on radio, st. vincent, and living in fear

for as long as i can remember, i've loved the radio. after every day of elementary school, i'd ride home on the bus, race up the stairs, throw down my hello kitty backpack, and tune in. my radio, a GE model from the 80s, was covered in glow in the dark stars, and later on, the sticky residue of said stars, after i'd decided they were too babyish to keep on. up until age 11, i stayed tuned to the same pop station; i'd fall asleep each night listening to kesha, justin timberlake, or britney spears, and every morning, i'd wake up to the same trashy morning show, in which i listened to adults complain about problems far beyond the scope of my childhood bedroom. i'd get ready in the morning, worrying about rent, cheating boyfriends, and invasive in-laws, then get to school, facing much more serious problems—long division, school lunches, and who i should give the other half of my best friend necklace to. all of this ended, however once i hit middle school. suddenly thrust into a world of colorful sam jackets and ivivva leggings, i felt the need to separate myself from the crowd. looking back, it's easy to see that this was a slightly sexist response. (though i remain unwavering in my belief that those sam jackets were ugly as fuck.) obviously, there is nothing wrong with being "basic", though in middle school, this notion scared me to my core. so, i did what any other insecure twelve year old would do, and had an "alternative" phase. aside from the occasional hot topic purchase, i still dressed pretty basic, instead channeling my angst into awful poetry, an obsession with "dank memes", and hours of scrolling on pinterest and tumblr, coveting that one shade of lilac-grey hair that every girl seemed to have at the time. what defined me most at this time, however, was still music. i now kept my radio tuned to the "alternative" station, which i felt better suited me and my new, mature tastes. now weezer, green day, and blink-182 soundtracked my life, as i learned algebra, read bad YA books, and got ready for bat mitzvahs.

all of this is to say that the alt station became an integral part of my life. sometime in the fall of 2017, i was introduced to los ageless, a single dropped by annie clark, more widely known as st. vincent, for her upcoming album masseduction. embarrassingly enough, i had never heard much of st. vincent before this. her early 2010s blend of surrealist rock and pop had not crossed my path yet, nor had her legendary collaboration with david byrne. granted, much of her best work was released when i was in elementary school, still enthralled with rihanna and the black eyed peas. soon, i was obsessed with los ageless, cranking up the radio whenever it came on. it didn't matter that i had never been to LA, that i couldn't yet relate to the lyrical references to love songs and laments; the beat was infectious, the lyrics were cryptic, and clark's voice was near addicting. to me, listening to los ageless was a lot like listening to the morning show as a kid. i could tell it was a little beyond my years, but there was something strangely compelling about it; i felt as though i was observing a life so far removed from my own, and that fascinated me. 

st. vincent and david byrne on tour in 2012—a dream collab that went way over my 9 year old head.

like most things i encountered in my early adolescence, los ageless was eventually forgotten. i began high school, abandoning the alt station for bedroom pop, 80s rock, and a certain 14 member hip-hop boyband. in the spring of my senior year, however, st. vincent came back to me. 2021 found clark preparing to release her sixth studio album, daddy's home, a project dealing with themes of prison and family through 70s-style psychedelic pop. clark, whose father was arrested in 2010 for stock manipulation, uses a musical medium to wrestle with conflicting ideas of shame, anger, and abandonment, doing so with equal amounts of humor and sadness. soon after the album's release in may, i was once again obsessed with st. vincent. daddy's home is far groovier than 2017's masseduction, which is high in both energy and sexuality; comparing the two would be like comparing furs to leather. despite their differences, i fell in love with both projects, and it didn't take me long to continue tearing through clark's catalogue. i spent the summer with st. vincent in my ears, from the eclectic art pop of her self titled record (2014), to the naive, yet existential marry me (2007), but it wouldn't be until late august that i finally discovered my favorite st. vincent record, and one of my favorite projects of all time. 

strange mercy was written and recorded in seattle in 2010, shortly after clark's father was imprisoned. in an interview, clark revealed that she had isolated herself for much of the songwriting process, inspired by nick cave's approach to writing music. (coincidentally, grimes' 2012 record, visions, another project i hold dear, was written the same way.) released in 2011, it was met with critical acclaim from pitchfork and metacritic, as well as making several end-of-year lists. obviously, none of this music was on my eight-year-old radar, but strange mercy found me at the perfect time. 

summer of 2021 was a weird few months for me. having just been freed from four years of high school, i felt older, wiser, and more worldly. while my past selves were stuck in front of the radio, i was ready to head off to DC for college, a task that younger claire could only dream of. but with this, of course, came tinges of anxiety. i'd never lived alone before, nor was i friends with anyone who'd be joining me in DC. this transition, while necessary, was also highly daunting, thus resulting in a summer that was equal parts bittersweet and frightening, freeing and somber. luckily, strange mercy is just as contradictory. i could find comfort in clark's sweet voice, then catharsis a moment later, with a crazy guitar riff. strange mercy tells a story of fear and dissatisfaction, of femininity, loss, and above all, existence. each song is universal in a sense; despite their absurdity, they're familiar. the album opens with chloe in the afternoon, an examination of love and monogamy, which references l'amour l'après-midi, the 1972 film by èric rohmer. cruel, the second song, tackles themes of marriage and motherhood, the music video featuring clark being kidnapped by a family and forced to behave as a housewife. later on, tracks like neutered fruit and hysterical strength adopt elements from classical music, boasting chord progressions that would sound as though mozart was DJing a rave. surgeon, my favorite song on the album, borrows a quote from marilyn monroe: "best, finest surgeon, clark sings, come cut me open" 

clark, singing from the grave in the "cruel" music video

strange mercy, while very personal to st. vincent, still remains secretive, concealing very real emotions within enigmatic lyrics. in an interview with NPR, clark reflects on her highly private tendencies, remarking, "i think in some ways, it can do a listener a disservice to explain a song. i think i'd rather leave a little room for people to put themselves in it." strange mercy, the title track both thematically and literally at the center of the album, was once shrouded in mystery, like most other songs on the project. back when it was written, clark's father's arrest was not public knowledge, yet put within the context of daddy's home, clearly illustrates the guilt and fear she felt. starting out rather mellow, clark sings of a "hemingway jawline", and "our father in exile". at around the middle, the song grows quieter, the synths and guitar become more scarce, until her voice is all that is audible, delivering lyrics that promise good news that even clark herself does not believe. the song then reaches a crescendo, with heavy drum beats and clark belting "if i ever meet that dirty policeman who roughed you up, no i, i don't know what." it's lyrics like these, with their heavy specificity, that make strange mercy so special. st. vincent does not hold back on this album, it's full of her personal life, things the average listener could never relate to. but just as she said in the NPR interview, its the idiosyncratic nature of the music that makes it so relatable. 

the album closes with year of the tiger, a song pulsating with steady drums and acoustic guitar. clark repeats the lines, "living in fear in the year of the tiger" another reference to her father's 2010 arrest. but on a larger scale, the song references life itself. our tendency to spring between fearlessness and cowardice is summed up, both in year of the tiger and strange mercy as a whole. existence, according to st. vincent, is a series of backs and forths, nothing is ever fully one thing. strange mercy showed me the importance of contradiction, that i can dress basic and still love pretentious music, that i can enjoy stories by people i'll never relate to, that both fear and joy are equally fleeting. the nuance that characterizes her music is larger than the guitars and synths that contain it. st. vincent is a lesson in versatility and i can feel myself growing smarter.

p.s. welcome back to my blog! it's been a while :)