The Year of Magical Listening

Willie Costello

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MUSIC COMMENTARY
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The Year of Magical Listening

Reflections on the joys of discovering new music

JUN 30

045 :: TOTAL

FEATURING caroline 2 by caroline, released by Rough Trade Records in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "Total euphoria" "When I get home" TRANSCRIPT If this is the first time you're hearing this music, I envy you. And actually, if this is your first time, maybe stop listening to me talk about this music and give yourself a chance to hear it firsthand, unadulterated. I'll still be here when you're done. And I'll still be hearkening back to the first time I heard this music, when it still felt like a jumble of unpredictable rhythms, a band of musicians just barely hanging together, a little orchestra teetering on the edge of collapse. Because the thing about this song is that, once you've heard it enough times, everything starts to feel like it's in exactly the right place. And even though I still recognize how the song is playing fast and loose with its rhythm and synchronization, it no longer has for me the palpable quality of unruly chaos. To the contrary, it now feels like a carefully choreographed dance, its every step planned out to fall precisely as it does. Of course, the truth is somewhere in the middle. What this music really consists in is moments of deliberate serendipity, of intentional spontaneity. It was never meant to be just as it is; it was just meant to be performed in such a way that it could be, in such a way that it would result in something as beautifully chaotic as this. But in being recorded, this performance becomes reified into seeming like the music's true form, the only way it ever could be performed, the exact way it was always meant to be. And the more I listen, the more like this it seems. But I can still hear, however faintly, an echo of my first encounter with this music, when it still felt utterly unknowable, unforeseeable, and unreal. And even as the music slows and softens into something more legible – a simple and steady progression of chords repeated under a plaintive melody – even still, it remains uncanny. Listen closely and you can hear a distant throbbing, the muffled reverberations of a late-night banger, like the song is being performed in the bathroom at a party, and the party is starting to push through. It's a wild thing to leave in the mix, or not "leave" but "put", because of course this is meant to be there. The song wasn't actually recorded in the bathroom at a party; it was just made to sound like it was. So the question becomes, Why? Sure, it helps to create a tableau, a setting of sorts for the singer's inner monologue as they contemplate leaving the party and returning home. But it also makes me wonder if there's an aesthetic to the experience of being in a bathroom at a party, a sonic palette with its own distinctive character that can be deployed and appreciated in other contexts, too: the sound of distance, isolation, interiority, overwhelm, the fear of missing out, and the desire to be far away. And just as it's all starting to click into place, the party disappears, replaced in the background by some crickety static, while the foreground shifts to some decidedly unmetronomic rhythms. It's like we've stepped out only to immediately lose our footing. Which is how it feels sometimes, is it not? Again, the longer I sit with this music the more it seems to be exactly as it should be, with all its sharp corners and rough edges and uncertain tempo – because all of it creates a feeling that couldn't be created in any other way. And I haven't even mentioned the lyrics yet – the lyrics, which express at best a fragment of a thought that gets jumbled and repeated across the song: "When I get home / I might just ask / What you need to". The song never tells us what is needed, or if this intention is ever played out. It holds us, rather, in that liminal space of mental inarticulation, as an idea gets tossed around one's head without even being fully spelled out. If music can be about this, then music can be about anything. Or, put another way: Anything can be made into music. Everything has an aesthetic. There is beauty in even the smallest of moments. And there is art to help us see it and make it come alive.

12 min
MAY 23

044 :: HERE

FEATURING For Melancholy Brunettes (& sad women) by Japanese Breakfast, released by Dead Oceans in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "Here is Someone""Mega Circuit""Picture Window" TRANSCRIPT The best music, in my opinion, simply makes us listen, captivating our attention so fully that everything else falls away. So I guess it goes without saying that that's what this music does for me, unspooling with this lush, rococo exuberance that audibly shimmers in its brilliance. Sounds upon sounds upon sounds to just get lost in. Its cup runneth over, and I just want to drink it all in. There's something new and wondrous around every corner, to hold our focus and delight our senses – even these pitchy little flutes, with their unexpected pathos. This song is like a secret garden I've wandered into and now never wish to leave. And then there are these lines, that break my heart every time: Watching you from the yard Life is sad but here is someone Someone Someone Someone Someone There are many ways to hear those lines, but to my ear they recall that experience where we are suddenly jolted out of a depressive and anxious state of mind by the apprehension of a concrete individual before our eyes, in all their particular beauty and infinite possibility. Even if only for the briefest of moments, our attention becomes fixed on something outside our selves. And sometimes that's all we need. And sometimes that's what music does for us, too. So let's keep listening. Because this music will keep holding our attention, even as it changes in its sound and its feel, and even as it turns its own attention elsewhere. If that first song was showing us a way out of life's sadness, much of the rest of the album seems devoted to cataloguing its diverse and many causes: absent fathers, unfaithful partners, or, as in this song, "incel eunuchs". It's looking the enemy square in the eye. But here, too, the music shows us a way out of this ugliness, through the sheer jauntiness of its groove. It dazzles with a cornucopia of sounds: little rattles, big drums, a pulsating synth, and a tender accompaniment on guitar. It's enough to make you forget about everything wrong with boys these days. But that raises the question: Is this song offering deliverance, or distraction? And as if on cue, the singer delivers this chilling couplet: Well I better write my baby a shuffle good Or he's gonna make me suffer the way I should In this final turn, the song presents itself as written for one of those disturbed young men, as a means of pacifying the violence within. And although this might make it seem like some gross performance, a coerced pantomime of country western swagger, what I hear is a note of radical hope: that if anything is gonna reach these boys, if anything is gonna turn their attention away from the false gods they worship, it will be music, if we can just get them to listen. And now, a different kind of struggle: a song where the narrator is the one in need of saving, and where the cause of life's sadness is the enemy within, the singer's own mind, and in particular an anxious chittering of intrusive thoughts, permeating their experience and overtaking their consciousness, like this: Are you not afraid of every waking minute That your life could pass you by? Again, it sure doesn't sound like a song about obsessive compulsion, with its soft throb of slide guitar and pedal steel. And the chorus is weirdly affirming of these mental preoccupations, with its sweet refrain of "All of my ghosts are real". There is no denial in the lyrics, only acceptance. But in the music, I hear emancipation. It's yet another juxtaposition of sadness and salvation, with music appearing as the saving grace. And really, that's what this entire album is about: the push and pull between mental distraction and refocused attention, between the forces that plunge our minds into darkness and the moments that make us come up for air and see the light. The point is not to deny anyone's reality. Life is sad, your ghosts are real. The point is to show us that there are other realities out there too – that alongside all the death and violence and infidelity, there is beauty and joy and music. There's enough out there to save us. We just need to turn our mind towards it and let it in.

11 min
APR 28

043 :: ABSOLUTE

FEATURING Cupid & Psyche 85 by Scritti Politti, released by Virgin Records in 1985. Listen / Buy direct "Absolute" TRANSCRIPT Imagine, for a moment, that it's 1985, and a British band of post-punk Marxists have decided to pivot into pop. What would you expect their music to sound like? Abrasive? Ironic? Overly cerebral? Perhaps that would be the most likely story. But what if I told you it sounded like this? Angelic, mellifluous, radiant, and undeniably groovy. I don't usually like to do that, to historically situate what you're hearing before you actually hear it. I like to let the music just speak for itself. But in this case, I believe the context helps, to prime us to be surprised and to notice these curious little details, like the fact that this radio-friendly bop is a love song addressed to the "Absolute". And if you're wondering if I mean, like, the Absolute in the Hegelian sense? I do, and they do, too. But let's not get too heady right away. Because the most important thing to notice about this song is how immediately infectious it is, reveling in its newly expanded palette of synthesized sounds to create a sonic concoction that never ceases to delight and surprise. And yes, it does have a certain sheen to it – but what a sheen it is. I say all this to underscore the fact that this song, for all its self-awareness, is never condescending. It's fully in it and committed; it's pop music through and through. And that's what allows it to be a little bit meta. So let's get into it. Let's talk about this love song to the Absolute. Because the way I see it, it's a distillation of what pop music is always actually about: the musical expression of desire, in all its thrills and throes. And here's the thing about desire: We like to talk about it as if it's for some particular person, but it's never that simple. The object of our desire is always some ideal, some figment of our imagination, some distant glimmer that beckons us from beyond what's in front of our eyes. We cannot actually grasp it; that's why we desire it. So isn't it just more honest to address your love song, not to pop's paradigmatic "boy" or "girl", but to the transcendental principle of a perfect and self-sufficient form of being? And if that all sounds like a little much for a pop song, the good news is that you can set all that aside and just luxuriate in the sound of this music, because this song is never overbearing with its philosophy. But make no mistake: This album is full of these bits of wisdom, these incisive one-liners that encapsulate the fundamental nature of desire better than anything else I've ever heard in a pop song, lines like: There's nothing I wouldn't do / Including doing nothing I got a lack, girl, that you'd love to be Now I know to love you / Is not to know you These are lyrics I never thought I'd hear in a pop song. But what I love about this music is that, as philosophical as it gets, it never stops sounding like this. Because it knows that this is the sound of desire, in all its ecstasy and magnetism and larger-than-life feeling. The music reifies, even as the lyrics deconstruct. It's the essence of desire made manifest. It's absolute idealism at its finest.

7 min
MAR 14

042 :: NEW

FEATURING LOWER by Benjamin Booker, released by Fire Next Time in 2025. Listen / Buy direct "BLACK OPPS" "NEW WORLD" TRANSCRIPT I never cease to marvel at how music in an instant can evoke a feeling or create a mood – and what's more, that it's able to do so in perpetually new ways, just through the careful selection and novel juxtaposition of sounds: a lacerating guitar tone, accentuated by a reverberating chime, layered over a beat that's all fuzz and thump, accompanied by a ghostly voice. It's this voice that really did it for me, drew me in and made me listen, to something so immediately delicate and chilling. This raspy whisper, singing ever so softly, in a way that should scarcely be audible, and yet, pervades the mix like a miasma. And even as everything else gets dialed up for the chorus, the main vocal stays as it was, still just barely breathing out the words, but now doubled by a second voice, singing higher and louder as if howling from a distance, as the rest of the ensemble creaks and buckles under the weight of its own crescendo. It's a sonic landscape that's steeped in dread, which makes it a fitting soundtrack for the song's lyrics, which allude to the tyrannical gaze of state surveillance and its clandestine acts of violence and oppression. If this music sounds hostile, that's because it's describing a hostile world. But there's a little prayer inside the mayhem: Give a little love... Have a little dream... Hallelujah, dying fighting For a life I ain't had yet It's not quite hope, but it's a note of resistance, a counterpoint to the overwhelming sense of unease that otherwise permeates the song, a reminder to hold it together even while the world around you is falling apart, fraying at the seams, and disintegrating into noise. But perhaps, through the static, something new will emerge: a sound still bruised by the world's roughness, but a little softer and brighter and, dare I say, hopeful. The voice is just as chilling as before, though it now seems to speak with greater ease and self-assurance. Its tone is matter-of-fact, even as it addresses its own oppressor and describes its own subjugation, as if it is strangely at peace. And again, as we move into the chorus, the main vocal is multiplied, swelling into a lush choir of sonorous voices, washing over us like waves on the shore. What a turn from the previous song. But I can't help but hear it as a response, countering the last song's images of racial domination with a pithy encapsulation of the master–slave dialectic: You can't be who you are without me Beneath you... Down here If this song sounds breezily confident, it's because it's flush with the knowledge that, as bad as things are, this is not how they're supposed to be. And even if the singer can't say when a new world will arrive, they at least know that they are it. And maybe we can hear the new world arriving right now, in this music, as a strange beauty begins to form out of an assemblage of musical debris – a winding phrase from a violin, a touch-tone keyboard, a metronomic piano, a pounding guitar, a boom-bap beat, and then, the sky opens up, making way for the infinite heavens, the glittering stars, the limitless future, and one last refrain.

10 min
FEB 14

041 :: WONDER

FEATURING "As" by Stevie Wonder, from Songs in the Key of Life, released by Tamla Records in 1976. Listen TRANSCRIPT Classic songs are classic for a reason. And this song wastes no time. It just immediately launches into this immaculate verse, a silvery melody set atop prismatic chords, all to express that most quintessential of messages: "I'll be loving you always". It's an encapsulation of what every pop song strives to be, and we're not even a minute in. And before we get there, the song will already start veering off in its own direction, transforming all of a sudden into this gospel-inspired chorus, with these new and almost haunting harmonies, which turn the song into something mystifying, riveting, and rapturous. But the song won't hold us there, at least not yet. And so we return to the sweetness of the verse. But even here, we can start to notice a gnomic quality to the lyrics, with lines like "As time knew to move on since the beginning" or "As now can't reveal the mystery of tomorrow". What is this? Is it a love song, or a treatise on metaphysics? Or is it the genius of this song, to recognize that love cannot be expressed in any other way or in any other terms, because love is a greater power that lies beyond the grasp of words? Though we can start to feel a tremor of that power in this refrain, with its dark chromatic tension and full-throated call and response. And this is also where the lyrics reach their most evocative pitch, with a series of impossible similes like "until the day that eight times eight times eight is four", or "until the rainbow burns the stars out in the sky". Obviously, what the singer means is that their love is everlasting. But the song sure makes you feel like something deeper's being said. And this is where a lesser songwriter would've left things, and where commercial radio would start crossfading it out, as indeed they do, per the radio edit of this song. And this would be sufficient; these first three minutes are already a monumental achievement of pop songwriting. But on the full album version of this song, there's still four minutes left, and the songwriter is just getting started, and is about to blow the whole thing wide open. Suddenly the singer assumes a whole new voice and tone, replacing their loving proclamations with preacherly exhortations. They're now speaking directly to us, and they're about to mince no words, in my favourite lines of the song: Make sure when you say you're in it but not of it You're not helping to make this earth a place sometimes called Hell Change your words into truth and then change that truth into love This bridge is truly a bridge to the back half of this song, which feels like it occupies a whole new plane of existence. Because it's now clear that this song isn't just about some ordinary love, everlasting as it may be. It's also about a higher, more transcendent love, which is not the typical stuff of pop songs. Perhaps it's about the singer's love for God, or about God's love for humanity, but in my mind it's most centrally about the universal love we're all meant to have for one another, and that love's absolute transformative power. There's no way to truly describe this love in words. The only way to get at it is analogically, through a series of impossible similes, or by extension from a never-ending romantic love, or by means of a seven-minute sonic opus that stands as a musical exemplification of that love's endurance and supremacy. It's enough to send shivers down your spine. But what amazes me most about this song is that, up until this year, I had never truly heard it. I may have caught flashes of it in the background, heard it playing here and there, but I had never sat down and let it speak to me. I should've known better; classic songs are classic for a reason, after all. But maybe there's a lesson in that, for the power of love is also easily missed, even though it is always there, at the ready, just waiting for us to take it up, as it always will be, until the day that you are me and I am you.

9 min
JAN 15

040 :: VIDA

FEATURING Curyman by Rogê, released by Diamond West Records in 2023. Listen / Buy direct "Pra Vida" TRANSCRIPT It's a new year, and this isn't a New Year's song, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like one, from feeling like the song I need to have with me to face the year ahead: this energy, this vitality, this exuberance. Just listen to this rhythm section: the classical guitar strumming in punchy syncopation; the bass keeping a steady downbeat; a ganzá rattle subdividing the rest; and this pitched percussion instrument off on the right – an agogo perhaps? – tapping out a spirited samba beat. Could it be any more full of life? It's like the music itself is dancing and laughing and beckoning us to join in. And so it's fitting that the song's Portuguese refrain instructs us to "let it go, let it be, let's live". A simple imperative, but what else needs to be said? And look: This isn't my first samba. I've heard grooves like this before. I've heard performances that are similarly vibrant and vivacious. I'm not saying that this song is like no other samba that's come before it. But there's a distinct joy in hearing it done this well, in hearing an ensemble come together like this, and in feeling that indomitable samba spirit come alive. So let this song serve as a model, and let this be my new year's wish. May your spirits be this uplifted. May your voice be full of song. May your body be always dancing and your heart be never still. May your mind be free from worry and your soul just be free. May you let it go, let it be, and live.

5 min
2024-12-17

039 :: BAREFOOT

FEATURING "Beautiful Horses" by Christopher Owens, from I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair, released by True Panther Records in 2024. Listen / Buy direct TRANSCRIPT Let's end the year with a little tenderness. Because what better time is there to open up and show how you feel, to bare your heart and say all the things that so frequently go unsaid. ♪ Please don't nag at me ♪ Okay, perhaps not the sweetest opening line. ♫ I will be strong for you ♫ Now that's a little better. ♪ Don't say you're worried ♪ That's reassuring, even. ♫ Don't say you're scared ♫ And now we're getting somewhere. So let's put it all on the table. Because in the end, it's all about love. And "love is enough." It's easy to feel like this song is stumbling over its words just to express a simple message, but sometimes the simple message is all there is to say. And with a message like this, the words are kind of beside the point. For the real expressive instrument here is the vocal delivery, the naked vulnerability in the singer's voice, which says so much without having to say anything at all. And then, in the song's midsection, the expressive power of that voice gets transposed to the guitar. And maybe it's just because I hear so little guitar-driven music these days, but man, does this solo ever hit. As it weaves its way through licks and arpeggios and distorted harmonics, it's like its tracing the contours of the singer's feelings, in the clearest expression yet of what they really want to say. And then, a digression about Christopher Reeve. Because this song isn't some perfectly constructed poem. It's impulsive and weird and sometimes vulgar and a little bit all over the place. But you know what? It's authentic and heartfelt and saying exactly what it thinks. Or maybe it is a perfectly constructed poem, as it closes with this bewitching simile between the singer's hands and beautiful horses, galloping into the distance. I'll be honest: I don't understand this song, why it works, its unusual magic. But I know how it makes me feel, and maybe that's its true secret: to be able to convey through words a feeling that's beyond them, and to not let language get in the way of saying what you mean.

7 min
2024-11-29

038 :: THUNDERCLOUD

FEATURING "NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD" by Godspeed You! Black Emperor, released by Constellation in 2024. Listen / Buy direct "RAINDROPS CAST IN LEAD" TRANSCRIPT Must music have a meaning? Does it have any other choice? Obviously, music need not be representational; its sounds need not be taken to depict anything, concrete or abstract. But what, then, to make of the fact that music can so readily bring us into a certain feeling or state of mind or situation? Surely, such music must be said to be conveying something – something ineffable perhaps, but not void of sense. Even this music, what's playing right now, seems rich in significance, despite its minimal elements. I hear in it an unsteady serenity, a momentary peace, an eerie quiet, the calm before the storm, electricity in the air, bristling, quivering, full of foreboding. And then, the sky begins to rain down. The opening salvo is a simple motif on guitar, made jagged through layers of distortion and delay. But it is quickly joined by a cascade of supporting artillery: an unrelenting beat pounded out by the bass and the drums, a second guitar doubling the motif in a higher register, a counterpoint from a violin (or is it spiraling out of control?), the beat now hammered out by cymbals, propelling it on even further, and a third guitar, slicing through the burning sky. At last, the full cannonade arrives, and it's immediately disorienting, as the downbeat shifts below our feet, the two becomes the one and the one becomes the four: one last cataclysm in a whirlwind of chaos. Can there be any doubt as to what this music is trying to convey? It's hard to hear it as anything but a violent attack, a relentless assault, an inescapable blitz. Sounds howl through the air like missiles, made all the more terrifying by their patent coordination. The song's title describes it bluntly: "raindrops cast in lead". But there's another sound that can be heard, nestled deep within the maelstrom, an uncanny brightness amidst the unending destruction. I hesitate to try to say what it is. Some awful beauty? Some glimmer of hope? And then, a reprieve; and then, a disorientation of a different kind; and then, a voice – something rarely heard in this band's almost exclusively instrumental oeuvre. And it's not the voice of one of the band's members; it's not even in their, or my, mother tongue. So let me translate: Raindrops cast in lead Our side illuminated And then extinguished and buried and finished Under the perfect sun Under the body falling from the sky They were martyrs who fell Because on our side they are martyrs since before we were even born Those who tried and were killed for trying Those who died young, angry or old, and never saw the dawn Innocents and children and the tiny bodies who laughed and then fell asleep forever And never saw the beauty of the dawn "The beauty of the dawn" – is that what we were hearing earlier, barely audible beneath the barrage? Is that what we were hearing just before this, breaking through for a moment of interstitial tranquility? Is that what is now again being occluded, as the devastation starts anew? As we move into the song's second figure, a simple back and forth between two chords, between suspension and resolution, between tension and release, between uncertain possibility and brutal fact. And we're just getting started. This onslaught will continue for another three minutes – screeching, sundering, spinning out, filling the sky till there's nothing else, nothing but its program of annihilation. And there will always be more. Just when you think it's reached the height of its aggression, it gets even louder, even heavier, even noisier, even more wild and fierce. You may, at this juncture, very well be wondering, What's the point of all this? Sure, it's impressive, and unnerving, how this music can bring such a horrific scene to life. But it is, in the end, a representation, not to be confused with the reality, which is, of course, unspeakably worse. But representations can also show us aspects of reality that reality itself obscures. And so I come back to that note of awful beauty, the silver lining in the thundercloud, an indomitable spirit that can be heard beneath everything, despite everything, amidst the blistering violence an invincible glimmer of radical hope. But this music is not meant to be triumphant. It will present us with the possibility of resilience, but not its realization. Instead, it leaves us here, in haunting suspension, for there are many who will never see the beauty of the dawn.

15 min

Reflections on the joys of discovering new music

Creator

Willie Costello
Years Active

2020 - 2025
Episodes

45
Rating

Explicit
Copyright

© Copyright Willie Costello
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The Year of Magical Listening