For Sure — Ethel Cain
#365Songs: September 12th
Dad rock. Emo. Jazzy post-rock. Call it what you like, try to hate on it, but American Football defined a very specific moment in a time — a simpler, pre-9/11 era when seemingly nothing was at stake. They’re a big reason post-rock emo exists at all (you’re welcome), at least in my galaxy. So if you hate emo, you know who to blame.
I spent seven years deeply connected to Chicago’s music scene, 2002–2009. Bands like Tortoise, Slint, Russian Circles, Califone, Sea and Cake, even Wilco to some extent—though I like them more now than I did then. American Football’s Mike Kinsella is at the heart of this scene, starting with his first band, Cap’n Jazz, alongside his brother Tim. He’s also churned out a few solo albums under the name Owen—where he goes full blown emo in that catalog.
Somehow, it’s been 25 years since American Football’s debut, a fact I now know because my favorite young artist, Ethel Cain, joined a small group of artists to commemorate the anniversary.
(A question: what if we could go back in time, to Dec. 31st, 1999, and relive y2k and what if this time it all goes according to plan, all the computers rebel, all the clocks stop, power grids go down, planes get grounded: no work, no 9/11, no George W. Bush, no Facebook or Instagram or YouTube, no AI, no fake news, no Donald Trump—or at least not this version of him, but the but of the joke where he —but seriously can we please go back and do this all over again? Maybe if we all play the same American Football song together at the same time we’ll get to do this whole millennium again.)
I appreciate Them magazine’s intro for Ethel’s take on For Sure: “It’s almost the end of summer, which means it’s just about time to dust off your melancholic emo playlist and watch the leaves start to turn outside. And what better way to kick off the season than listening to Ethel Cain cover a classic Midwest emo ballad?”
The 1999 version of For Sure is a measly 3 ½ minutes, a perfectly buttoned up melancholic whine about the what if and what might still be within a relationship, but also perhaps about everything, this whole fucked up world and everything that gets in our way and how different it could be and what if this and what if that. I love it, and I don’t care what anyone says.
And yet, it’s something entirely different in Ethel’s hands. A sprawling 10-minute slow-burn build, her haunting vocals creating an actual uncertainty fit for our time. Them’s writer, Samatha Riedel, referred to the cover as a “dreamscape,” and I’m not quite sure there’s a better word for the song’s atmosphere. I soundtracked a walk through Midtown Manhattan’s chaos this morning, a blur of random faces pushing past, muting the chorus of horn honks and sirens and poorly dressed guys feigning importance while screaming stock prices, sales targets, and delivery times into their phones.
About the song, Ethel wrote, “It’s always stood out to me every time I spin the record, and I knew exactly how I wanted to translate it into my sound. My favorite part of the entire track is the sound of the train going by the apartment I lived in back in Pennsylvania, stretched out like a synth at the beginning and end. American Football is one of those bands that really marked such a moment in time with their debut record, a mark with so much longevity that it found me the same way at 20 years old that I imagine it found everyone else the day it was first released: as an instant classic. Their sonic storytelling has inspired me in more ways than I can count over the years, so being asked to contribute to this covers edition was truly an honor. American Football forever.”
I almost moved to New York around the time American Football’s album dropped, and then again a few years later. That was another life in a series of other lives. Instead, I ended up in Kinsella’s Chicago, grew up all over again in a music scene that reshaped me. In the spirit of sounding trite, even emo if you will, a song really is a time capsule. A return to who you once were. But a truly great cover, particularly one that hits a completely different mood, brings together who you once were with who you are now — an uncertainty less about where you’ve been or where you are now, but where you might go next and who you’ll be by the time you get there.
June seems too late
Delayed
Maybe for the better
Imagine us together
Relatively stable (Tentatively able)
To say for certain
Whether this uncertainty is
For sure
~
Start following the #365Songs playlist today, and listen to each new song with each new article!
