"This Year" is a series of weekly posts, each about one song from one year of my life. See the introduction for more.
2011 is the second year with two choices, after 1982. Last week was 2011a, and next week will go right to 2013. I make no apologies for bending my self-imposed rules to fit my own fancies.
I could have put the two 2011 songs together into one post. There's enough thematic similarities, to my ear at least, to justify it. But the whole point of this series is to write about one song a week: why break that?
And I couldn't decide between the two of them. And I had nothing nearly as strong for 2012. So I'm here again, with another song from 2011.
This is another slow-build song, but it breaks out more directly. There's a moment where the guitar leaps forward, nearly three minutes in: almost screaming, screeching, crying out. The lyrics are over, the song has said what it has to say, and now is the time for sound. It's a magnificent moment, a great solo - I always love music willing to teeter on the edge of noise, unfazed by the possibility of falling over the edge.
My other song for 2011 is Civilian by Wye Oak. It's a love song...in the way a lot of the things I've been writing about are love songs. Which is to say: the twists and tangles of relationships, the complicated feelings and pasts we all bring to each other.
Perfectly able to hold my own hand
But I still can't kiss my own neck
There are things you just need other people for, no matter how much you wish you didn't. And things you need from other people because they're just not in you.
I know my faults
Can't live with them
The song doesn't explain why it's called Civilian. That's the last word of the lyrics, repeated: the first time, the only time we hear it. My guess is it's the usual thing with calling other people "civilians" - they're not part of this group, they haven't been through what we've been through.
If so...this is a song by a woman. I think it might be men who are civilians. All of us. All the time.
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