i'm not a door, i don't shrink
nick shoulders and calling sonic spaces home
Dear Rocka readers,
Boy howdy, April was a horrid month. For the first time in 2 years, I skipped a monthly newsletter. You know I’m in the trenches if I’m neglecting my golden child of creative pursuits. Please forgive me.
To say I’ve had a horrible month would be a gross understatement, but about every hour I listen to “Million Dollar Baby” and feel the force of life re-enter into my body. On today’s episode of I told y’all: I was on the Tommy Richman boat YEARS ago. Glad to have you all on board.
After years of being a fan, I finally got to see Nick Shoulders live a few weeks ago. I wrote this article for the Ann Arbor Library District’s arts and music magazine, PULP, and weaseled my way into Nick’s show at The Ark. It’s a historic venue that looks like the basement of your local church. And damn did Nick preach. Or yodel. Same thing?
I found Nick when my hands were clinging to the toxic smell of espresso machine cleaner and the only people I spoke to on a regular basis were my parents and my physical therapist. One day, when she had my head attached to a catapult sling in the back room prodding my shoulders with dry needles, I told her about “Snakes and Waterfalls.” In true Ally Hall fashion, I knew it was special but the only words I had at the time were “trust me.”
I love how authentic Nick’s music is. He’s borderline obsessed with paying homage to his heritage. Between songs, he told stories about his grandmother, the town he grew up in, and how he used to moon people as they passed by his house on boats. A childlike wonder mixed with a very adult understanding of the world and all of its cruelties make his music so joyous and so real.
The show in Ann Arbor was a few days after I got my heart broken, and I noticed it was the first time in over a year I’ve truly enjoyed being far away from my town — no strings attached. I wasn’t itching to keep anyone in the loop in a desperate attempt to connect or rush home by a certain time to make sure I had enough energy to be present. There was no pressure to share, a delightful but taxing experience. I reaped the benefits of my hard work with my friend. We ate a molasses cookie and sat silently in awe of Nick’s talent for a few hours, many miles away from our homes. That day, the “Sunday scaries” were scared of us.
In my first interview with Nick, we talked a lot about the places we’re from sculpting our lives and our work. How where we are can often determine what we are. He’s the first person who ever talked about music creating “sonic landscapes” for us to inhabit, and that’s a concept that has stuck with me ever since.
I now think of my music library as a city of sonic spaces I can visit when this life gets the best of me. There are apartment complexes of micro-genres and one-hit wonders. Boring corporate buildings with tracks I know for the sake of knowing. Rows of tangled streets that always lead me back to the historic homes filled with my classics that are forever reliable.
That’s where I am these days: in one of my old houses up in my head. I’m clinging to the peeling wallpaper of my past and also trying to make room for the parts of myself that got unintentionally got tucked away in boiler rooms of resentment and sadness. And no matter how influential people are, it’s really only music that seems to guide me in and out of the spaces that define me.
The doors in my apartment are beginning to not shut again because of the humidity. But it’s no use trying to force a door closed if its not fit to be in the frame this season. During winter, I shrunk myself to make sure it fit snugly. But its spring now and the doors are expanding. So must I.
This month’s playlist is aptly titled “party for one,” but it’s not a breakup playlist. In fact, I think I represent every relationship status with this one. I start you off with an upbeat, indie track called “Insomnia” by The Moss and have a passive aggressive groove with “Run Your Mouth” by The Marías. The spotlight track this month is RAYE’s “The Thrill is Gone.” It’s no B.B. King, but it eats. RAYE’s vocals are a mix of Amy Winehouse, Remi Wolf, and sheer sass.
I'll leave him in the past, I pray
I know it's done, it's sad to say
But the thrill is gone, it's gone away
Rocka out,
Ally
great read ally