The Singer as Songwriter
ISSUE #253
Authenticity is one of those broken words—it means everything to some, nothing to others, neither party can easily define what it looks like. Detractors point to that as evidence of its worthlessness, but its lack of definition is precisely the point. There are some words that dare to gesture toward the divine, and this one represents the inherent gift to sniff out other people’s bullshit. Authenticity is our ancient lie detector test—ineffable, un-gameable, a life-saving tool. Certain people will always try to kneecap it.
Recently, those people have forced us to ask whether authorship has any value at all. What is the point of a human voice? Can it simply be eliminated? Might we be able to take one’s mouth and still crush the urge to scream?
This month, we’ve had a new song by Sufjan Stevens that harkens back to Carrie & Lowell; a Zach Bryan album that might sell stadiums and speak human at the same time; another fuzz-and-buzz single from MJ Lenderman; and a Julie Byrne masterpiece, the most cauterizing grief album since the aforementioned by Sufjan.
All artists with authenticity, screaming while they still can.
This month, we’ve had a new song by Sufjan Stevens that harkens back to Carrie & Lowell; a Zach Bryan album that might sell stadiums and speak human at the same time; another fuzz-and-buzz single from MJ Lenderman; and a Julie Byrne masterpiece, the most cauterizing grief album since the aforementioned by Sufjan.