Not — Big Thief

#365Songs: January 21st

We need to talk about Big Thief, but first a brief rant.

To live in a Capitalistic society is to accept that there is always an existential threat to everything you love. Every solution creates a new set of problems; and sometimes companies create problems that fit their solution. Today, it’s Spotify. Before that, Napster. And then there are those forces that remain problematic through the decades — Ticketmaster, the Recording Industry Association of America, which has perpetually promoted its own interests above that of the artists they claim to support, and the Recording Academy whose dumpster Grammy Awards fail to recognize small label artists year after year.

But for every movement, there’s a counter movement. Every culture, a counter culture. Checks and balances. Journalists exposing corruption and rigged systems. Editorial magazines and zines demanding we look beyond the obvious. And tastemaker companies like VinylMePlease that artfully supports bands through a vinyl membership. Listen to this, not that. If you like that, listen to this. Even the voices whose opinions we disagree with have always been vital, they engage us and force us to defend the artists we love and those we love to hate. Most importantly, they exist to introduce us to new things.

But everything is changing.

It seems each week brings about a new consolidation, or the shuttering of an institution. Last week’s news about GQ taking over Pitchfork was the freshest gut punch.

Listen. Pitchfork has been pissing us off for almost 30 years in all the best ways. They’ve under-scored classics — and sometimes later corrected their failures — and over-scored garbage — sometimes later correcting that too. They’ve reintroduced lost gems to new audiences, and illustrated year after year how to craft one of the most aggravating ‘Best Of’ lists of any substantial publication (2023 was particularly bad). No matter how many times I’ve hate-read a review, no matter how many times I’ve attempted to swear them off, I always come back. Every single day. Why? Because publications like Pitchfork are essential when the rest of the industry draws us only to pop music. While the industry overexposes Taylor Swift, Pitchfork points us to Ethel Cain — the darker, more literary cousin. Settle down, Swifities. I’m just saying there’s a place for both. If you like this, try that. If you like that, try this. Without the Pitchforks of the world, we’re less likely to look deeper, to have tastemakers with influence who can point us in the right direction.

To be clear, Spotify’s Release Radar and Discovery Weekly have been essential sources of discovery. But again, solutions that create new problems are not adequate when the artists are the ones not getting paid. And here’s the thing: the Napster era changed my understanding of music and taught me that the fun is in discovering, in going broad and deep. Without Napster, I wouldn’t be listening to 9000+ new songs a year. (Thanks for that stat, Spotify.) See? Data is great, access is even better, but not when we’re ignoring the problem in the room. Not when a few platforms make all the rules at the expense of the art itself.

So if you’re one of my eight readers, you’re likely asking: what the fuck does this have to do with Big Thief? It has everything to do with Big Thief. Formed in 2016, they’ve released five exceptional albums. I’d argue that they’re firmly in contention for the title of “generational band,” one that can be prolific without sacrificing quality, while remaining entirely unique, and influencing countless other future bands in the process. And another argument in favor of their greatness is that somehow two of their members, Adrianne Lenker and Buck Meek, drop exceptional solo albums every few years.

And that gets me back to Pitchfork. We know bands like Big Thief because of Pitchfork. They give ink to the bands trucking across the country to open in dank venues before crowds arrive, to the bands trying something new, to the artists who deserve an audience but need a little boost.

I can rant all day about the consolidation of entertainment, and what we all stand to lose. That’s always been true, across every industry, and it ebbs and flows. But what’s happening now is something we’ve never faced before. The defunding of journalism is real, and current, and terrifying. And while I accept that AI has its potential benefits, we’re already seeing its power to alter how things are written, edited, and produced. The rise of AI software at the same time editorial outlets fire their writers and gut their staffs is NOT coincidence. It’s doing exactly what it was designed to do.

While we’ll never host a Pitchfork-sized audience — or perhaps an audience at all — we started the 365 Song project to promote the songs we love and why they matter to us. If even one person learns of a song, or a band, through this project, that’s success. I tend to write about and share new songs because I’m a perpetual discoverer, and by nature I’m a passionate sharer of those things. And perhaps that’s how we push forward in a changing world, where we help get artists attention and hopefully more money over time. Share a song, wear a band t-shirt, slap a sticker on your laptop. Bring a friend to a concert for a band they’ve never heard.

Ok ok ok, Big Thief. For fuck sake, I could recommend just about everything they’ve released. So let’s briefly talk about Not. A song that so perfectly satirizes the way we disassociate from our emotions, the hollowness of loss, and the rage that keeps us searching for a better way forward. To quote our recently gutted friends at Pitchfork: “Rather than detailing all the life around her, Adrianne Lenker cleverly uses negation to draw its shadows, letting the mystery of the unsaid bloom.”

Let’s not wait for the system itself to negate our sense of discovery, not wait for a few powerful companies to control our tastes, not allow ourselves to be lulled asleep by the same overplayed artists.

It’s not the energy reeling
Nor the lines in your face
Nor the clouds on the ceiling
Nor the clouds in space
It’s not the phone on the table
Nor the bed in the earth
Nor the bed in the stable
Nor your stable words
It’s not the formless being
Nor the cry in the air
Nor the boy I’m seeing
With her long black hair
It’s not the open weaving
Nor the furnace glow
Nor the blood of you bleeding
As you try to let go
It’s not the room
Not beginning
Not the crowd
Not winning
Not the planet
Not spinning
Not a rouse
Not heat
Not the fire lapping up the creek
Not food
Not to eat
Not the meat of your thigh
Nor your spine tattoo
Nor your shimmery eye
Nor the wet of the dew
It’s not the warm illusion
Nor the crack in the plate
Nor the breath of confusion
Nor the starkness of slate
It’s not the room
Not beginning
Not the crowd
Not winning
Not the planet
Not spinning
Not a rouse
Not heat
Not the fire lapping up the creek
Not food
Not to eat
Not what you really wanted
Nor the mess in your purse
Nor the bed that is haunted
With a blanket of thirst
It’s not the hunger revealing
Nor the ricochet in the cave
Nor the hand that is healing
Nor the nameless grave
It’s not the room
Not beginning
Not the crowd
Not winning
Not the planet
Not spinning
Not a rouse
Not heat
Not the fire lapping up the creek
Not food
Not to eat
Not to die
Not dying
Not to laugh
Not lying
Not the vacant wilderness vying
Not the room
Not beginning
Not the crowd
Not winning
Not the planet
Not spinning