My Little Underground Essays is a place for contributors to write about basically whatever they want. Here, the rules of avoiding lyrics and focusing on sound, process, and gear are lifted. Writers might indulge in analysis of lyrics, band history, and even introduce stories from their own lives. We hope you enjoy this entry from Ari Wolf.
--Ari Wolf
I decided to write about a topic I’ve really been struggling with lately—hope in the face of an uncertain future. I know we have all been thinking a lot about mortality, illness, and what it all means lately. I have been thinking about this topic both because of Covid, and because I have been personally struggling with ongoing chronic illness. I am starting to really consider that my life might permanently be framed by forces far beyond my control, that the limitations that have been put on my life might be there to stay. That is terrifying, and really confusing, and makes it difficult for me to wake up in the morning, to be absolutely honest. So, here is my absolutely-uncool-collection of mostly throwback songs that get me out of bed and give me hope when I feel like giving up.
"Plow to the End of the Row"—Adrienne Young
I first heard Adrienne Young sing at a folk music festival in Northern California. The Kate Wolf Festival ran each year pre-Covid in celebration of the life and early death of the famed folk musician, Kate Wolf. I was sitting in front of one of the smaller stages, getting eaten to death by mosquitos in 110-degree weather, when a cute blonde girl, who looked about my age, hopped up on stage. I thought bitterly to myself, "Great, another reedy soprano who only got this gig because she was pretty." And then she opened her mouth. That “reedy soprano” is in fact an alto with a deep, transformative voice. She is an organic farmer, activist, and ecofeminist who writes all of her own songs. And she is amazing. I listen to this song because it reminds me of that moment. It reminds me I am fallible, and people can surprise me. It reminds me to let myself be surprised.
I love this song because it reminds me that sometimes the most important thing to do is to just keep going. I hear this song and it makes me feel connected to the generations who have gone before me, to all of these people who just put one foot in front of the other, who barely eked out a living in the face of tremendous obstacles, all so I could be here today. This song makes me feel hopeful, but it also really shames me out of giving up. It reminds me that the only life I have to live is mine, but I have to actually really live that life, to try my best, and believe that means something important and even beautiful.
"Silent All These Years"—Tori Amos
Tori Amos was my adolescent, power-girl, feminist accompaniment. Before I encountered Gender Studies, before I found Queer Theory, Tori Amos existed. I heard her for the first time on the radio I guess, can’t really remember. She filled the voice inside me, and she sang about that void. She is beautiful and ferocious and difficult and the type of singer who wrote a song about being gang-raped after a concert. I listen to her when I need a pep talk from the universe.
Also, she is still touring, still playing two pianos front and back at one time, still gorgeous, and still owning her own sexuality and voice like no one’s business. She is who I want to be when I grow up, the part of me that is not afraid to shine. I listen to her music not to tell me that everything’s going to be okay, but to remind me that of course nothing is okay, and I am not crazy for thinking that.
"Wavin Flag"—K’Naan
This song always makes me want to get to my feet and start cheering. I have not been a humanist for most of my life, and I am not sure I am one now. I am horrified by most of what human beings are capable of doing to each other. But every once in a while, I listen to this song, and it makes me feel triumphant. It reminds me how powerful human beings can be, and that power can be used in amazing, creative, artistic build-you-up ways, rather than being used to harm other people. This is my fight song.
"The World’s Greatest"—R. Kelly
I debated whether to include this song by R. Kelly. Obviously, R. Kelly has done, or at least is accused of doing, some really terrible things. I stand by the accused, and please, #believewomen. However, I personally have decided that I find it inspiring that even very violent and abusive human beings can create great works of art. This song carried me through an awful lot of really terrible things when I was a kid. It made me feel like I could be heroic and valiant in the face of abuse and suffering. So, I decided to keep this song, in honor of that confused and fucked up and destructive kid I used to be, who was trying as hard as she could to survive. This song reminds me that, as Mary Oliver once wrote, “in every heart there is a god of flowers, just waiting.”
"Go the Distance"—Hercules
Speaking of valiant, don’t judge! But I decided to include a Disney film song. Yup, I did. Because I still listen to this song to this day, and it still makes me cry. I was that kid who never quite belonged, who thought about the ‘right thing to do’ at ages when the other kids around me were mostly just thinking about how to get their parents to give up the car keys. I was that kid who really wanted to run away to become a good-hearted and noble knight and was truly disappointed to learn that The Round Table is no longer a thing. But this song reminds me that there are always ways to be a hero, wherever you are, whatever the realities of your life. There is always some small way to help other people, even if it’s just to help them feel less alone. And listening to this song gives me hope that maybe, someday, I’ll find my people. That maybe we’re all just on our journeys, trying to get back to where we belong. We need to be kind to each other on our way and be kind to ourselves too.
"Hero"—Mariah Carey
I listen to this song when my body is swollen and inflamed, and eating anything hurts, and wanting to get out of bed or not is really not the point because I just can’t. "Hero" makes me feel like my own small life is worth something and is valuable and meaningful, even if the only thing I can do with that life is keep breathing through the pain. I’m including this song here to remind y’all reading this that being a hero is something you get to define for yourself. For some of us, just somehow scrapping together the energy to make a phone call to a friend or reach out for support on our worst days is pretty dang heroic. And for other folks, who will never experience that kind of pain, I hope you can listen to this song and think about what you can do to be a hero for someone around you who might be suffering in ways you can’t see. Sometimes the heroic thing is to keep living in the face of extreme pain and suffering. Sometimes the heroic thing is to be willing to see that pain, and not turn away.
"Hands"—Jewel
This was the first song that really hit me in the sternum when I was growing up, the first time I knew I wanted to sing. That happened long before I had anything I really even wanted to say. "Hands" came along a very long time before I found my place in this world, though I guess I’m still looking for that in a lot of ways. Jewel is this woman who left her family and her hometown to travel across the country and sing when she really didn’t know how that would end. Her story makes me feel brave and hopeful. Her songs make me feel like these ideas I’ve learned in Sociology classrooms, about interconnection and ecofeminism and fighting power, these ideas actually have meaning. I listen to her sing this song and feel like she’s putting into practice these same ideas I’ve been studying.
I also think this particular music video opens up a place in this world for those of us who just can’t see the beauty in this world, at least not today. For those of us who look around and see the ambulance and the people dying, rather than the stars or the snow. For those of us who can’t look away. Or even for those of us who live with the pain of things that have happened to us in our bodies, who are the ambulance and the people dying. This song is like one magic counterpoint to all the people who bemoan ‘heaviness’ and ‘toxicity’ and who want pain and death and trauma to go away, so they don’t have to look at it. Jewel manages to make that pain beautiful, and exquisite, and worth seeing. She makes it a good and brave and noble thing not to look away. She honors both people like me, who empathize with people suffering and can’t bear to stop seeing them, as well as people like me who are deeply suffering and don’t have the choice not to see it because it’s in the mirror every day.
"Forever Young"—The Pretenders (Cover)
I love the lyrics to this song, but I chose the cover specifically because I discovered this song as part of the soundtrack to the movie Free Willy 2. Yup, I was that kid obsessed with endangered species and global warming—pretty cool, right? For folks who have not seen it or need a refresher, the film is about an oil tanker that crashes and destroys a beautiful cove on the Northwest Coast, killing the many animals that live there. As if that weren’t bad enough, greedy aquarium owners come along to try to steal orcas out of their natural habitat and make money off the tragedy. Naturally, the kids have to stop them. I appreciated both the message of the film and the fact that the kids were the only ones who saw what was going on, and they took it upon themselves to try to fix it. I really feel like our generation will decide the entire fate of our planet. And I think this film actually has a really vital message there (go with me on this): we are going to have to be the ones to do it. We can sit here forever trying to convince the baby boomers to come fix everything, to fix the mess they made, but they’ll never do it. Why would they? They’re making money from the oil tanker crash and they don’t care about the lives ruined in the process. We’re going to have to be the ones who care. We’re going to have to be the ones who decide to value the natural world, and then we’re going to have to be the ones to fight for it, and win.
This film reminds me of all those things. And those closing credits, orcas leaping in their natural habitat, are just unforgettably beautiful. That is a different kind of beauty than what we’ve all been taught to value. It’s not diamond rings and perfectly centered Instagram-ready pie, it’s the world as it could be, as it should be. It’s human beings finding a place in this world that does not require destroying other species or tearing apart our own lives trying to be pristine and sanitized. It’s something real.
"Michael Row Your Boat Ashore"--Peter, Paul, and Mary
I’m going to go ahead and go on record as saying I have no idea what this song is about. I learned this song for a recent queer artists' showcase and I still don’t really understand it. It’s an old folk song, sung here by some of my favorite performers, the old folk trio Peter, Paul, and Mary. I mean, I grew up with this song. I think the first ever “music video” type thing I ever saw was a VHS tape video of these folks singing this song to a live audience. I have sung this song more times than I can count as part of the Gonda Choir in Rochester, Minnesota. And yet, I still don’t understand. Who is Michael? Why is he rowing a boat? Why do I care? What does it all mean? I still don’t have the answers to these questions. But I can tell you that this song fills up my chest with wonder and makes me feel connected to other people. It reminds me that none of us can do this thing alone. I suppose this song makes me feel that we are, all of us, trying to get somewhere, and we hope that at the end there will be trumpets sounding and someone will be happy to see us. But in the meantime, before we get to the castle and they throw a feast in our honor and award us a medal for our bravery, we’ve got each other, and we’ve got the choice to sing the best we can. To give each other the gift of music, while we are here.
"Singing for Our Lives"—Holly Near
And that brings us to our last song. I listened to Holly Near perform at a tiny Unitarian Church just across the street from the synagogue I grew up in. At the time, my synagogue was this very old-fashioned and stuffy kind of place, led by a rabbi and cantor who were both old white men. The entire Board was old white men. I was the kid who read feminist fantasy novels in between the pages of the Siddur, the holy book. I was the kid who asked irritating questions about morality and politics in the Torah, but since I was a girl, the rabbi basically shushed me and then went on like nothing happened. In other words, I was pretty fed up with religion. And I was a really angry kid because my life was filled with old white men who thought they could bully me out of having an opinion, all in the name of patriarchal religion.
I have no idea why my family happened to go to this small concert, but we did. I think I was at that age where my parents were just grateful I wanted to do anything at all with them. So, I asked for tickets and we went. And Holly Near sat on the stage, talking about her 10-year queer relationship with another woman, and talking about feminist radical politics. She was an elder even then, but damn, was she beautiful. I think that’s the moment when I decided it was okay to be all those things—feminist, queer, radical, a singer who invested in my talent but not in hair extensions and couture clothing. Holly Near came to that performance in a long-sleeve button-up shirt and jeans. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
The song title really says it all, here. The lyrics are maybe a little old-fashioned, in how they describe race and queer identities, I will definitely stipulate that. But—there is something so sweet here, so innocent almost, innocent in the hopeful rather than the white supremacist kind of innocent. In the end, we will be known by the things we say and the actions we take. I feel like Holly Near is telling me to make those things count. To pay attention to the people around me and the chances I have to make a difference, even in a small way. To recognize that I am part of the body politic, and the things I do have a cultural and political impact. Mostly, I think she’s telling me that we are, all of us, desperate in some ways; panicking in the face of a dying world, and all in pain. But we have to try our best anyway.
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