2001 // Rilo Kiley, Take Offs and Landings // “Always”
Review: Pitchfork
This is how you used to do things at the turn of this century, if you were a certain kind of indie rock band. Your band self-released an EP (1999), then maybe you did most of the soundtrack for a crummy indie film. It certainly didn’t make you an overnight success, but it got you on tour and gave you enough money to self-record and self-release a whole album (2001). That album catches the notice of an up-and-coming indie label almost immediately, and they distribute the record for you, but you don’t stick with them to record another album.
Instead, you record one album for another rival indie label (2002) that’s more simpatico to your sound, tour endlessly, get a good review in The New York Times, get some songs on a little TV show called “The O.C.”, build a rabid, enthusiastic fan base.
And then you sign with a major. Or, well, you can’t possibly sign with a major and keep your cred and your audience — plus, your members have other bands or solo projects that still rely on the indie market, so you start your own imprint under the aegis of the major label (2004). Then it all doesn’t really matter anymore because you probably sold more records on the indie than you did for the major and the label’s restructuring to cut costs, so gone is the imprint that was supposed to give you “artistic freedom,” and you’re a major-label artist (2007).
That’s the version of the story that Rilo Kiley ended up with, thanks to hard work, luck, talent, and great songwriting — and the fact that they had a great backstory. Frontwoman Jenny Lewis and lead guitarist and occasional lead vocalist Blake Sennet were former child stars — priceless currency in the days when that kind of obscure background was what you needed to get the attention of press and listeners.
I feel I should also mention that from the beginning, they put on a great live show — even when it was for just 20 people, half of whom were more interested in what was going on at the bar.
I used to spend a lot of time in used CD stores in Austin, especially Cheapo. I had this weird system, which is one I mostly employ to this day, though it doesn’t seem to work as well as it used to. I would listen to new records based on whether or not I liked the band’s name. If the album’s cover art was appealing, all the better — it was bumped to the front of the queue.
Rilo Kiley’s Take Offs and Landings was one of those records. Or, at least, I think it was — that’s the version of the story I’m sticking with, anyway. I do remember that I was immediately hooked by Jenny Lewis’ vocals, and most importantly, the lyrics.
In early 2001, I was 25, and living the ideal post-collegiate life in Austin. Thanks to the fact that everyone I knew — lovers, neighbors, co-workers — was a total fucking music nerd, my taste in music was rapidly improving. These were the days of Audiogalaxy (we were so over Napster aready!) and … LiveJournal. The little circle of friends I made online were always full of recommendations, too. Passing around mix cds and band names and zines was still kind of secret and wonderful. We made endless fun of the reviewers at that little web site Pitchfork and their stupid number-graded reviews. And the day you stumbled across your new favorite band on Epitonic while doing data entry at your boring desk job was always a very good day indeed.
Thing was, though I heard lots of really lovely music, thanks to my weird aesthetic selection requirements, I very rarely heard anything I could really connect to. (For some reason, I feel the need to mention here that my favorite “great name, nice album art” discovery was His Name is Alive’s Ft. Lake.) Most of the time, I was listening to a lot of Rufus Wainwright and Elliott Smith and Neutral Milk Hotel and Magnetic Fields and Roxy Music and Brian Eno and The Smiths, all fantastic stuff that I still love. But there was something missing that my Joni Mitchell and Carole King and girl group records weren’t quite providing, either.
Rilo Kiley filled that void. Here was a world-weary girl, just a few months older than me, who had the distant, almost bored affect of a French ye-ye singer — and she was singing about all the stuff I couldn’t vocalize. Venting about fear of failure. And boys who were fickle. And heartbreak. And not knowing how to be a responsible adult. And Blake’s songs, often hated by Jenny’s hardcore fans, sometimes hit me in the gut even more firmly; it was one thing to know another girl felt this way, but it was even more remarkable to see what a boy, the mysterious other, was in the same boat, too.
Which is to say, for years, I pretty much processed a great deal of my emotions through Rilo Kiley songs. It was easy not to think about all these vaguely traumatizing things, and let someone else do all the hard work.
And there are days, even now, when I’ll put on this record, or The Execution of All Things, or More Adventurous, peek back to where I was in 2001, 2002, 2005. It’s not always pretty, but often necessary. This is hard for me to say as someone who both loathes nostalgia and often unintentionally rewrites my own past thanks to the fact that I have a really terrible memory. Generally, relistening to Rilo Kiley now is almost always a conduit to bad memories. But if I dig a little deeper, I’ll remember that more often that not, these records kept me company on lonely night drives and all the boring work days when I was actually becoming the person I am today. Which is to say, I guess I’ve finally realized, after all these years, that the sum total of those bad memories isn’t all that I have to offer the world.
Notes:
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ifightevil reblogged this from superseded and added:
While More Adventurous will likely be...genuine affection
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