pre-birthday melancholia and a dead bird
For this week, a poem about songwriting.
i only chew coins
the sun can see.dimes and thinner
slide beneath
my fingernails and
spin nail beds red
to coax out the crust
You can read the rest here.
Warning: there is a photo of a dead bird in this email. Don’t read past the recommendations if you don’t want to see that!
The Colony gig on Sunday was lovely, thanks to everyone who came through! And props to Joey Wright for holding it down in our beloved Lenny’s absence. A few more kinda big gigs on the horizon :)
“Overheard Unplugged” at DromFest in Catskill, NY on Saturday August 30th! The main event is sold out, but we’ll be playing a free 10 AM gig at Joust Cafe as part of the fest! See you there?
and O+ Fest (!!!!) in Kingston, NY on Friday October 10th. Get tickets here.
Reminder, I have a Ghost Down solo set on Sunday, August 17th at Hart Bar (5 days from the day this email hits ya)! I’ll be joined by Anna Abondolo’s Worldwide Seagull in supporting the indie band Jersey Star! It’s gonna be synthy. Come thru as an early birthday gift to me.
And! I have an album coming out in two weeks (god willing). It is called Mr. Mist. This is the cover.
AND!!! I have new stickers. Get in touch if you wanna buy one.
Misc. Stuff I’m Into:
Movies:
Eddington [2025, dir. Ari Aster]. Working on a piece on this film because I’ve been chewing on it heavy since viewing, maybe you’ll see it someday soon.
The Kingdom of Dreams and Madness [2013, dir. Mami Sunada]. Watching this demands a rewatch of The Wind Rises, but it’s one of my favorite films ever so that’s not a hassle.
Weapons [2025, dir. Zach Cregger]. Fun, funny, shocking, scary, silly, someone described it as Magnolia as a horror movie and that’s apt.
Music:
Sofia Kourtesis’s Volver EP. Excellent summery dance bops;
The Armed’s THE FUTURE IS HERE AND EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE DESTROYED. I will be hearing this record live while on a triple, possibly quadruple date with Em and John at LPR this Friday.
Ninajirachi’s I Love My Computer. Brendon and I have been yelling about the singles from this one for a month and the record did not disappoint, perfect pop and dance bangers. He even wrote a review!
Ethel Cain’s Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You. my first listen through of this record was on a walk through Woodstock Cemetery. More below. Warning, there’s a photo of a bird corpse;
Mannequin Pussy’s I Got Heaven. Patch recommended I give it a relisten and it rips;
Mid-Air Thief’s Crumbling. Erin recommended this to me because we’ve been talking nonstop about
Quadeca’s Vanisher, Horizon Scraper, easily one of the best records of the year;
and finally, due to Grace’s influence I have had Viagra Boys’ viagr aboys on repeat.
Reading:
Anne Carson’s Wrong Norma. Her poetry and writing always folds my brain up like origami, I’m excited to see what newly punches me in the gut this time.
Stella Harris’s The Ultimate Guide to Threesomes. A very intricate, sex- and consent-positive, and delicate beginner’s guide to sex with multiple partners and breaking down understandings of sex in general, which has unfortunately lined my reading recommendation algorithm with ‘HOW TO GET CHIX’ bullshit.
Continuing my reread of Chainsaw Man Part 1 and have only cried twice so far, at 5 volumes in.
I ditched Amazon’s Goodreads in favor of Storygraph, and you can add/follow me there to see what I’ve read and am reading if you’re interested!
Etc.:
This Hearing Things piece on the MCR show I attended last Saturday, “I Took A Party Bus to ‘The Black Parade.’” That show was amazing, hearing The Black Parade cover to cover live with Em and Callie was incredible, and I’m glad music writers I admire were there to document it.
This conversation on Spotify, streaming, AI, and algorithms between Adam Conover and Liz Pelly on the former’s show Factually. A reminder that if you have any questions about why Spotify is real bad, what to do, and why it matters, I’m always happy to listen and talk about it!
Brendon Bigley’s new podcast Wavelengths! “Video game news for the rest of us.” Go check out his great conversations with Chris Plante and Emily Price!
My 32nd birthday is in two weeks.
This past Sunday before the show, fully in profound sadness mode, I went on my aforementioned walk through Woodstock Cemetery while spinning Ethel Cain’s new record. The birthday month melancholy has hit. It’s this strange wave of sadness that appears annually, in August, often without warning, often cancelling out the memory of previous good days and anticipatory excitement for those to come. The washes of reverb, piano, and an angelic croon from Cain soundtracked my piddly footsteps over decaying faces I’ll never know. I stopped to stare at the half-skeletal remains of a black bird in the middle of the cemetery road.
I’m about to go into a therapy session to attempt to hash this out, but it’s gotten to a point where I welcome it like an old, tedious friend. Since I was maybe 11 years old I have not viewed a birthday as some grand festivity celebrating me, but more an ordeal where I wince at the praise I receive and mourn the praise I don’t. Seems in conversation with my approach to performing as well, encapsulated by me, from stage, begging the audience to not under any circumstances lavish me with compliments after Erin told them to do so. Half a goof, half-not.
The strategy for overcoming this silly cone-hatted demon is, usually, having a party. Making a plan. Eating a lot of food. But that means, making plans. Planning meals. Asking things of friends. What kind of sick, twisted monster asks for kindness from their loved ones? What’s next, are we gonna hang out? Spend time together, laugh and smile? Look back on the weekend fondly? What a nightmare!
I do, however, recall one year where I was very brave. My 28nd [sic] birthday. I told Erin, Callie, and Pablo that for my birthday I wanted biryani, ceviche, and flourless chocolate cake, and they delivered. I was with my friends and eating delicious food that they made for me because they love me (and love cooking), and my birthday melancholy, for a fleeting moment, hit the bricks.
The orange glow of dusk was hitting headstones etched with funny 19th century names (someone had the last name Cashdollar? Come on now), and Overlook Mountain was visible in the distance. Two beautiful little fawns grazed on the grass, and for another fleeting moment, surrounded by death, I forgot to be sad. The deer were simply too cute. I returned to the venue and told Erin about my melancholic mood and the deer, and her friend Matt chimed in: “you should go walk through the cemetery!”
icymi, I wrote essays about Sufjan Stevens and FKA twigs in previous newsletters. Check ‘em out!
Last year, the theme of 31 was ‘My Baskin Robbins Year: Trying a Little Bit of Everything’ (bc 31 flavors) and boy did that shit happen. Taking applications for what the theme of 32 should be.
Thanks for reading!
Will