I was looking at one of those bilingual prayer candles that they sell at the supermarket, and I noticed something peculiar. While comparing the English prayer to the Spanish, I realized that they use the “tu” verb form when addressing God. Shouldn’t they really use “Usted”? If God himself doesn’t warrant an Ud., who does?
At times life can sure suffocate,
And I think it would be pretty great,
To not human be,
But instead something free,
Like a creature that does hibernate.
His diet was strict and exhausting,
Making birthdays things notably costing.
He’d a weight loss plan trenchant,
But for sweets a strong penchant,
And could never say no to sweet frosting.
If your quiet time’s something you relish,
To your roommates this you should embellish,
For you may start to fight,
If they party all night,
Turning home life into something hellish.
“I sure hate my job,” you decree,
And are tempted to from your desk flee,
But I say stay employed,
For though free time’s destroyed,
At least they have coffee for free.
With each release, Sam Beam, the man and beard behind Iron & Wine, does theoretically what every lasting musician should: he expands the breadth of the sounds, instruments, and recording options available to him in order to allow that much more discovery and possibility. This is in one sense due to his simply being allowed to, since with each bunch of songs he’s gained more and more popularity, and thusly has been afforded the ensuing recording capabilities. As we remember, he made his first LP, The Creek Drank the Cradle, entirely alone in a basement, which is the perfect fairytale beginning for this sort of career path. It’s difficult not to imagine him sitting there thoughtfully, etching out those songs with only himself as guidance, with perhaps the occasional interruption of his mom rapping on the door to offer him a sandwich. Further stages of his work include his first, real live studio effort replete with fancy equipment and snappy production (Our Endless Numbered Days), and even a celebrated collaboration with another band ripe with Southern themes, although from the other end of this country’s bottom half (In the Reins with Calexico). It’s actually sort of sweet to imagine our innocent lad wading softly through the various musical stages: home crafted album, studio album, collaborative album…shit, he even “went electric” with the Woman King EP. And now we have The Shepherd’s Dog, the culmination of all these musical lessons and undertakings, and boy what a big sound it carries.
For The Shepherd’s Dog, Beam re-teamed with producer Brian Deck to create what definitely represents a gathering of lessons from albums and efforts past. He seems to take great pleasure in this expansion and the constant introduction of new sounds and ideas. For example, this album displays a whole slew of fun new instruments such as the accordion, sitar, and I may be off my rocker here, but methinks I detect the subtle twangs of a jaw harp. And this added to other treats such as vocal distortion and feedback. Through it all, however, one never forgets who they’re listening to, that same seemingly shy young man who first whispered to us so long ago. Beam’s unmistakable hush remains constant, yet throughout a few newly upbeat numbers he now somehow seems to contain the drive necessary to back up such songs. Take tracks like “Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car” and “The Devil Never Sleeps,” which are so upbeat and catchy that you find yourself actually head boppin’ to Iron & Wine, an activity I’d rarely encountered in the past. Hey kids, Iron & Wine is not just make-out music anymore!
Lyrically, The Shepherd’s Dog superbly upholds Beam’s knack for engaging poetics and cleverly woven lines. Him there’s a real smart one. On the album Beam peruses some of his favorite topics with his usual poetic mastery, revisiting biblical themes, and also those such as loss of innocence and some lovey dovey stuff. Particularly awesome are lines like “I was still a beggar shaking out my stolen coat /Among the angry cemetery leaves / When they caught the king beneath the borrowed car /Righteous, drunk, and fumbling for the royal keys” and “Cain bought a blade from some witch at the window / Abel bought a bag of weed.” That said, dissecting his excellent lines for meaning this time around might prove to be more cryptic than before. It’s somewhat easy to pick out the general themes of the verses and therefore let your mind wander in the right analytical direction, but the words here are simply not as straightforward as some of those we’ve heard out of Beam before. He packs a double whammy of musical and literary talent, to be sure.
With all these changes, many of them progressive and natural for the musician’s course, we’re inevitably left with the question, “Were they for the better?” An argument could definitely be made for the fact that a certain something is lost when “rootsy” music is exposed to the glistening studio touch. Certainly there are moments where Beam’s innocent simplicity gets lost among glossy passages ripe with fancy new instruments. But something that just cannot be lost is that voice of his, and the sage-like observations and lessons it spews. These are parts of Beam that are unmistakable and they seem to ground any work that he does, this latest album, however fancy, in particular. While there’s an obvious contrast between The Creek Drank the Cradle and The Shepard’s Dog, and all those in between, in the end The Shephard’s Dog manages not to become a turnoff to the Iron & Wine fan.
But hey, I could be dead wrong, since it’s not like I’ve ever met the guy or anything. But I did spend all of last weekend with his cousin Jim.
If you do feel like stuffing your face,
I have for you, pal, just the place.
Go to Castle that’s White,
Hey, it’s open all night,
And I must recommend the Crave Case.
If a person sets your heart a’twitter,
But then takes off, you will become bitter.
In good time you will heal,
And think “Hey, no big deal,”
Unless you were dumped for the sitter.
It might seem like an act providential,
A fine weekend ruined by rains torrential,
But put down those oars!
For most bars are indoors,
So you still may enjoy the essential.
Douglas Coupland’s latest effort, The Gum Thief (out in paperback October 2nd), is another addition to his collection of novels exploring the difficulty of acquiring and maintaining a satisfying sense of self in today’s fractured world. His novels tend to focus primarily on the postmodern struggle that is finding one’s place in this crazy society we’ve created, one that constantly beats us from all sides with images and ideas of what life should be like. In this setting, more and more jaded members of the human population are finding it difficult to find this “should,” and are forced to wonder “what’s wrong with me?” Given this bleak view of modern culture, according to Coupland the answer to save us all may be to unite in our mundaneness so that at the very least we realize we’re all in this shitfest together.
The main characters represent two different versions of people who at the most base level are living, breathing creatures, but upon closer inspection are representations of the desire for more that is the plight of the over thinking human brain. Roger is a divorced, rapidly aging loser who finds it difficult to get out of bed in the morning (although I can give him one: the maintenance of his alcoholism!), and Bethany is a depressing goth chick who, surprise, relates more to the dead than the living. Both are unfortunately employed at the office supply nightmare that is Staples, which as you can imagine lends to their dissatisfaction with life. Their interaction begins when Bethany finds a notebook of letters Roger has secretly been writing to and about her, not in a creepy, stalker sort of way, but rather as a form of expression and a way to pass the time. Obviously she find this all very disturbing at first, but eventually comes to appreciate his insights, and the chance to respond and consequently vent her own frustrations and observations. Through this shared activity of expression, the two are able to grab onto the common bits in their struggles and find relief in the shared.
As can be said with some of Coupland’s other novels, The Gum Thief’s strength lies not so much in plot, but rather in the subtleties of the observations and the realizations come from everyday human experience. And this is not necessarily a negative comment — to be sure, Coupland’s look into the seemingly mundane everyday packs a powerful punch in life lesson and the question “what’s the point?” The Gum Thief’s awesomeness is to be found not in the storyline, because honestly very little happens plotwise, but in its descriptive writing style and the little life lessons sprinkled throughout. One comes away not with the satisfaction of having read a thrilling tale, but with a feeling of closeness to the characters and their attempts to find meaning in the humdrum.
The Gum Thief isn’t going to blow your mind, but throughout its chapters the writing itself is sharp, witty, and entertaining. Perhaps this look into the everyday and the characters that occupy it doesn’t leave a lot of room for high literary expression or uppity language. Rather, Coupland’s characters remain simple folk whose existence functions as a device through which to show the reader that we aren’t just worthless piles of shit on the ground. The titular stealing of megastore impulse items acts as a metaphor for the universal, in that at the most intense moments, the characters seem to return to their desire for the uncomplicated pleasure that is chewing a tasty piece of candy. As store footage of an employee caught stealing a pack becomes an overnight sensation on YouTube, we’re reminded of the accelerated pace and technology of life today, and that even through all of this madness ordinary people can find a bit of entertainment, if not comfort.
Also, goths are funny.