Blue Line Swinger — Yo La Tengo
#365Songs: July 28th
The cloyingly annoying Malcolm Gladwell wrote a memorable article for the New Yorker in 2008 called Late Bloomers, perhaps the only work from him I’ve ever been able to tolerate. But I remember in vivid detail the impact the article had upon me, a reminder that we’re all on different trajectories, that, for some of us, our opus awaits a lifetime of accumulated wisdom.
It’s easy, as a young artist, to fall apart at the sight of a contemporary’s rapid path to greatness. Zadie Smith was 23 when she published White Teeth, an achievement at the time that broke all of my confidence. Now, in retrospect, it remains her only great book and, despite some readable essays, a reminder that peaking early doesn’t equate to a lifetime of greatness. This one might be met with some controversy, but I’d group modern day Paul Thomas Anderson in this category: his greatest films were made in his ’20s and early ‘30s — Magnolia, Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, Punch Drunk Love, There Will be Blood — whereas his recent work is overwrought and less effective. Perhaps too much wisdom is a thing, too, ideas misplaced and thrown together with bloated confidence.
Anthony Bourdain was 43 when he wrote his first book and became a household name. Stan Lee published his first comic at 39. Toni Morrison was 40, Betty White was 51, Marcel Proust was 43 (and he still managed to publish the most sprawling book of wisdom ever written).
I’m sorry for quoting myself, which is admittedly a ridiculous thing to do, but I wrote the other day: “Our opus might just be buried within our other failures.” That, as it related to Leonard Cohen’s Anthem, a song he started writing when young and finished when he was old. It’s easy to feel discouraged when the talent you possess isn’t revealed in the timeline you’d like. But don’t conflate that with a lack of talent. Patience, persistence, and a defiant desire to succeed can pay off in the end.
And then there are the far more infuriating artists, those who thrive early and never stop, those prolific geniuses who never stop surprising us. And that leads me, finally, to a band that appeals to all living generations, that has shape-shifted their sound to fit within and influence the moment without ever once sacrificing their artistic integrity or selling out in any way. That band is, of course, the unrivaled Yo La Tengo. Formed in 1984, they’ve been one step ahead of the trend for 40 years — hipster-approved, a band’s band, the soundtrack to some of the greatest independent films ever made—Old Joy, Junebug, Adventureland.
You, you won’t talk about what we see when the lights are out
And I’m willing to hold your hand while you’re lost,
while you’re so full of doubt
Walk for miles, on your own loose ends, I’ll find you there
I’ll find you there
When the world goes dark, when light stops shining through, when all else fails, there’s always Yo La Tengo. They make music for pensive walks, for long commutes, for beginnings and endings and everything in between. Sometimes hypnotizing, other times energizing. To be clear, they’re the perfect band, the sort of artists who are simply worthy of universal and timeless admiration.
Since 2021, I’ve written over 250 music essays for 365 Songs and this is my first post about Yo La Tengo. It’s a crime, for sure, but not an oversight. I’ve been thinking about this post for a long time, but it’s practically impossible to choose just one song out of a 40-year prolific career, where every album sounds different from the others, and every track hits a different beat or feeling. If this were Groundhog Day, and I was forced to rewrite this post 50 times, I’d likely choose 50 different tracks.
For today, let’s talk about Blue Line Swinger off of 1995’s Electr-o-pura, a brilliant noise-pop album and one of their finest in a career with several contenders. Though I love them, too, my favorite Yo La Tengo tracks aren’t the hook-heavy short ones that pushed the band to the fringes of pop culture, but rather the sprawling instrumental-driven cuts with interspersed vocals, those songs meant for European train rides and cross-country drives, introspective runs and all-night writing sessions.
You, you walk up thin blue lines possible with reality
And I, I see through small red eyes,
glowing still at your uncertainty
Out of darkness you will come around, I know you will
I know you will
And I’ll find you
And I’ll find you there
My current days are bookmarked by anxiety, a what’s now and what’s next ‘greatest hits’ list of all that’s gone wrong or has yet to implode. And let’s be honest, there’s no shortage of reasons to fear our modern moment. That’s the best time to tune it all out, throw on a song like Blue Line Swinger, and breathe in the beauty that remains present around us — and when you’re ready to let it in, there’s still quite a bit to appreciate.
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