My Super-Duper Top Favorite 7 Songs of the Year

Well, 2007 has been a good year for music.

This year I decided to refine my listening habits, trying to purchase whole albums instead of just fabulous singles. Yes, iTunes is a beautifully addictive technology that puts untold hours of juicy music right at my fingertips 24/7. It also lets me severely limit an artist's scope by just downloading one 3-minute pop song instead of digging deeper into their work. So I made a deliberate effort this year to choose the long view whenever I could.

Picking out these songs is always one of my favorite exercises at the end of the year. Every year, I sift through my music collection and come up with this list of songs that I didn't know twelve months ago. It just makes me realize all over again how much beautiful stuff people are doing out there in the world. (2007's forecast calls for new albums by Nora Jones, Rufus Wainwright, and Sam Phillips. People, life is good.)

(7) Ray LaMontagne — "Within You"
'Til the Sun Turns Black was Ray's much-anticipated sophomore album, and though I don't think it hit the crazily high standard set by his first album, it did offer some memorable moments. This song is one of those curious pieces that manages to be deeply mournful and uplifting at the same time. The song doesn't even have much lyrical content, but it has a soulful, soaring melody that gets me right in the gut every time I listen. The arrangement of the strings and the horns really makes this song shine.

(6) Jon Dee Graham — "Something Wonderful"
This spring, a friend at work told me about Jon Dee Graham, a Texas artist with a gravelly voice and a lot of sad stories. His voice sounds like he just got off the bus that took him to hell and back. And now he's singing you the wonderfully simple lesson he learned while he was there: "Something really wonderful is going to happen to you." I challenge you to listen to this song at an appropriately blistering volume, and just try to not feel better. Impossible.

(5) Sera Cahoone, "Couch Song"
Sera Cahoone's voice pays tribute to hillbillies and torch balladeers. I was delighted to discover this debut album on NPR's "Song of the Day" (an endless source of thoughtful musical selections). "Couch Song" showcases Sera's soulful Patsy-Cline-meets-Neko-Case voice, and her wistful lyrics. "If we don't talk, I won't mind, because that's the only way to get along sometimes," she sings, offering a perfect tribute to a faltering, complicated love.

(4) Luka Bloom, "She Sings Her Songs With Open Arms"
The little promotional sticker on the cover of Luka Bloom's Before Sleep Comes album calls it "nine songs for insomniacs." In 2003, an aggressive bout of tendinitis forced Bloom to lay down his usual instrument of choice, a steel-string electric guitar. While recovering, he picked up a gorgeous Spanish guitar with nylon strings, hoping it would be easier on his hands. This gentle mini-album was the result of his nights experimenting with that guitar. Clocking in at just 28 minutes, the album offers nine little lullabies for adults. You can almost feel the tension melting away at the first notes of this first song. This album is a particularly fitting soundtrack for a quiet cup of tea (and Bloom offers a beverage recommendation — the fifth track is titled "Camomile").

(3) Rocky Votolato, "White Daisy Passing"
Rocky Votolato may be Texas' answer to the ghost of Elliot Smith. "I'm going down to sleep in the bottom of the ocean," he sings in this haunting folk song layered with delicate harmonies. I became slightly obsessed with this song in 2006, adding it to just about every mix CD I made. I also made a point to tell as many people as possible that I did not discover Rocky Votolato after hearing this song on The O.C., where it was apparently featured. (I've got standards.) Just because Mischa Barton likes this song doesn't mean you can't like it, too.

(2) Cat Power, "Lived in Bars"
Choosing just one song off Cat Power's fantastic 2006 album was very, very hard. The Greatest reveals Cat Power finally coming into her own, and knowing how good she really is. For this album, Cat Power (Chan Marshall) recruited a handful of great Memphis soul musicians to support her in the studio. I've been following Marshall's music for a while now, feeling pangs of sympathy whenever I encountered another story of her paralyzing stage fright ("she has been known to stop playing in order to apologize for a self-perceived flaw in her performance," says Wikipedia). That's why The Greatest is a particularly satisfying release for The Little Girl from Georgia That Could. "Lived in Bars" begins in its typically simple, stripped style, a minor-key dirge on the piano. But about halfway through, the song picks its skirts up and starts dancing around in the kitchen, and you find yourself singing along. It just makes me happy every time I hear it.

(1) Kate Bush, "Sunset"
"Every sleepy light must say goodbye / To the day before it dies in a sea of honey," sings Kate in this elaborate song near the end of her masterful double-CD release, Aerial. Kate Bush is definitely an acquired taste; if you are a meat-and-potatoes music lover, you will find her tendency to experiment endlessly annoying. Aerial features bizarre sound bites of Kate's son talking, her lover whispering, birds chirping, Kate herself laughing hysterically, Kate herself reciting 150 decimal places of pi, etc. But "Sunset" feels like a slice of genius, six minutes of musical perfection. It starts with just a single piano, a voice lamenting the end of the day and describing the colors of the sky and water. It gradually builds to a joyful climax that makes me envision Kate herself dancing on the beach at dusk. Naturally, she pulls out lots of her classic tricks along the way (weird Greek chorus thing in the background, crazily ambitious tempo changes that shouldn't work but somehow do, etc.). It took Kate Bush 12 years to develop this ambitious double album, but she has said that she hopes Aerial will not be her last release. I am glad that this artist plans to continue sharing her work with us as she moves into her richest, most imaginative years.

Honorable Mentions in no particular order:
Paul Simon, "Another Galaxy"
M. Ward, "Poison Cup"
Bob Dylan, "Someday Baby"
Neko Case, "Hold On, Hold On"
Maria Taylor, "Song Beneath the Song"
Camera Obscura, "Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken"
Hem, "He Came to Meet Me"
Hem and Autumn Defense, "Saint Charlene"
Madeleine Peyroux, "La Javanaise"

What was your song of the year? Post a comment and tell me about the music that changed your life in the past twelve months.

hibernating

Sometimes working for a Very Large Multinational Firm does offer some perks. The office is closed this week. Closed, as in, "please do not come in to work; please stay home and relax." What a huge gift. Best I've received all year.

So I'm laying low. I really think that humans function best with a period of true hibernation each winter. This week is the exact kind of solitude I crave in July when the office is clicking and whirring with all its noise and fury. Maybe I can store the silence up and pull it out of the freezer when things get loud in the summer.

So far this week:
(1) Updated the ephemera page. It's a good end-of-year selection; go check it out.
(2) Threw away about four big garbage bags of stuff, including about one big bag full of those free-gifts-with-purchase cosmetics trinkets accumulated in about ten years of Clinique counter visits. I am nothing if not irrationally devoted to the Clinique free-gifts-with-purchase.
(3) Organized two closets into near-military levels of precision and order.
(4) Left the Chia Herb Garden given to me by my mother last year for Christmas in the public space of my apartment building with a "free to good home" note. (Miraculously, someone claimed it.)
(5) Listened carefully three times to the Joanna Newsom album. Though I am being careful to not to make a snap judgment on this recording, I have found it to be a difficult and inaccessible piece of music. (Amazon.com's review of the album calls her voice "a piercing flutter that's pitched somewhere between Björk and a hand brake" -- ha.)

So far, I think this album is a strong front-runner for the Most Overrated Album of 2006. Or possibly Most Irritating but Widely Acclaimed by Groupthinkers Album of 2006? I'm not saying that this album doesn't have admirable qualities. I just wonder if all those music listeners out there who nod along energetically when this album pops up in conversation are secretly thinking, "What the hell is that album about?" Listening to it feels like I'm back in college, sitting through some agonizing, highly conceptual art performance in an effort to earn cultural events credits.

(Coming up next time, a list of songs that did work for me this year....)

dancing in the living room

Last night I got together with some friends for an evening of Irish set dancing. I've dabbled in dance for years, but my familiarity with Irish dancing begins and ends with those Riverdance commercials you used to see on TV.

The dance was at Wendy's house. She lives just a couple of miles from me in a beautiful bungalow adorned with prayer flags and candles and Buddha statues and more gorgeous cookbooks than I've ever seen gathered in one place.

As my boyfriend and I arrived, Emily was starting to make eggnog in the kitchen. She made a glass for Stephanie with a bit of brandy, and Stephanie tasted it and laughed and said, Oh, Emily, could I have a little eggnog with my brandy? Then the music started.

There was a beautiful Irish harp, and two people who knew how to play it well – this felt like some kind of miraculous coincidence. And a fiddle, a guitar, a flute, a bodhran. While the musicians warmed up, Scott gave us the basics on the steps, which, of course, were nothing at all like Riverdance. And then we started dancing.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my divorce. It seems weird to use the words "anniversary" and "divorce" in the same sentence. I've been wondering what this anniversary might feel like, because my memory of the event last year is still so fresh – the trip to the courthouse, shaking the judge's hand in his chambers, inviting two of my best friends over for a ritual after the divorce, where I sobbed and sobbed.

The steps were easy to pick up on. When you dance in an Irish set, you dance in a tight group of four couples, everyone standing practically shoulder to shoulder. If you lose your balance, you just kind of bump into somebody else and move right along. The dance figures were not delicate, uplifted gestures with a lot of finesse. They called for twirling and jostling around. The flames on the candles trembled as we thundered by. Scott's shoes sounded like handclaps when they hit the floor. It started raining outside and another set of eight dancers squeezed into the crowded living room. Every time we came to the "round the house" figure, Rob would say, "Ready?" and I would pull him a little closer and say, "yes."

About halfway through the evening Stephanie took off her shoes. She approached Wendy, and said, "I think I'm going to just leave these off, because I'm worried about your floor," and Wendy said, "Oh, honey, you couldn't hurt this floor if you tried."

The past couple of years were so hard, with so much change crammed into such a small space of time. Last year alone, I quit my job, moved twice, started freelancing, and got a divorce. This year it feels like I finally slowed down, landed in a soft place. And when I stood up and got my bearings, I realized that I was exactly where I wanted and needed to be.

The musicians were still going at it when we finally left. The drizzle outside made halos around the street lights, and the music followed us as we went.

The Many Lives of Julia Roberts

Pretend careers held by Julia Roberts on film:

- Sexy, troubled legal assistant (Erin Brockovich)
- Sexy, pint-sized fairy (Peter Pan)
- Spunky, clever actress (Notting Hill)
- Spunky, clever reporter (I Love Trouble)
- Quirky, lovable waitress (Mystic Pizza)
- Quirky, lovable hardware store gal (Runaway Bride)
- Quirky, lovable art professor (Mona Lisa Smile)
- Quirky, lovable hooker (Pretty Woman)
- Sexy, troubled photographer (Stepmom)
- Sexy, troubled photographer (Closer)

looking up

Atlanta's most enthusiastic Flickr afficianados gathered on Monday night in Little Five Points for a little soiree. While sipping on a glass of red wine, I bumped into a fellow photographer named Jason. We'd never met, but we started talking photography.

It turns out that Jason is a candidate in the MFA photography program of a very good art school here in town. It turns out that the school he attends happens to be the same very good art school to which I hope to apply next year. They have an excellent photography program, a curriculum that asks just the questions I want to ask in my photography.

It was great to connect with him. We talked about different photographers we liked, approaches we take in our own photography. We talked shop. I walked away feeling encouraged and nervous and happy about my own photography and my application to grad school.

This jumble of delight was followed immediately by a wave of genuine terror at the thought of actually doing something with my photography.

In many ways, it's much, much easier for us to be unaccountable to our own artistic impulses. We know very well how to lumber along through the work week. How to be a successful wage slave and keep our supervisors happy and count down the days until the weekend. (When I go to the office, I wear an ID badge around my neck all day. I know exactly which doors it will open and which ones it will not.)

The thought of potentially going to school for photography makes me accountable for my creative longings, and this thought is genuinely frightening.

"Well, it's just a hobby," I've said to others over and over again. "I don't do it professionally. Just for fun." Only yesterday, I told a friend, "Well, I want to study photography. I mean, the company's paying for it, so why not." I knew what I was really saying: I'm not dumb enough to think I really deserve a degree in photography from this fancy school.

There are doubts at every turn. When Jason said something nice about my photography, I was ready with my bow and arrow to shoot down his compliment. (I am an excellent archer.)

Julia Cameron, that wonderful self-help guru for artists, writes, "Perhaps the greatest barrier for any of us as we look for an expanded life is our own deeply held skepticism.... It does not seem to matter whether we are officially believers or agnostics. We have our doubts about all of this creator/creativity stuff, and those doubts are very powerful."

What I'm seeing tonight is that all those doubts are starting to wear me out. Carrying around these duffel bags full of arrows and reasons why I should not be taken seriously as a creative person is actually kind of exhausting.

I think I want to try something different. I think I want to see what happens when I put the duffel bags down, and stop spending so much of my best energy developing reasons why I can't give a voice to my own creative desires.

I like the way Rumi put it: "Listen. Make a way for yourself inside yourself. Stop looking in the other way of looking."

cookin' in my kitchen

Tomato Soup with Toasted Cheese Croutons
(Also known as the world's most scrumptious creamy tomato soup ever)

3 Tbsp. butter, divided
1 small onion, chopped
1 medium carrot, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
2 (28-ounce) cans crushed tomatoes
6 sprigs parsley
4 cups vegetable stock
1/2 cup heavy cream
Salt
Freshly-ground pepper
1/2 sourdough baguette, sliced into 1/2" cubes
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. grated Parmesan cheese

1. In a large pot over medium heat, melt 2 Tbsp. butter. Add onion, carrot, and celery. Sauté until tender but not browned, about 6 to 8 minutes.

2. Add tomatoes, parsley and stock. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer and cover. Skim foam and fat from top of soup and cover. Simmer until carrots are tender, about 25 minutes. Remove parsley sprigs from soup and discard. Puree soup in batches in a food processor or blender. Return to pot and stir in cream and remaining Tbsp. of butter. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground pepper.

3. Meanwhile, toss cubes of bread with olive oil and Parmesan. Place on a sheet pan and bake at 400º for about 10 minutes, until golden brown and crispy. Pour soup into mugs and place a few croutons on top. Makes 8 servings.

I got this recipe from Oprah's magazine a few years ago, and I think I love it enough to tattoo it on my body. Best cold-weather soup ever.

Currently Thinking

Arguments for and against the use of three names.

Pro:
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Franklin Delano Roosevelt
Frederick Law Olmstead
Neil Patrick Harris
Daniel Day-Lewis
Paul Thomas Anderson
David Foster Wallace

Con:
Lee Harvey Oswald
Mark David Chapman
John Wilkes Booth

???:
Haley Joel Osment
Thomas Haden Church
Tiffani-Amber Thiessen

Sunny side up

Last week in Iowa City, Amy and I went out to breakfast at a little cafe in her neighborhood. We sat and talked about art, ambition, our past, old lovers.

Amy and I have been friends for almost ten years now, but we became really close four years ago when she was going through a divorce.

That was a tricky passage. I was still "good" back then. I found her decision to leave her husband terribly upsetting. She was divorcing a friend of mine, an old college classmate, a person I really admired. I wrote her a terse letter, carefully addressed it to her married name, asked her if she really knew what she was doing.

She replied with an equally terse letter, telling me that yes, she did know what she was doing, and it was very hard for her, too, thank you for your concern.

There was a great deal of drama in our early days.

Two years ago I went through my own separation, and there was even more drama. But it was different this time. A more sisterly drama. Amy forgave my judgment against her and chose to support me. We pledged allegiance to our broken promises, marveled over James Wright poems, and commiserated over the unsettling nakedness of an empty ring finger.

As we sat at the cafe on Friday talking over scrambled eggs with salsa, I had to marvel at how far we had come from the day of my indignant letter brimming with judgment. It felt like a small miracle that the two of us would find ourselves there, talking warmly of our lives, making plans for the future. It felt like our relationship had left its painful adolescence and become a strong connection that no vow could create or destroy.