a hobart playlist
A FEW WEEKS AGO, I decided to collate a list of songs that make me happy.
Reader, it was slim pickings.
Hang on. Perhaps I’ve put that the wrong way.
What I mean to say is that I don’t often listen to upbeat music – the kind most people would classify as happy-making. My mother (who has long expounded a range of dubious theories about the vagaries of my mood and cognitive function) once went as far as to claim that it was my choice of bleak music underlying the severe depression that plagued me throughout my mid- to late 20s.
To be fair, depression – the deep, dark disease-y kind – is a lumbering and slippery beast. Sometimes, I wonder if anything tangible or logical caused that period of intense darkness. Protracted mental illness becomes so absurd that you’re often left wondering exactly how you might have offended the serotonin gods. What did I do? Was it something I ate? Did I sleep funny? Am I one of those people who react badly to general anaesthetic? Was I dropped on my head as a baby? Could it be that life is inherently weird and bad and hard a lot of the time? Maybe my mother’s theory is as good as any.
To me, however, sombre music has always felt like a balm: back then, a comforting companion to soften the sharp edges (literal and figurative) that punctured all my waking hours when I was at my worst. There’s solace and restfulness in dark, mellow sounds. In some ways, I’d rather have peace than what I perceive as typical happiness.
All this is a roundabout way of admitting that I’ve temporarily abandoned the playlist of happy songs.
MY HUSBAND AND I HAVE just returned from three nights in Hobart. (Here I am, outside the Cascades Female Factory, grinning like a maniac despite my austere surroundings.) Yes, the weather was unseasonably (and therefore disappointingly) warm, but if you’ve ever travelled down to Tasmania, you’ll know it has a vibe.
(Side note: each time I travel there, and I’m wandering the streets of these cities established largely during the convict era, I can’t stop wondering why white people like other white people so much. You know who’s historically oppressed, enslaved, and slaughtered the most white people? White people! We’re the actual worst.)
Alas, I digress.
My husband, whom I’ll refer to as Matt because that is his real name, complained to me at the airport – as we were waiting to board our flight back to Brisbane, and I was forcing us to recount all our travel ‘learnings’ – that he doesn’t enjoy driving around so much.
The thing is… I love driving around… as long as Matt is the one doing the driving and I am the one doing the sitting. I get to look out the window, I get to take crappy photos, and I get to control the playlist. For this reason alone, I hope you can appreciate how terribly this man has suffered, how resounding his patience is, given he allowed me – wordlessly and without complaint or comment – to blast Lil Nas X’s ‘Old Town Road’ as we approached Gordon Dam on our last trip to the Apple Isle.
A fitting tune.
Alas, I digress once more.
All this is another roundabout way of introducing a different playlist: on this occasion a round-up of songs that feel, to me, apt for Hobart in autumn. As usual, I should caveat this compilation by pointing out that I rarely listen to fresh-out-of-the-box tunes. Some of these are quite old; others are new to me but not necessarily new to the world.
I hope you find something dark and soothing here.
This song is from Shura’s 2015 album, Nothing’s Real. Every time I hear the lyric ‘I want to touch you, but I’m too late’, I’m taken back back back, in a bittersweet way now, to a difficult time in my life characterised by regret and longing. This song reassures me that time passes, pain subsides, and love can remain despite distance and decay. (Bonus points for an ethereally beautiful, queer-friendly music video.)
‘Estrella del Mar’ – Moby & Elise Serenelle
This one is a new track, from Moby’s latest album, Future Quiet. Written by Richard Hall, the lyrics are sung entirely in Latin, but Elise Serenelle’s haunting vocals render them somehow familiar.
This track is also recent (!), one of 19 previously unheard tunes collected as a new album. David Gray’s Nightjar is apparently intended as a companion to Life in Slow Motion. I’ve written before about my enduring devotion to David Gray. His voice carries a strident quality – a bit like Phil Collins’s – that’s gritty and inimitable. We’ve grown so accustomed to hearing overly perfected, cleanly produced sounds that Gray’s vocal imperfections feel even more refreshing than they did when I first fell in love with White Ladder. Here’s the acoustic version.
‘Rescue’ is another spacious, breathy, strings-forward track from one of my favourite acts, joining that auspicious cadre of songs in which the lyrics ‘na na na na na’ feature prominently (‘Here Comes the Hotstepper’, I’m looking at you). This offering could potentially be included in a ‘songs that make me happy’ list – rich and exhilarating.
‘Badlands’ – Mumford & Sons x Gracie Abrams
Gracie Abrams is the daughter of filmmaker JJ Abrams! I’d never heard of her before, but her collab with Mumford & Sons adds youthful sweetness to this short but powerful track.
I dare you to listen to this song, by Norwegian artist Emilie Nicolas, without getting something in your eye. I love this live version just as much as the studio recording. (Lyrics here.)
‘Lover, where do you live’ – Highasakite
This song is like standing outside on a cold, windy day with your hands jammed in your pockets. It’s the first track on the Norwegian indie pop outfit’s 2014 album, Silent Treatment. I never tire of it. (Here’s a live version that will cut your heart in half.)
More soulful, less dubsteppy than some of his other stuff, ‘Trying times’ is the title track from Blake’s newest album (which is eclectic and pretty wonderful).
This track is from KIIo’s 2020 album, Maybe We Could. The official video is at once beautiful and somewhat disturbing. I have no idea what the song is about, but I like it.
Eliott is an Australian vocalist and musician who describes her style as a blend of indie and folk. This track has so much momentum, building from wistful to resiny and cinematic. You can listen to it over and over (see what I did there).
Meg Mac is another one of my favourite Australian musical acts, and this is the song of hers I listen to the most. Something about the light and shade of this track, and the harmonies, keeps me coming back. Perfect for a drive around Hobart.
‘Silver Springs’ – cover by Angie McMahon
No playlist of mine would be complete without an acoustic cover, and this one is a perfect rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s original: mellow, grainy, somehow luminous.
