Mixtape #122: Februalia
Songs for Portrait of a Body (In Pieces)
February 5th, 2023
Side A
1. Hanging On The Telephone by Blondie
2. Different Drum by Stone Poneys, Linda Ronstadt
3. Are You with Me Now? by Cate Le Bon
4. Dream Baby Dream by Suicide
5. Two Step by Throwing Muses
Side B
6. What Part of Me by Low
7. Windows by Angel Olsen
8. Mama You’ve Been On My Mind by George Harrison
9. Clementine by Sarah Jaffe
10. It Soon Will Be Fire by Richard Youngs
Spotify
Liner notes
Last month I launched my new Substack, a serialised novel titled
. It’s free to read, and the fourth chapter is out now.
I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that the pieces referenced in the title of the novel don’t just refer to body parts. The pieces are also the paragraphs that stitch together to make up the book. They are snapshots, postcards, excerpts of a larger life. There will be 365 of them in total over the course of the year. Or one entry per day.
It’s not a diary in format, but it is a chronicle. It’s the fifth of February, so here is the fifth entry in February:
5.
What the attic lacks in size it also lacks in charm. You can stretch out to sleep, but you have to stoop to stand, lest you knock yourself out on the ceiling. The entire space is painted white; the floorboards, the walls, the shelves, the hatch in the floor, all a brilliant shade of white. It’s meant to appear clean and minimal, soothing even, but in practice the space is so clinical it inflicts acute torture on its occupants. You tried a houseplant to add colour, but the plant considered the attic hostile and chose instead to die. It is a space that knows neither respite nor mercy. A gleaming void. A white abyss. You’d think your brother might choose a less maddening colour scheme, but then you’re not sure he did choose it. This is a construct. A staging area for the whims of vengeful gods. A halfway house on the edge of reality. It is the gap between stations, the static on the radio, put here for reasons you have yet to understand by persons and motives you can’t possibly comprehend. Still, beggars can’t be choosers.
Today’s Mixtape is a series of songs to accompany the February chapters: wistful and restful and hopeful. Some defiant, some sad, and some that set an intention. Songs for the hibernating soul. Like I say later in the month:
February is for healing. Recovering. Cleansing and convalescing. It’s the shortest month for a reason. A break between rounds. A breather before the fight resumes.
You can sign up here:
Next month, songs for March.
Until then,
Dan