This edition of Memory Crusades deals with an unusual type of memory that should never be treated as nostalgia, yet can’t help but be treated as such. The subject is remembering pain fondly, or in other words, embracing the memories we are hurrying to forget. It’s very hard to describe being nostalgic for a struggle, and I think I will have to chalk it up as another fine example of the irony that surrounds us; for it’s often said that the events we want most to forget are the ones we end up remembering, and being constantly reminded of, throughout a lifetime. Though you may think when I say “struggle” I am talking about embarrassing moments, trials and tribulations, or tragic events, what I am actually referring to is a more literal pain – the kind that comes from walking home at night in the winter.
Ever feel like your face was about to fall off from the penetrating cold? Do you recall a time when you felt the jolt of arctic-like chill so acutely that your nose hairs actually stood on end? What about the writhing pain of your numb hands regaining their color once you get indoors? If I had a choice, I might choose to forget these moments, yet I have been forced by a curious irony into not only accepting these memories, but also embracing those past times I have had to walk home on a winter night.
It started in college when I would walk from my architectural studio on campus back to my apartment. As was most often the case, it was late at night, at least 1:00 or 2:00 a.m., and during the winter. I would walk from campus through student housing and then along a small wooded trail that would spill out into the parking lot of my apartment complex. I was always cold and exhausted, but somehow more sharp and aware of both myself and my surroundings. I think the cold keeps the body on edge, and the mind as well, and so the memories are drawn more sharply like an icy-blade across the most delicate curvature of the spine.
The experience was only enhanced when I moved to Chicago after college. As many current and former Chicagoans can attest to, walking late at night in that city during the dead of winter when the wind is coming off the lake at the right velocity is a uniquely harrowing proposition. It’s also a strange sort of sensation- feeling the harshness of the cold night without a single other soul to be seen. Undoubtedly it’s a lonely walk, in some ways a brave walk, because it’s a bold choice to walk the streets when nobody else entertained the idea. It’s a walk made of solitude and pensive thoughts constantly being interrupted by the brittle body crying out to quicken the pace. Occasionally there may be a car’s headlights, some rustling debris on the ground, but mostly it’s just stillness.
My strongest memories are from the nights when it was especially clear outside and the moon was full, because the moon illuminates the world in a gaunt pallor and exposes the harsh wintry landscape with a piercing clarity perfectly synchronized with the piercing cold air. Looking up at that clear night’s sky and the glimmering stars has never consoled me. In fact, it has more often than not made me feel smaller and more brittle. The only form of reassurance I can recall are the hot entrails of breath that lead my body along in the cold. And also, of course, what I am playing through my headphones.
Queue the music.
The song that reminded me of this topic and inspired me to write this new entry for Memory Crusades is the opening track off of King Krule’s fantastic new album The Ooz (2017). “Biscuit Town” has the odd feeling of being made both of solace and swagger. It feels like a conflict echoing in my mind, the hollow and reverberating vocals of Archy Marshall a menacing refrain in the stillness of a dark cold night.
“Biscuit Town” by King Krule (Archy Marshall)
This entire album is great to listen to during the late hours, and in the winter. It’s clearly an aesthetic being refined by many of the most popular British Electronic bands. Andy Stott, a talented electronic producer and DJ from Oldham, has made some hauntingly dark and treacherous electronic music over his career. A good example of a cohesive aesthetic is his album Luxury Problems (2012). Archy Marshall’s peers and frequent collaborators Kai Campos and Dom Maker of Mount Kimbie have also been making great wintry night walking music. Another favorite of mine from 2017 is their album Love What Survives. However, nothing can touch their breakout album Crooks & Lovers from 2010, which has one of the most uniquely dark and atmospheric sounds ever sustained for an entire album.
It’s not surprising to see all of these British artists delving into darker, grungier, and bleak terrain. The physical environment in which we live often informs the mood, and ensuing visuals, that come to define the sound. The cold and damp weather as well as the stark and brooding landscapes of Britain probably provide a lot of inspiration for the aesthetic. The gritty shadow laden streets of London probably make a lasting impression on the musicians that inhabit them. Burial, the creation of South Londoner William Emmanuel Bevan, is one of my favorite electronic artists and the best representation of a nocturnal London. His album Untrue (2007) was, and most likely still is, my favorite album to listen to while walking Chicago on a winter night. It’s got an urban feel to it as well as a singular atmosphere that seeps into the mind and body like a good damp winter wind through a thin jacket. “Archangel” at the top of the post, is a stellar opening track to kick off the album, and “Etched Headplate” is the quintessence of Burial’s haunting sound.
It’s not just the physical environment surrounding current artists that influences them, but also the artists of the past who have inspired the current, and have most likely walked down the very same dark and dingy streets. Thinking about the British artists that impacted the current electronic artists got me thinking about the songs that I remember making the strongest impression on me during those late night sojourns of college winters. It begins and ends with Radiohead. So many walks of solitude from studio to my apartment in Manhattan, Kansas were conducted under the sound of The Bends (1995), OK Computer (1997), and Kid A (2000) that I can’t listen to “Treefingers” without remembering an exact time of night and an exact stretch of road near the KSU Recreation Center when I listened to the song and immediately thought, “this is what night sounds like.” The song feels like walking through a glittering ice castle under a starlit sky – it’s just the perfect image.
However, the Radiohead moment I treat with the most nostalgia is actually a string of songs on the back half of The Bends so perfectly placed against one another it might be considered divine intervention. That medley of songs starts with “My Iron Lung” and ends with “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”. And out of all those great songs, the one I most remember playing again and again on my wintry walks is “Bulletproof……I Wish I Was”. I think it’s the plaintive and caterwauling vocals that really transport me back to those trudging walks through the snow along that woodside trail by my apartment. I remember walking over to the gym with this one blaring with a shiny reverb so perfectly predestined for play on a solitary road in the middle of the winter night.
“Bulletproof…..I Wish I Was”, from Radiohead’s The Bends (1995)
Now it’s time to ask if others know where I’m coming from and have similar experiences with an artist, album, or song. What are your favorite winter songs? Favorite late-night songs? Or better yet, favorite late night winter songs (if you want to be uber-specific).
I always love to hear others’ favorites, especially when it comes to the ones that really feel nostalgic and help to recall the best, or worst, of memories.
