Kristin Hersh, "Paradoxical Undressing"

Kristin Hersh's memoir focuses on a single year of her life but doesn't have a beginning, middle, or end.  The writing is based on a diary she kept at the time and the story (or lack of it) picks up with her band and home life in a state of barely controlled chaos, uncertainty and turmoil and ends with her band and home life in a different state of barely controlled chaos, uncertainty, and turmoil.  Along the way, the action (or lack of it) takes in an eclectic cast of friends and bandmates, which is where the real action is.  Scenes, moments, concerts, and conversations are recalled in exquisite and sometimes absurd detail.  The minutiae of daily life gives us a charming, and touchingly personal look at the people involved.  Her writing is beautifully strange and lyrical much like her songs.  Sometimes I found myself humming tunes from her solo albums while reading the words and slotting them in as newfound lyrics, especially in the earlier chapters. 

There's a precocious air to the entire book, and a "smartest kids in the room" vibe at times that could be offputting to some.  But it's a brutally honest memoir, and the well meaning innocence of all involved makes this a great underdog story.  I don't often find myself rooting for the author of music memoirs, but with this one I definitely did.       

Beach House, "7"

Five years ago, when I would listen to Beach House's third album "Teen Dream", it sounded like a dress rehearsal for the fully fledged maximalist dream pop of "Bloom".  When I listen to "Teen Dream" now, I understand why people who were not enthused by "Bloom" considered it to be the quintessential Beach House album.  "Teen Dream" is dewy eyed pop that could have believably been recorded in someone's basement, filled with gorgeous ballads that would burn up the charts in a mirror universe despite being self-recorded on a minuscule budget.  That's the fantasy that "Teen Dream" promoted so well.  "Bloom" was bigger, louder, and more ambitious, but the intimacy and instrumental simplicity of their earlier albums had begun to slip away.

"7" completes a reiteration of sorts of the previous album cycle.  "Depression Cherry" is a final goodbye to the intimate, home studio aesthetic of their early albums, and "Thank Your Lucky Stars" is the quickie demo version of the more expansive sound they'd aim for on "7".  In interviews, Beach House have talked about how "7" was largely conceived in the studio, and it certainly sounds like it.  "Dive" is splattered with producer Sonic Boom's fingerprints, From the droning organ intro to the churning drum machine that crashes in partway through, this is "Recurring"-era Spacemen 3 filtered through a new vessel.  "Dark Spring" is straight up fire, a storming statement of purpose to open the album, Beach House's closest facsimile to MBV, a "Glider"-esque wonder of multitracked wailing guitars.  But immediately afterward, "Pay No Mind" heads in a different direction completely, bludgeoning its way through a murky bass and drums-led dirge that's disguised as a love song.  

Unlike every previous Beach House record, "7" never settles into a signature mood that envelops the album.  It couldn't happen because they were too busy exploring the studio with new producers who forced them to leave their comfort zone.  The result is a creative tour de force, but is it at the expense of the "real" Beach House of the past who still kicking around in there somewhere?  This new version may not know exactly who they are yet.