8. I Am Very Far by Okkervil River

And the theme continues of bands that I historically love releasing albums that are good, but a little disappointing.

I’ll be honest, my standards for Okkervil River are unreasonably high. I still tend to think that Black Sheep Boy (2005) is one of the finest albums recorded by human beings so far in history. I breezed through their five albums in a series of whirlwind romances from fall 2007 to fall 2008, ending up helplessly in love with each of their subtle charms like some great-hearted polygynists with five wives on his arm. It’s entirely credible that I Am Very Far, if it had wooed me as a swooning high school junior, could take its rightful place in esteem beside the other albums. Never underestimate the power of those bleary-eyed drives to school in the morning and the coffee-fueled returns from work after dark: emotional effervescence and too-loud music spilling out the windows rolled unseasonably down.

How do you compete with that? I Am Very Far has a few tricks up its sleeve: the infectious driving rhythm is one. From the dark opening beats of “The Valley” to the soaring choruses of “Rider” to the ivory-pounding intro of “White Shadow Waltz” to the hollering fury of “Wake and Be Fine,” I Am Very Far is percussively eloquent—it would make a great live show. The music is as strong as ever, so I love putting it on when I’m going for a long drive, but the compelling storytelling that Okkervil usually delivers is somewhat lacking on this album. But I hold out hope that the more I listen, the more the themes will become clear to me and work their way into my melting heart.

I do easily get the words to “Your Past Life as a Blast” stuck in my head. “No one, no one is going to stop me from loving my brother—not even my brother.” I’m a nostalgic soul, and this song hits folks like me right in the sentimentalist gut.

Can’t get enough of the last track, “Dry Bones.”

(via andrewmcclain)

petrellica:

Wake and Be Fine  by Okkervil River, from I Am Very Far

I never understand people who dismiss Okkervil River on grounds of being “too dark.” Okay, I understand them, but I don’t grok it. Have you ever seen someone sing an Okkervil song? They belt it out of their car windows, they sing it through closed eyes and a smile, they screech it like it’s a reunion tour of Neutral Milk Hotel and they’re playing Two Headed Boy. To be sure, the droning mellotron is creepy, Sheff’s voice is scathing, the lyrics’ content is harrowing. But they don’t feel “dark.” The word is insufficient. I can only offer “cathartic” as a substitute. And you are absolutely welcome to hate them because they are. But those who know, know that every terrible thing is heaped onto the goat of Okkervil River and shoved out into the desert as we belt No Key, No Plan from the window of our very first car, racing down the empty highway, long past midnight.

And Will promises us that it’ll all burn up when the sun comes out. And that he’s lying. And that it’s okay to believe him. 

As true as it is well said.

Three people I follow have already reblogged this, so I wasn’t going to, but this song has helped me power through on pretty much every run I’ve gone on for the past two weeks. It’s stirring and heartfelt and Andrew’s insights were just too good for any of my followers to miss them. Enjoy!

andrewmcclain:

unless it’s kicks by okkervil river

I feel like I post this song and gush hyperbole about it several times a year, but it’s appropriate. It remains one of the most emotionally affecting songs to me.

Some artists seem to pretend that they don’t care about their fans, whether to give them a certain attitude or an air of authenticity. What Will Sheff addresses here is the fact that the whole give-and-take between a “mid-level band” and their fans is not a concrete economy; it’s an unstable, uneven relationship, but, in truth, neither would exist without the other. And this often goes unrecognized.

Will Sheff is an absolute nobody to the bank teller and the checkout clerk. He’s just a guy. He’s his parents’ son. He’s just another one of his landlord’s tenants, and he has to pay rent on time. What he does on stage and on a record doesn’t matter to most people in this world, but it means everything to some people, and that’s what he’ll leave behind when he leaves this earth.

and I know it’s a lie
but I’ll still give my love
hey, my heart’s on the line
for your hands to pluck off

Sheff understands that art is about making something that resonates with other people, and that’s his legacy. He also understands that these people might be relatively few and scattered, but that only makes it more meaningful. He understands that the people who love his music the most also have plenty of people in their lives who won’t get it.

what breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
exploding up from the stands
with her heart opened up
and I want to tell her, “your love isn’t lost”
say, “my heart is still crossed”
scream, “you’re so wonderful”
what a dream in the dark!
about working so hard
about glowing, so stoned
trying not to turn off
trying not to believe in that lie all on your own

And it’s a little depressing (and sort of liberating) to think of it that way - the “lie” that all of this music we love is actually important. It’s just faith that these things have some greater consequence. I love the schism that exists here - the sheer amount of commerce we have around something that isn’t tangibly important, something that doesn’t even place in our “hierarchy of human needs.” I love it because it reminds me of faith, or at least in the way that I believe in God.

Can I prove empirically the existence of God? Can I make a compelling case as to why music matters so much to me? No. Neither make even a little bit of sense on paper, but I’m trying not to believe in the “lie” all on my own.

“Happy Hearts” by Okkervil River