[Listen to our June 2021 playlist on Spotify.]

When I started this playlist I wanted it to be at least somewhat thematically coherent; Summer Slow Jams for hosting friends late at night on the front porch, or perhaps a collection of Happy/Sad tunes for when you’ve got a bourbon in hand and are wistfully contemplating the fleeting nature of existence. Alas, coherence went out the door pretty quickly, and what we’ve got is a hodge-podge of songs that have been on my mind recently. These aren’t even necessarily my favorite songs, more a collection of melodies that are currently moving me, either artistically or emotionally or spiritually. In my experience, any attempt to explain how a particular piece of art has impacted me ultimately falls frustratingly short. Art as a form of expression, necessarily taps into a higher plane of human existence. The faithful would call it spiritual, but even non-believers often find themselves exploring an existence beyond data bytes, or the elements on the periodic table, something that can’t quite be explained by simple intellect.

Where the Streets Have No Name — U2
The first time I played Where the Streets Have No Name for my son he was transfixed. Jack has loved the guitar since a very young age and he stood, rooted to the floor, staring off into a world only he could see. This song tends to have that effect. Streets has been one of my favorite songs for so long, and is so layered with my own memories, that simply hearing it’s opening bars is an almost overwhelmingly emotional experience. Everyone needs a song in their life that takes them to another spiritual level. For me, this is that song. I know you have one too. So my suggestion, odd for a playlist, isn’t that you listen to my song, but that you take a few minutes to listen to your song, and revel in it.

Drive it Like You Stole It — Hudson Thames
Every playlist needs a bop that makes you want to push the edges of the speed limit, something that turns your Honda Fit (or other dad car) into a street racer –– at least in your mind. This is one of those songs, and has the added benefit of being featured in the best movie you’ve probably never seen –– Sing Street. (Seriously, if you haven’t seen Sing Street you should stop reading this playlist and go watch it)

Father and Daughter — Paul Simon
“I’m gonna watch you shine / Gonna watch you grow / Gonna paint a sign / So you always know / As long as one and one is two / There could never be a father / Loved his daughter more than I love you.”
From the beginning I wanted to be a girl dad, and I had the fortune of coming across this song soon after my first daughter was born. If you know, you know. If you don’t, well, I don’t think I can explain how perfect this song is.

A Change is Gonna Come — Sam Cooke
Released posthumously, and just a few months before the Civil Rights march from Selma to Montgomery, A Change is Gonna Come proved to be prophetic:

Then I go to my brother
And I say, brother, help me please
But he winds up, knockin’ me
Back down on my knees

There are songs that I love, but still recognize are of their moment, and will probably fade from memory as time passes. But, “Change” is a hopeful lament of such sonic and lyrical perfection that, like Beethoven and Bach, it will be remembered for centuries.

Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground — Blind Willie Johnson
“Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground” crackles with the vibrancy of life. You can hear Johnson’s fingers clicking the frets as they slide along the neck of his guitar. Johnson’s melancholic singing, no words, just vocals, is accompanied by the sound of his breathing and the air in the room. It is what it sounds like to be a human being.

It also has the distinction of being one of the few recordings included on the Voyager spacecraft, currently speeding through space beyond the furthest reaches of our solar system. Included alongside luminaries like Beethoven, Mozart, and Chuck Berry, on the off chance that it might be found by another race of intelligent beings, and cause them to wonder, “what manner of being created this?”

Jubilee — Elizabeth Mitchell
Finding music for children that doesn’t want to make the listener scoop out their eardrums with a spoon can feel like an impossible feat, but Elizabeth Mitchell pulls it off. “Jubilee” is a personal favorite. A quiet and joyful three minutes that makes me want to pick up a guitar and dance through a field of tall grasses, “swinging my true love’s arm.”

My Antonia — Emmylou Harris
Okay, this might sound weird, but in my mind Emmylou Harris is the songwriting version of Annie Dillard. Perhaps it’s because both Harris’ and Dillard’s work feel so powerfully rooted in the earth. It’s rich and loamy and burgeons with life. It makes me wonder if maybe I should pack up my family, keep bees, and be a homesteader. “My Antonia” is really a stand in for the entire album it’s found on, Red Dirt Girl, and gets the nod because of its connection with a great work of literature and delightful blast from the past duet with Dave Matthews.

Hurt — Johnny Cash
When I heard Johnny Cash was planning an album with songs covering Nine Inch Nails and Depeche Mode, I was skeptical. But in retrospect, the blame for that skepticism is solely mine to bear. “Hurt” is one of those covers that (unfortunate for Nine Inch Nails) perfects the original. It is starkly beautiful, just a man and his guitar. It is also Cash at his most exposed, both musically and lyrically, which, considering Cash’s catalogue, is really quite something.

Poughkeepsie — Over the Rhine
Choosing one song to represent my love for this band, second only to U2 in my affections, is essentially impossible. So, I’ll return to the Over the Rhine album that started it all for me; Good Dog, Bad Dog. “Poughkeepsie” perfectly captures Bergquist’s achingly gorgeous vocals and the melancholy beauty that defines so much of Over the Rhine’s catalogue. OtR has been churning out goodness for 30 years, across nearly 30 records ranging from studio albums, to live recordings, and b-side collections. There’s treasure in it all, and discovering the hidden gems buried there makes for a great Saturday.

Too Far Away — Gregory Alan Isakov
One of my favorite experiences as a writer is when another piece of art provides inspiration for my own writing. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s magic, and often the need to write in response feels more like a compulsion than a desire. Isakov’s music is hauntingly beautiful. Stark, some would say bleak, and meditative. The first time I heard this song I was immediately transported to the Michigan winters of my youth. The bone cracking cold, black tree branches slick with ice and sharp against an iron gray sky, hood pulled tight against a razor wind. It is objectively a miserable experience, but it’s home. And it inspired one of my first attempts at that elusive and mystical art – poetry.

Everything in Its Right Place — Radiohead
Every playlist needs its weird song, and for my generation and cultural background, Radiohead’s Kid A provided the appropriate level of weirdness. Kid A was somewhat of a sonic revelation for me. It’s not my favorite album and I don’t listen to it often, but it was one of those moments where the boundaries of what music could be moved drastically outward. I often mentally return to the first time I heard the opening bars of “Everything in Its Right Place,” Kid A’s first track, and it reminds me to challenge my suppositions of what writing can and should be.

Waterloo — ABBA
If you are a parent of young children I’m going to share with you one of the most valuable pieces of knowledge I’ve learned. ABBA Gold is a silver bullet when your kids are crying on a long car trip. I can’t count the number of times our kids have been fussing or fighting in the backseat, and all has been forgotten when we turn on this album. Way more effective than “don’t make me pull this car over!” It’s impossible to listen to ABBA and not be happy. Plus, I recently learned “Waterloo” is the song ABBA performed to win the Eurovision Song Contest. Speaking of Eurovision…

Husavik — My Marianne and…Will Ferrell?
You know, liking a song like “Husavik” is the kind thing that would have prompted a whole lot of self loathing when I was young and pretentious. I’m still a little pretentious, but one of the great things about aging is unabashedly embracing what you like, and I love this song. My Marriane’s vocals are transcendent. And Will Ferrell, well, you kinda just have to go with it. The lyrics about loving where you’re from are surprisingly poignant. Granted, if you’re from Iceland it’s probably fairly easy. I didn’t think I’d be tearing up at the climax of a Will Ferrell Euro-spoof in the Year of Our Lord 2020, but here we are.

Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major — Johann Sebastian Bach, performed by Yo-Yo Ma
Yeah, I went there. Putting an all time great like Bach on a playlist is kinda like recommending a painting by Michaelangelo. But one thing I’ve noticed about myself is that I often overlook the greatest works of art, and therefore the most obvious, in lieu of trying to find something new or interesting. This tendency has repeatedly led me to the somewhat amusing experience of listening to an all-time great and thinking “you know what, this Bach guy is pretty good!” I mean what else can you say, this piece for cello, performed by Yo-Yo Ma, is basically perfect.

Something About Us — Daft Punk
Every mixtape needs a nightcap, and Daft Punk provides. “Something About Us” is a delightfully infectious auto-tuned take on 70’s funk. Honestly, what else could you even want? Put it on when you get back from a night out at 2 a.m., or, if you’re like me, 10:30 p.m.