness and angelicism, that catching lyrical content is simply a bonus, not the bargain. Cancer and chemo have no known home in Newsom’s work, but finding a novel way to express emotion and breaking down stereotypes about appropriate indie rock instruments somehow made me feel that it was okay to cry, and even more okay to live and love.
“Never draw so close to the heat that you forget that you must eat,” Joanna sings with an overwhelmed sigh on “En Gallop,” and I could tell she’d been burned and broken and bone-jutting thin. "Should we go outside?," she sings on “Sprout and the Bean,” but rather than Newsom’s solo voice, a thousand Newsoms belt it out like the orphans in Annie with the hard-knocked lives. The chorus of Newsoms only emphasizes the desperation of the question. Even backed by her own posse, she’s afraid of the “danger, danger” that exists in the outside world. The most poignant line falls on her opening track, “Bridges and Balloons,” where she describes an extraordinary love that she lost. Her girlish voice chirps: “Oh, my love. Oh, it was a funny little thing!”
I wondered what it might feel like to be loved by Joanna Newsom, and be loved by someone whose love is a funny little thing. It certainly seemed a lot more interesting than cliché romance movies. I imagine my personal ad: “Single White Female seeks Male whose love is a funny little thing.” Hmm. Maybe that’s a bad idea.
Official Website
Kludge brings you music and politics
Sign up to our Mailing List - Receive monthly updates on our insightful articles, music reviews, monthly streams and mp3s - no spam! no list sales!
Reader's Comments:
David Adams :: 11:11 Friday 9 DecHi. Just letting you know that I enjoyed your site. Slot will Opponents unconditionally: http://newslink.org/ , Player can Roll Girl <a href="http://www.detnews.com/">Stake will Tournament unconditionally</a> , Good Corner Lose or not <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/" rel="itsok">to Do Slot you should be very Bad</a>
Tom :: 05:28 Sunday 14 AugHarp will haunt me forever
Lia Sáile - seafairy.com :: 06:08 Saturday 6 AugI like hher songs, lyrics and music but not her voice...I never was into babyvoices as their are common in Scandinavia for example. But i love that she invents the harp newly and freshly, as I do with my violin (am a singer..though I do jazz rather).
I only overflew the review as I didn't liike it too much. Btw “I woke with his taste,” is "I woke with distaste" as I read in some lyrics of her. I might be wrong.
-Lia S.
www.seafairy.com
I like hher songs, lyrics and music but not her voice...I never was into babyvoices as their are common in Scandinavia for example. But i love that she invents the harp newly and freshly, as I do with my violin (am a singer..though I do jazz rather).
I only overflew the review as I didn't liike it too much. Btw “I woke with his taste,” is "I woke with distaste" as I read in some lyrics of her. I might be wrong.
-Lia S.
www.seafairy.com
its not 'woke with his taste' genius
its "AWOKE WITH DISTASTE"
If you remember what you felt when you listened to Bob Dylans Oh Mercy you have an idea what to expect from Milk-Eyed Mender - but whilst Dylan then was old, male, experienced and traditional she is young, female, expressive and avantgarde ... and on stage (I´ve seen her in Munich) it´s impossible to turn away your ears, your eyes and yes! - your heart!
Richard M :: 15:45 Thursday 21 AprJesus, are you all mad?. Its horrible.
lisa :: 21:23 Thursday 14 Aprmewy and nice
Ian :: 08:46 Friday 8 AprShe is totally amazing -- Haven't been able to stop playing her for three months. I actually met her about a week ago. She seems as weird and wonderful as her music might suggest. There are so many ways you can interpret her lyrics; Marisa just brought a whole load of new ideas to the way I listened to her! I think that's the beauty of it: that there are always new things to discover.
danae :: 22:43 Wednesday 6 AprSo thrilled to have discovered such a modern sound on an instrument I love so much...Someday I will play the harp like she can, but I've still got fourteen or something years of catch up to do...Harps are far too rare and she proves it over and over again by making your fingers just twitch.
Steve :: 12:50 Friday 25 FebI got into her by exactly the same reason by reading spin magazine. I bought it coz my fav band the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were on the cover and i read about her and listened to her and i'm actually playing The Milk-Eyed Mender now and i'm going to see her in Bristol on April 1st yay!!
Troy :: 23:58 Thursday 24 FebI just heard her for the first time on some late night talk show. Fudge duccket, I've been listening to Sprout and the Bean constantly for an hour. This is the first time I've been excited about someone's lyrics since I bought the first Miracle Legion LP 2200 years ago it seems.
JohnM :: 19:52 Wednesday 29 DecI think your Bjork parallel is way off, but I'm totally connected to JN - was since I heard her anonymously on a local Los Angeles radio station. Joanna has exquisite phrasing and expression, and projects both musical and literary meaning simultaneously. Those who think her the fairy princess or simply an imitative naif are missing the point. She is the new generation Bob Dylan, a genius in spite of herself, and to our great benefit.
[Marisa: I will love you, but earn a few life credits before you write again... you may have some good licks in you, but this is an awful review. Don't despair, but just write - you'll find your center(don't despair).]
One of the very few, genuinely talented contemporary musicians we have.
Murray :: 17:03 Sunday 22 AugBest thing I've listened to in a year.
Almost brought me to tears a few times...
Strange because I'm not the crying type.
Buy the record.You'll see.