Music Diary, Vol. 94

For the rationale behind this mad effort, the initial post is here. The full series of Music Diary posts are here. The full playlist is above, and also here.

Week of Oct. 20-26, 2025

LYRICS: Vivienne Segal (Rodgers & Hart), “To Keep My Love Alive” from A Connecticut Yankee

SONG: I can't recall the last pop song (or song in any genre, outside of literal ragtime or the show "Ragtime") that hit the dominant-seventh interval more persistently or pleasingly than this sleek Jackson Wang/Galantis jam.

ALBUM: I get itchy if I go too long without hearing Janáček's 2 different yet simpatico string quartets. Equal parts warm and anxious, soothing and unsettling, they are essential soul food. Today I'm enjoying this spirited, rangy rendition by the Talich Quartet.

LYRICS: Meredith Brooks, “Bitch”

SONG: This towering Los Fabulosos Cadillacs jam from 1994, which irresistibly weaves together Brazilian drums and ska, deserves to be revived as an antifascist anthem on behalf of today's disappeared.

ALBUM: Jay Som’s new record has grown on me slowly but surely. It blends electropop and rock textures with her usual craft and aplomb, and with a slightly harder edge that initially felt distancing but after several spins has come to seem majestic.

LYRICS: Amy Correia, "City Girl"

SONG: I'm getting strong Emmylou Harris vibes from the title track of Big Thief's most recent record. I don't think it's just Adrianne Lenker's keening vocal; the song has an ambling country cadence and jangle that wouldn't sound out of place on Wrecking Ball.

ALBUM: Just when you think you've figured out what Cécile McLorin Salvant is up to on this exquisite, high-flying concept album, she switches gears—from Francophone piano jazz to acoustic art song to baroque electropop—without losing the throughline. Stunning.

LYRICS: Johnny Paycheck, “(Pardon Me) I’ve Got Someone to Kill”

SONG: I think I've taken this gorgeous Sam Phillips ballad for granted; it almost gets lost among the non-stop bops on her great 1988 reboot record The Indescribable Wow. Today it came up on shuffle and I heard its sweeping Van Dyke Parks strings and exquisite vocal harmonies anew.

ALBUM: Some albums—most great ones, I guess—build worlds as much as they collect songs. This Björk classic takes soundscaping to a whole other level; it's not just about exotic sonic topography, it's also all about alien interiors. You can live inside this record; it will definitely live inside you.

LYRICS: Warren Zevon, "Fistful of Rain"

SONG: I've a soft spot for this Unforgettable Fire outtake by U2, which in its exuberant simplicity recalls the sound of Boy or October. It's little more than a choral sunburst circled by chiming guitar, throbbing bass, kicking drums, and that's more than enough.

ALBUM: Like Glenn Gould, Angela Hewitt has recorded Bach's Goldberg Variations twice. Also like Gould, her second pass (from 2015) is more circumspect than her first (from 1999). To prep for seeing her play tonight at 92nd Street Y, I've made a playlist interlacing both records for comparison.

LYRICS: The Flaming Lips, "Do You Realize??"

SONG: After hearing Angela Hewitt crush the Goldberg Variations last night at 92Y, I have a new fave variation: the quiet, resolute 13, almost entirely because of its final cadence, a vi6 - I change that sounds somehow contemporary to me. (It’s in G so the F’s in the pics are sharp.) 

ALBUM: I've spent the morning basking in the utterly infectious jams of Los Mirlos, a Peruvian septet from the 1970s whose sound was heavy on chorused electric guitar and percussion. Imagine surf/spy guitar over a percolating cumbia beat and you're close.

LYRICS: Ralph Stanley (Sara Evans/Billy Smith/Terry Smith), “Let It Go”

SONG: Opening today’s service at Greenpoint Reformed Church with this Marty Haugen bop. Its dancing triple meter and major/minor modes always remind me, oddly enough, of some of Richard Peaslee’s music for Marat/Sade.

ALBUM: One need not follow every turn of the narrative on this underrated Pedro The Lion concept album—about a religious family torn apart by political ambition—to come under the spell of its spare, melancholy gravity and sidelong, sardonic fury.