#9: A walk

And the longest companion playlist to date

May 13, 2022

Bubbe and Poppa listened to lots of bossa nova. I learned that recently when I played Luiz Bonfá’s “Pernambuco”' on a car ride with my dad. His parents are and were complicated people. For part of their childhoods they were neighbors on Long Island. Allegedly, Poppa proposed to Bubbe by throwing a paper bag with a ring in it at her. Poppa was that kind of firebrand person, I think. He worked as a fledgling entrepreneur; no one was going to tell Poppa what to do. He hustled to keep himself and his family—my family—going. Bubbe loves to tell about him, along with as much family lineage as she can trace. Grandma and Grandpa, on my mom’s side, are considerably less free-spirited. Even so, Grandpa is a wonderful storyteller, usually punctuating with a cheeky punchline. Grandma is the most nurturing person I know, with all the feistiness in the world. For a while, both Bubbe and Grandpa urged me and the rest of the grandkids to ask questions and take note of their stories. It makes sense, seeing as everyone’s over 85 by now (I count myself very lucky for this). But there’s something strange, a little scary, in opening that box of memories, even more so recording them for posterity. It feels like the approach to an ending–I don’t want to entertain that. Beyond the fatalistic, I find it difficult to wrap my mind around their more advanced perspective; at 23, I view my life as a collection of small moments. I wonder if Bubbe and Grandma and Grandpa feel the same.

I crave stories of my grandparents’ years that illuminate them as people, outside of our family. I recognize how nosy and demanding that sounds. But I catch glimpses thinking of Bubbe and Poppa dancing to Sergio Mendes & Brasil ‘66 in their living room in the 60s. Or when Grandma recognized the song I played in the car from an old movie and hummed it until she could remember the title (she has a beautiful voice). Grandpa worked as a busboy at a resort in the Catskills over his college summers; he stressed the importance of tips when I worked weekends at a Thai restaurant. Poppa worked some of the same jobs, but he hustled ping pong with the staff for extra cash. I cherish these small windows into their younger lives, especially as I grow a little older. It helps to know the mundane and even the bad in difficult moments.

Seeing elder family as independent people carries even more weight for me in the absence (at least emotionally) of my mom. Her physical and mental health changed quite massively over my time in high school, such that by the time I left for college I couldn’t lean on her for advice or experience. There’s no guarantee we would have the open, vulnerable relationship I imagine, as she always impressed upon me that she was my mom and not my friend. She never wanted to show me weakness, although she cried often. This is not to say she wasn’t my champion. I know how fiercely she loves me, but after a few years without her care, my memories feel a bit warped. I still want to know about the highs and lows and boring bits of her life, in her own words.

I wish I could tell my mom that one of the hardest days of my life (thus far) was the day I found out she couldn’t attend my graduation from Wesleyan. It was a likelihood for weeks, but to hear it confirmed just sucked. There’s no better way to say it: it sucked. I felt awful. I’d talked to my dad about it in the morning, cried for a bit, stewed in anger a little longer, and eventually got up and took a hike. Literally. I listened to three albums while I walked to Wadsworth Falls alone. It was a destination I’d been meaning to see for weeks, especially once I’d finished my thesis. My therapist’s words, that there would never be a “perfect day” to go, stuck firmly in my head as I packed a liter of water, a snack, a book, and a disposable camera. I dug out workout clothes and took off, headphones still glued to my ears like strange propellers. And I loved the park. I saw tadpoles! And then a guy in a Porsche harassed me. No such thing as a perfect day. I’m still proud of myself for going. As it happens, that was a year ago today.

A couple weeks later, Grandma got food poisoning the night before graduation and couldn’t attend. I was briefly crushed. But Grandpa, my dad, and my sister were still there, and in the morning I got a very sweet text from Grandma. She called me her brave girl. I’d never thought of myself that way.

I wonder if Grandma sees herself as brave. Now when she looks at me, I can see her pride. I would love to meet her at 23. Bubbe and Grandpa and Mom too.

Some motivational hiking music

Luiz Bonfá, “Pernambuco” (1959)

Very understated, short, acoustic, with lots of bossa nova swing–I heard “Pernambuco” for the first time driving up Mount Greylock and I put it on anytime I need some subtle good vibes.

Francis Lai, “Un homme et une femme - Instrumental” (1966)

Props to Ben for showing me this one. Buttery smooth and easy to listen to if you ever find yourself driving your grandparents somewhere.

Erik Hall, Music For 18 Musicians (Steve Reich) (2020)

This album carries some significance in the world of contemporary classical music: for the first time, one musician has played all the parts, in this case using buzzy electronics layered atop one another. The effect is quite groundbreaking, both in American music history and in driving me (maybe you too) out of a funk. Hall infuses a driving sense of purpose into every movement, every pulse even. If you’re not familiar with Steve Reich’s work, or the minimalist style of music composition, Music For 18 Musicians is a fantastic point of entry. Even if you don’t want to go deep on the philosophy behind the composition, it is perfect for a study session or a long walk or any period of time where you want music to underscore your thoughts. (Coincidentally released on my 21st birthday!)

Adrianne Lenker, songs (2020)

I can’t say enough good things about songs, especially as a reformed non-fan of Big Thief and Adrianne Lenker (I blame Spotify for constantly recommending “Paul” and not one of their better songs). songs details Lenker’s breakup and subsequent self-exploration. It takes simple ideas and simple instrumentation and damn near makes you cry with its authenticity. In 2020 I wrote, “I could listen to her hum and pluck chords for hours on end.” I stand by that! As a corollary, I highly recommend the companion album instrumentals. It’s 40 minutes more of Lenker tinkering with her guitar outside, somewhere rural. Another wonderful ambient work.

Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavilion (2009)

Merriweather Post Pavilion is the only full album I’ve had downloaded on Spotify in all the years I’ve had an account. Since I first listened to it in late 2017, I put it on whenever I take a journey. To wit, Animal Collective have been my travel companion on many a flight, train ride, and walk. I found MPP an easy point of entry for the band as it fuses poppy melodies with their typical psychedelia and world influence. Where Music For 18 Musicians stimulates and songs soothes, Merriweather Post Pavilion settles the anger and frustration and flips it into a contented comfort. At least it does for me. Turn it up loud and enjoy.

This week's playlist

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