Blog Post 13.
“Oh, like, sad songs about space”. This is hearsay, but according to my best friend, Madison Broader, that is how Gregory Alan Isakov defines his music in a recent interview. Be right back, I’m going to read the interview for myself.
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Ok, I’m back. Solid interview of Gregory Alan Isakov by Emma John. I’ve read many interviews of Isakov because I love his music and think that, as people, he and I have some similar things going on in the fibers of our beings. I’ve been meaning to write this post since October 5th, when his new album, Evening Machines was released. Heck, I even did write it- a few times. But I was never satisfied enough with what ended up on the page. It’s because, like so many powerful and metaphorical things, Gregory Alan Isakov’s music is not easily discussed using words.
Alas, here I go.
Gregory Alan Isakov means a lot of things to me. He is very good at exposing to me parts of myself that I never knew existed, never necessarily wanted to be familiar with, but am thankful for nonetheless. His lyrics are not quotable. In fact, they sometimes border on meaningless by themselves. His music is dependent on layers and interactions- an energy that can only be curated in music. His songs are metaphors for whole emotions (and partial emotions and experiences and relationships).
This is where I get abstract:
There is a place I go in my dreams and in meditation that I call “the gray place”. Some day I will share with you a few of the experiences I have had there. But to describe this place is very difficult because it is fairly transcendent and ethereal. I call it the gray place because everything is lit by this sort of gray light that doesn’t exist on the color spectrum we are familiar with. When I’m there, I feel comfortable and unconcerned with things like time and knowledge. It is a place where I am free to explore currents of wisdom that help me to be better when I return from it. It is a single place but also many universes. Long after I became acquainted with this place, I realized that it is gray because it (being the height of wisdom or whatever) is a space wherein black and white can’t exist. You know, a metaphor for relativity.
Anyway, I think Greg knows this place. His music takes me there. His music is one of the only space-time situations I know of that mixes our world with the gray place. It’s really quite awesome.
He says in this interview that he never seeks to write a song about anything in particular. Many of the songs on this new album he wrote and realized afterward- or somewhere in the process- what the underlying theme is. My favorite quote from this interview is “Songs have a mind of their own. And I’m just following them along”. To me, that makes a lot of sense.
He is also an integral part of my relationship with my best friend, Madison Broader. She introduced me to his music and together we simply and lovingly call him “Greg”. We write letters to him and talk about what his music means. It’s interesting: for the two of us, his music means a lot of the same things, but we also each have an individual relationship with it that is completely different from that of the other.
Like myself, he identifies as an astronaut but is also avidly committed to the Earth. I think he understands that the earth and the rest of the universe are not separate entities, as our (biologically programmed to be) anthropocentric minds have led us to believe. You can feel this connection in every one of his songs. His music is cosmic yet undeniably rooted in the heartbeat of the land. This is usually something we feel in the weaving of lyrics, melody and harmony, but my absolute favorite song of his, the two-minute, nine-second track called Astronaut off The Weatherman album has lyrics that give him away:
“I work mornings in the old yard
digging in the ground
but I moonlight as an astronaut
mostly just sit around and howl…”
Imaginably, these words struck a deep, honest chord in me.
His songs, however, I don’t think I could classify as “sad”, per say. Most of them do come from a sad (or dark, very hidden) place. They are anchored by strong, somber emotions (as many of us are), but they do not sound like typical “sad songs”. They do not (necessarily) make you sad to listen to them. I think that’s an easy word to use on a moment’s notice, but the real adjective I’m searching for either completely escapes me, or doesn’t exist at all (probably the latter).
On October 5th this year, I woke up a little bit early. His album was released at midnight in the USA. My being in Spain and all (8 hrs ahead of Mountain Standard Time), meant I was one of the first people in the world to give it a listen, all the while texting Madison.
We are meeting in Paris for the first days of December to see him perform his music live. My life borders on unreal.
Kulani Sol 