I thought I lost this recording a couple apartments ago, but found it buried in my Dropbox. “Dear Chicago” was too difficult for me to learn on guitar, so I came up with this piano arrangement. It’s a bummer, but ultimately hopeful, and one of my favorite songs by any artist.
Beach Reading Season has arrived! Like a group of white people that’s never heard of Hawaii, my family and I will be spending the last week of June in sunny Florida, embracing our inner beach bums. Will I engage in the summer pastime known as beach reading? You bet your ass I will.
Perhaps you’re wondering, What is beach reading? There are many schools of thought on the subject, but I maintain there are four criteria to be met for something to qualify as a Beach Read. *Ahem*
- It must be short.
- It must be funny.
- If it does not meet criteria #2, it must make the reader look smart and/or trendy. Or at the very least, give the impression the reader subscribes to The New Yorker.
It’s small enough to fit in the back pocket of your cut-off jeans.
- What follows is my fool-proof guide to your best Beach Reading Life.
@Cottoncandaddy is a Twitter account, something much better and shorter than a book. Written by Gracie Hoos, a witty twenty-something in Canada, this Twitter feed will have you obnoxiously laughing on the beach as you sip a Mai Tai, the other would-be beach readers all dying to know what you’re reading. In short, @cottoncandaddy is funny, attractive, and has a very cute dog!
What’s more beach read-y than a podcast? Nothing, especially when that podcast is This Sounds Serious, an eight-part, fictional-crime podcast that satirizes Serial et al., while being equally engaging and much funnier. In 2007, Orlando weatherman Chuck Brondstadt was found dead in his apartment after being killed with his own waterbed. Who did it? Was it his eccentric identical twin brother? A rival weatherman? Maybe a former member of an Atlantis cult?? The final episode drops June 19th, so get your binge on! If anyone asks what you’re listening to, say, It’s a compelling audio drama à la S-Town. Haven’t you heard of it?
Perhaps you left your Kindle at home, or maybe you’re on the lam to avoid paying your exorbitant library fines. Don’t worry, fearless Beach Reader, Netflix is here to save the day. Nailed It! is a competition cooking show, in which amateur bakers attempt to recreate pastry masterpieces. The fun part is none of them are particularly skilled, and they have very limited time. Whoever is closest to nailing it wins $10,000! This is better than a book because you can imagine fun stories about the contestants, like, How did this person ever get the idea they could bake? Are all of their friends gaslighting them while spitting half-chewed cupcakes into their napkins? Next thing you know, you’re writing a breezy thriller about a cooking-show contestant who has to solve a delectable murder before their time is up. Who needs Beach Reads when you can Beach Write, am I right?
Until next month,
P.S. This mailing list is one year old! Hooray! I don’t have any cake, but I do have tremendous gratitude. Many thanks to all of you for subscribing, reading Birthday Suits, and being excellent people.
I’ve been putting off this month’s mailing list, mostly because May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I felt like I should address it, didn’t want to, and then learned that Scott Hutchison had committed suicide.
If you’re familiar with Birthday Suits, you probably realized I’ve been dealing with mental health issues for some time, specifically depression and anxiety, since I was 18. I’ve been on medication since then, and when an ex asked me why I wouldn’t consider going off my medications I said, because I like being alive.
Comedian Chris Gethard has pointed out that no one ever tells a cancer patient they should try stopping chemo, but mental health patients deal with this all the time. Depression may not seem as immediately life threatening, but it absolutely can be. People are sometimes shocked when they learn I was hospitalized for suicidal ideation several years ago. Maybe because I seem “normal.” Everyone I met in the hospital was “normal,” as normal as all of you. Considering that one out of five people experiences mental illness, and suicide is the third leading cause of death for individuals aged 10 to 24, mental illness is alarmingly normal, although never recognized as such. That’s why I wanted to write about Scott Hutchison.
On Thursday May 10th, Hutchison was found dead on the banks of the Firth of Forth after an apparent suicide. He was 36 years old, and the singer and guitarist for Frightened Rabbit. This news would’ve saddened me even if Frightened Rabbit weren’t one of my favorite bands, but what’s heartbreaking is that Scott Hutchison has written so many beautiful and eloquent songs about his own depression that have provided me enormous comfort. He was able to think through his mental health to create gorgeous music, but ultimately couldn’t think or create away his depression. No one can. He sent these tweets shortly before he went missing on Tuesday:
The details of Scott Hutchison’s diagnosis or the extent to which he wasmentally ill are beside the point. What matters is he would’ve benefitted from talking to someone, and for whatever reason felt unable to do so. Considering how many people are affected by mental illness, it’s devastating Hutchison couldn’t or wouldn’t get the help he needed. Talking about mental illness is never easy, but that’s why it’s so important. If you need help, there are numerous resources available. Never forget how much you matter, especially on the days when you think you don’t matter at all. If you think someone you know is in need of help, reach out to them. A simple text of “hey, how’s it going?” can often do wonders. If you can’t get a hold of that person, keep trying. Don’t let them go.
BUT NOT EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE. The few people who’ve finished reading the latest draft of The Mechanic have been very complimentary, even though the moment my mother finished it she called to make sure I was okay. (I should probably start thinking of it as a horror novel.) I’ve also made tentative steps on a new project, something I’ve been thinking about for a while but is easily the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. Fingers crossed.
I also have a new job! I know all of you were dying to cross that off your list of concerns. As of May 7th I am employed as a technical writer for a software company. I guess all of this is to say that I was intensely depressed for much of 2017, but I’m now in a good place. Getting help for mental illness doesn’t mean I no longer have bad days. It means I know what to do when the really bad days bite me in the ass.
Until next month,
For longer than I’ve called myself a writer, I’ve been overly preoccupied with the question “Which is better, the book or the movie?” For many years I thought books were always superior. This is largely because I’m a control freak, and books are movies I direct in my head. It’s jarring to see a story you’ve lovingly rendered in your mind subjected to the vision of someone else. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, because the film Annihilation was released last month, and it is arguably superior to the novel of the same name.
Annihilation succeeds by only using the book as a starting point on its way to becoming an entirely unique thing. Sort of like when you hear a cover of a favorite song, and you realize the cover is much better than the original. Part of me always knew that the question of “which is better” doesn’t matter, and I’m now certain that is true when the adaptation is done effectively.
Annihilation is a novel by Jeff VanderMeer, the first book in an excellent science-fiction trilogy. My interest in the film stemmed from my love for these books, but also as someone who wants to write bestselling books and see them adapted into excellent movies. What is so interesting about the Annihilation adaptation is that it honors the spirit and ideas of the books while telling a very different, equally compelling story. To achieve one of these in a film adaptation is rare enough, but Annihilation’s success at reaching both is remarkable.
Part of this film’s success as an adaptation might stem from the fact writer/director Alex Garland began working on it shortly after the trilogy’s first book was published. Apparently, he started writing the screenplay without realizing two later books were slated for publication. While the differences between the book and film are pretty radical, they always work in the film’s favor. Somehow, no matter how far the film diverged from the novel, it always felt part of the world those books had allowed me to inhabit. At the same time, it doesn’t make sense to compare Annihilation to its source material, because they are so different. This is a confusing contradiction, but it’s so exciting to see a book’s limits utterly surpassed in such a satisfying way. The movie accomplishes several things the book simply can’t, and remains self-contained. I’d be amazed if Garland decided to adapt the other two books in the trilogy.
So which should you choose, book or movie? Frankly, both. I don’t even think it matters whether you watch the movie before the book, which is something I never thought I’d say. However, while the book is scary and unnerving in a more cerebral sense, the movie is downright horrifying. It reminded me a lot of Alien, which is perhaps the best sci-fi horror film ever made. If that’s not your thing, I’d still recommend the book.
Questions of book vs. movie have been on my mind since I’m about halfway through editing The Mechanic. I’ve of course thought of who I’d want to direct the film adaptation (Jordan Peele), and had a few ideas for who will play the lead (Zoë Kravitz or Letitia Wright). Whether or not any of that comes to pass is beside the point, but it’s fun to think about.
Until next month,
Looking at the title you might be thinking, “Isn’t that what Evan does every month?” You are correct, but I typically write about things most people are interested in. Today, in honor of the 29th anniversary of my birth, I will be writing about my most cherished of obsessions, the music of Ryan Adams. Specifically his album 29, and the song “Carolina Rain.”
Adams’ 29 is the final installment in a trilogy of records he released in 2005, and it is by far the weirdest record of the three, and maybe even of his entire career. Adams has claimed the album is a loose concept album about his twenties, with each song about a single year. That’s like saying Batman comics are about a guy whose parents were killed; there’s much more going on, and it’s a bit of an undersell.
The album opens with the blues burner “29” and ends with the fragile and biblical “Voices.” In between the record ranges between lush piano numbers (“Nightbirds”), Spaghetti Western flourishes (“The Sadness”), and the murder balladry of “Carolina Rain,” one of my absolute favorites of all of Adams’ songs.
On one of my live recordings of this song, Adams introduces it by saying, “This next song is about a ghost, and several people that… die.” The characters include a waitress, a dead landlord, Caroline, her husband Alderman Haint, Caroline’s sister Percy, Percy’s husband the narrator, and a recently deputized sheriff.
The song relates the story of a drifter who arrives in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, falls in love with Caroline, and then marries Caroline’s sister “if only to be closer to you, Caroline.” Along the way we learn Rose is a prostitute who reveals the truth of Caroline and the narrator’s relationship to Alderman. Alderman is subsequently murdered and thrown into the quarry, where his misplaced rosary alerts the sheriff that something is amiss. Oh, but before that, both of Percy and the narrator’s daughters die. Then the narrator is killed outside the banquet hall as the song ends.
To say that I’ve become obsessed with this song since first hearing it is a bit of an understatement. In college, I attempted to adapt “Carolina Rain” into a short story. My writing workshop responded with, “This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.” To which I said, “I know! Isn’t it great?”
It’s unclear who exactly killed Alderman Haint, and sometimes I’m convinced he’s the landlord offed by Rose at the song’s beginning. Other times I think the narrator killed Alderman, and the nameless landlord was murdered only to set the stage for the bloodshed to come. But that would mean the narrator was killed for a murder he didn’t commit, which seems to defy the song’s fated logic. I’ll never be sure either way, which is what draws me back to “Carolina Rain” again and again.
Somehow, Adams manages to reinvigorate a traditional folk song form with all sorts of postmodern weirdness, and the result is utterly lovely despite its abundance of death. Death is one of 29‘s major preoccupations, which isn’t surprising since it was written by a man on the cusp of his thirties. The album’s cover is a painting by Adams, seemingly showing Death leading a group of people to a house to do God knows what. I like to imagine Death’s three followers as Alderman Haint, the song’s narrator, and maybe the landlord or Rose, all of them following Death hoping to learn who exactly killed whom. Whatever they find in that house, I bet it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.
New jam up on Bandcamp.
Out of the numerous shitty months we’ve had thus far in 2017, October is well on its way to being the shittiest of the year. What happened in Las Vegas is horrifying, but this isn’t the place nor am I the person to tackle the issue. (Ta-Nehisi Coates? You there?) I’m far more qualified to talk about October’s other major bummer: the passing of Tom Petty.
For most people my age, Tom Petty was a legacy rock act you didn’t need to seek out because his music was so ubiquitous, sort of like seeing Coors Light stashed in the cooler at your neighbor’s backyard barbecue—it’s always around and you enjoy it on occasion. The Beatles have a similar status, but while the Fab Four tend to foster wild devotion, Petty instead had legions of people who maybe didn’t love all of his records but loved at least one of his songs.
I first recognized the excellence of Tom Petty’s songwriting when I was seventeen or so. My sister was in involved in her college’s equestrian team, and a prospective student had sent Allison a video of her horseback riding chops set to Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’.” For some reason I watched this shameless self-promotion over Allison’s shoulder, probably to see if the rider in question was attractive. The video had been edited so Petty sang the line, “Loves horses, and her boyfriend too,” right as the rider and horse landed a jump in slow motion.
I said something like, “That’s a bit of an obvious song choice.”
To which Allison said, “But she loves horses before her boyfriend. That’s important.”
That moment has stuck with me every time I’ve sat down to write anything. The details matter, especially in what order they arrive, and few songwriters understood that as well as Tom Petty. In that one line he said far more about this “she” than maybe the whole rest of the song put together. It’s those details that give listeners and readers a world to inhabit, characters they’ll never meet but who feel intimately known. Tom Petty could’ve only written “Free Fallin’” and I still think he’d be one of the greatest songwriters America ever produced. The lines “All the vampires walking through the valley / Move west down Ventura Boulevard” offer the kind of immortality no heart attack will ever take away.
Part of Tom Petty’s charm for me was that he was so goddamn good without being particularly attractive. His voice was just whiny enough to remind you of Bob Dylan, but his songcraft was so impeccable he was equally loved by critics and the little kid sitting in the back of the minivan.
My favorite Tom Petty song is probably “Learning To Fly.” Like most of his work, at first blush it sounds so familiar you’re half convinced it’s a cover of something much older. More than any musician I can think of, Tom Petty’s songs sounded classic from the first listen. Plus, the instrumental break at 2:54 always makes me feel like I can fly, or at least levitate, which is more than I could ever ask for from a piece of music.
Hang in there, folks. Maybe the rest of October will be totally dope.
Until next month,
This is just a short update, but I’ve been fiddling around with recording equipment to make some demos. Here’s the first:
I’m really excited to announce I’ll be participating in the next Tuesday Funk on September 5th. If you’re not already familiar, Tuesday Funk is a monthly reading series held at Hopleaf in Andersonville. I’ve been once before and had a blast, so I’m stoked to be one of the authors this time around.
If you plan on coming, try to arrive at the reading room around 7 to get a seat. If you can’t come due to geography or some other reason, the reading will be recorded and uploaded to YouTube, and I’ll be sure to share the link. Also, I’ll have paperback copies of Birthday Suits available for $5.
Lastly, if you’re not already a subscriber to my mailing list, if you sign up you’ll receive electronic copies of four of my short stories. Two of them have been previously published, one was the impetus for Birthday Suits, and I’m working on submitting the fourth for publication. Please sign up!