The only time I’ve seen Fiona Apple live, I didn’t even want to be there. It was the last day of school of my sophomore or junior year in high school, and I was at the show with my whole family. I wanted to be out with my friends, smoking bad weed, reigning in the summer properly instead of sitting at a show for an artist I was only kind of familiar with. When I think back on that concert, I remember thinking how Apple has the kind of changeling face that morphs with each picture, each day, and, in the context of this show where I was sitting in the way back, each minute. My memory of Fiona Apple is a tall, blurry, solitary figure on a sparse stage. In some ways, I think that’s an apt image of her. But in others, it’s starkly wrong.
I didn’t truly start getting into
Fiona Apple until I went to college. Once there, I learned more of her
backstory. Of her steadfast ability to stand up for herself in an industry that
was so intent on breaking her down. She’s abrasive and brash and stubborn, and
she is all of those things openly. In a world where celebrities are so often
just caricatures of themselves, Fiona Apple seems to be completely, honestly
herself. Her songs are biting and authentic, and she is unafraid to drag her
own shortcomings in for scrutiny.
Extraordinary Machine is my
favorite “classic” Fiona Apple album. Her newest, Fetch the Bolt Cutters, is in
a league of its own, and it still feels like such a new, raw listen, that I don’t
think I’ve processed it enough to write about it here. Fetch the Bolt Cutters
also feels like her official pardon from the music industry’s critique, as if
getting a sparkling review and 10 on Pitchfork, along with an incredible and illuminating
piece from Emily Nussbaum[1]
could erase the years of press calling her “crazy” and “unhinged.” I don’t know
if it’s still considered alternative to love and connect with Apple’s songs,
but her recent re-welcoming into the embrace of public (musical) view seems to
have softened the edges of her persona and perception.
It’s impossible not to relate to
Apple in some way. Her unguarded nature has seemingly always invited criticism,
and any sensitive kid who went through middle school can understand that sting
of rejection and hostility. But she also has an absolute knack for pin-pointing
the exact mood, theme, core, and inherent message in a song. Her music feels
like a kick and a hug at the same time. She exposes and appraises your
vulnerabilities, stripping you raw by way of stripping herself. Take, for
example, “Not About Love,” simultaneously serious and tongue-in-cheek. The music
video is Apple and Zack Galifianakis gallivanting around California. It’s
hilarious and somehow exhibits that humor while it simultaneously conveys the
pining denial that comes with being in love with someone. It’s absolutely brilliant.
Fiona Apple exploits those nuances,
those grey areas of wavering between several things at once. Her songs are
intricate, explosive, contradictory, and full of conviction. She is,
absolutely, one of the greatest song writers of all time. Even if I wasn’t appreciative
of it at the time, I’m glad I got to see her play live at least once.
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