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Or: Flo's sentimental education.
When I was seventeen, I was strange (but you already know that) and had no social life: I basically lived in Norway and simultaneously lived on the internet. A good thing? A bad thing? Who knows. But on the internet, I met people I really cared about (and still do, more than fifteen years later).
These people, aside from putting up with my whining and introducing me to Debaser, also contributed to my musical education. I was, at that time, in the midst of a transformation, after an adolescence of Italian rap (oh dear), I was somewhat returning to my paternal roots, with a stronger taste for moanfolk and sad acoustic guitars. A love at first sight had already been with Jeff Buckley, whom I had downloaded extensively (rarities included) after listening to Grace and of whom I knew life, death (especially), and miracles, in a full-blown monomaniacal and depressive phase.
And so, one fine day, good old Carlo Cimmino (to whom I dedicate this page), seeing my sadness, recommended and The Gospel of Progress by Micah (as well as other things, like Sufjan Stevens), with that gentle opening that is “Close Your Eyes”, the frustration of “Patience”, the resignation of “You Lost Sight on Me”, the intermezzo “Caught in Between” and the final abyss in “The Day Texas Sank to the Bottom of the Sea”, which sinks you too.
I still care for it (the album, I mean) more than fifteen years later, and I still indulge in a full immersion in melancholy. But I have to skip “The Day Texas Sank” if I don't want to cry.
Micah P. Hinson says that all the reviews of his new album still say he's sad, but he also says he's a bit fed up with being seen as the singer-songwriter with the beautiful voice and existential malaise. In short, maybe he's not that sad anymore. Or maybe he's lying to us, as the album title suggests?
We can take a hint from the rather cheerful opening with Ignore the Days, the country of Walking on Eggshells, and the somewhat cheesy covers fit for a Texan barbecue.
Yet, some things remain: the deep voice you recognize with your eyes closed (and the most detached appearances from the voice on the face of the Earth), the suggestion of a woman's body on the cover, the guitars, the piano, and some touches of despair, as in What Does It Matter Now? (which could have also been part of “And The Gospel of Progress”) or You and Me.
The themes in general aren't always cheerful: there's often talk of regrets and remorse, the (shared) feeling of having wasted youth, about abortions, the oppression of a too strict upbringing. In short, Micah is someone who has suffered and certainly can't forget it.
I don't know if I'm less sad and pessimistic than when I was seventeen. Maybe it's just a different kind of sadness, less extreme, more subdued. Less in waves, it keeps me company. Or maybe I've just gotten used to it. Is it like tinnitus?
Anyway, I like the new album overall. It's certainly not his masterpiece, I wouldn't take it to a desert island, and I'd still skip a few tracks. But surely Micah hasn't changed completely. And probably neither have I.
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