I fuckin’ hated The Decemberists until I saw them live. My mom dragged me to the show, and about halfway into playing the Mariner’s Revenge Song, they brought out a massive cardboard cutout of a whale, which galloped around the stage pretending to eat every member of the band. After that, I was hooked. So hooked, that I think I put their entire discography on a mixtape for a middle school boyfriend[1]. Early Decemberists has way too many rape fantasies for me, but in their later years they’ve kind of calmed down on that. The Hazards of Love is a narrative album, telling the harrowing, spooky story of two lovers, one kidnapped by a rake who poisoned his children, and the other held captive by a mother so caring that she turns evil.
The Decemberists are pretty well
known for these kinds of fantastical stories that they weave into their songs.
Along with banjos and keyboards and Colin Meloy’s pleasantly nasal voice. But
this album goes above and beyond their other stories. This album is 17 songs,
almost an hour long. It’s a lyrical epic. And though I don’t listen to the
Decemberists very often anymore, this album is still one of the most dramatic
and well-executed things I’ve ever heard.
The song that means the most to me
is The Hazards of Love 4: The Drowned, the very last song on the album. When I
was eleven, my father and I went to Montana to celebrate the life of my cousin
who had died the year before in an accident that left my family in a state of
shock for years. While there, we were with everyone my cousin had befriended
during his too-short life. It was the first encounter I had with death, but to
see all of the people who cared about my cousin, all the people who had
travelled across the country to be together in celebration of him is one of the
most moving things I’ve ever witnessed. I grew especially close with one person
in the group, and though he was a solid ten years older than me, he seemed to share
my taste in music. Until he told me how much he loved this song, I hadn’t given
it a second thought. Now, every time I listen to it, I feel like I’m back in
Montana, surrounded by people who knew and loved my cousin. I never got to know
him too well; his death impacted my world more than his life had. But listening
to this song, and this album, brings back the feeling of love and support
I found on that trip.
If you don’t have the patience to
listen to the whole album, or if you do listen but don’t get the story (it took
me reading the entire lyric book multiple times), I highly suggest listening to
this last song. It’s worth it.
Comments
Post a Comment