albums i listened to all the way through
posted this week and every week (45)
Hello, lovely listeners.
I’m staring out my bedroom window, watching as the evolving blizzard coats everything outside in a blanket of white. I don’t like to associate meanings with color, but some part of my implicit bias remembers and clings to the ease of my “white light” Christian upbringing. It wishes desperately for a blanket of white snow to cover the country figuratively too, washing four centuries of sin away.
I’m gutted and angry. So angry. Scrolling the feed makes it worse. Still, that is the strange and unfair world we live in. There is no denial left to wield or hide behind in times of abject horror. Corruption runs rampant. Lies spread fast. As my roommate says at least once a day, “The grift is real.”
I read this fascinating piece this past week from Substacker Liz Plank. A small section stood out to me in the wake of all this hellish terror:
Power doesn’t need you convinced. It needs you tired. It needs you distracted, or worse disassociated. Emotionally maxed out. And being smart right now doesn’t feel empowering. It feels isolating. Like standing still in a room that’s spinning faster on purpose, and everyone’s acting like you’re the weird one for getting dizzy.
It ends on a hopeful call to action to protect yourself and your attention, which I accept and appreciate. It seems to be all we can do these days, along with resisting in truly transformative and essential ways like the protestors in Minneapolis.
Still, I am feeling particularly blue. It was a tough week for more than a few reasons.
As of Thursday, it’s been fifteen years since my dad passed. I’ve written so much about this particular life event over the years, yet none of it clicked this week. There was no solace to be found in reflecting on that January of 2011. The only thing I could do to keep going was listen to Sinatra.
My dad loved Frank Sinatra. When I was a little girl, he would play his albums and compilations endlessly on road trips. I remember being annoyed at his insistence that I listen and pay attention.
“You’ll love this stuff one day, Abby.” He assured me.
“No waaaaaay.” I replied.
Welp. As per usual, dad was right. I do enjoy Sinatra and his contemporaries from time to time, mostly as a nostalgia play.
My father also had an undying passion for musical theatre, particularly the works of Rogers and Hammerstein. We had all the classics on VHS, along with a copy of the 1996 TV special, Rodgers & Hammerstein: The Sound of Movies.
Okay, dad. Now THESE I can get behind! To this day, I love the R&H canon. Seemed fitting I watch Richard Linklater’s 2025 film Blue Moon.
If you haven’t seen it, it follows a single fictional night in the life of lyricist and songwriter, Lorenz Hart of Rogers and Hart, played by the incredible Ethan Hawke. He is unrecognizable as Hart, somehow managing to capture both the cynical humorist and yearning romantic in a single line.
We open on Hart, washed up and semi-recovering from serious addiction, watching the end of the opening night of Oklahoma! on Broadway. Of course, he hates it. He leaves the performance early and enters the infamous Sardi’s where he proceeds to talk everyone’s ear off for the next two hours. There is bitterness, yes, but the way Hart speaks to Dick Rogers makes you realize how deep their decades-long connection went. It’s true—there is nothing like a Richard Rogers melody. For a few seconds, it transcends the limits of time and space.
The film’s dialogue lilts and tilts much like a Rogers and Hart song. It’s superb, as are the performances from Hawke, Andrew Scott, and Bobby Cannavale. I absolutely adored this film, even as someone who enjoys Oklahoma! in all its sentimental cheese. It feels like Blue Moon was made just for me, as a New York theatre lover and amateur historian. Even the E.B. White and infant Stephen Sondheim cameos made me smile :) I can’t recommend it enough.
Anyway, here are the albums I listened to all the way through this past week:
Frank Sinatra—In The Wee Small Hours (1955)X
Overall Vibe: You can’t sleep, and the weed isn’t helping anymore. You pad out to the living room, put the kettle on, and throw on a blue-flavored record. As it floats out of the speakers and into your ears, you train your eyes on the falling rain or snow outside and let lovelorn loss overwhelm you.
Why I like it and you might too: It’s classic Sinatra, just muted. He’s singing those beloved standards, all melancholy and sweeping baritones. I want to inject it straight into my veins. I read somewhere it’s considered one of the first concept albums for its propensity towards songs of the saddest of sads. Real.
Favorite Tracks: “In The Wee Small Hours of the Morning,” “Mood Indigo,” and “I’ll Never Be The Same”
I chose this album because I don’t remember my dad owning it. I wanted to try something new, and In The Wee Small Hours did not disappoint.
I quite love it, even in its more depressed moments. It’s a pleasure to be sad, indeed. Hope you all will give it a listen, even if you’re not a Sinatra fan. Do it for our beloved bisexual lyricist, Lorenz Hart. At least one of his songs is featured on this album.
Searows—Death in the Business of Whaling (2026)X
Overall Vibe: What else? You traverse the seven seas by lamplight with a broken heart, in search of something greater than yourself. Whether or not you actually find it is not the point. Rust and salt spray coat your hair, clothes, and skin like armor. In spite of everything, you know you must keep going.
Why I like it and you might too: Searows has long been compared to the likes of Sufjan Stevens and Phoebe Bridgers, with good reason. These influences make sense, but Alec Duckart’s sound and songwriting go beyond such mortal things. The material is dense. You’ll always find a new reference or aspect to appreciate upon each additional listen. Also—seeing Searows play live is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. I saw them play Mercury Lounge back in 2023, and it ruined my life (in the best way).
Favorite Tracks: “Belly of the Whale,” “Dirt,” and “Hunter”
This album operates as an extended metaphor for a few different things—death, artistic integrity, and the danger in seeking something worth finding.
Of course, the title is taken from a line in Moby Dick, “Yes, there is death in this business of whaling – a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity.” So too flow the rest of the tracks, treading water between gorgeous wave swells and serious drownings. Seafaring has served as a deep well of inspiration for many folk singer/songwriters and artists over the years (The Avett Brothers, The Mountain Goats, Fleet Foxes, etc.) yet none capture it so well as Searows does in this intimate, gravity-defying masterpiece.
In contrast to Searows’ past releases, Death in the Business of Whaling features rich and layered production stylings to compliment frontman Alec Duckart’s otherworldly vocals, thanks in large part to producer and mixing artist extraordinare, Trevor Spencer (Beach House, Fleet Foxes, Father John Misty). A mix of traditional alt rock instrumentation and classical strings make for a varied atmosphere. From the first track, you can feel yourself drifting off to sea on a whaling boat. The banjo and cello work together to create a tossing and churning effect whilst the whispered vocals suggest a lost sea shanty off in the distance.
Duckart’s skills as a songwriter are incredibly advanced for someone so young. There are several recurring symbols scattered across their writing, from falling rain, dirt, and the stars. Alec captures the natural world in the way only folk artists can—with deep appreciation and awe. I’ve loved Alec’s work for years and hope to listen for years to come.
Listen to this one as soon as you can.
Thanks for this, Abby. It seems so trivial, but I work for airline, and this storm has given me low grade angst for about a week now. My wife says it’s cause I know too much (it’s kinda my job), but Plank’s words resonate about the state of the world too. I feel like we’ve all seen too much, and that that was the goal all along. They want a broken, exhausted populace that just says “f it.” F that. if nothing else, that spite makes me want to keep going.
It’s incredible how well In the Wee Small Hours has held up, still feels incredibly relevant
Also probably one of my favourite album covers ever, one look and Can’t We Be Friends starts playing in my head