I was surprised, conducting all of these interviews, to learn the extent to which pockets all around Ann Arbor are considered haunted by their residents. Maybe this is true of every city. But after living here four years, even I didn’t know beyond a general feeling that dark and strange histories are continually existing here.
Like many things Twenty One Pilots, the video beckons analysis, and it is certainly interesting to trace its development from a mysterious journey into a blissful, rewarding triumph, and then finally the dark ending note on which it lands.
Because then and there, in Carlile’s performance, was the crux of what the night felt like it had really been about all along: The embrace of different people, different folk, the risks of love and the giddiness of hope and the hard, breaking feeling of something loved gone.
We’re only two weeks into 2019, but already it’s shaping up to be a huge year for British singer-songwriter Jade Bird. She recently announced the official release date for her self-titled debut album, the anticipation of which has been bolstered by one high-quality single after another. Her new single, “I Get No Joy,” was released in tandem with the more razor-edged “Uh Huh” and “Love Has All Been Done Before,” and hints at a fresh frustration and yearning that feels true, even this early on, for an artist like Bird.
Everywhere I have lived in my life, people have told me their state’s weather is uniquely unpredictable. As a result, I have come to think that weather is weird in general, and this principle doesn’t vary too much from state to state. But as a senior, I have now spent nearly four years in Ann Arbor, meaning four consecutive winters, which is the longest amount of consecutive winters I’ve really spent somewhere (excluding smaller visits) since I was very young. And of those four, this has to be honestly the strangest one yet.
Country has a distinct sensibility, one capable of evoking specific landscapes and brands of sorrow, joy and attraction. In After All, Rob Baird directs this sensibility toward the emotional journey of a breakup. He follows the classic trajectory of other breakup albums of this ilk, tracing the stages from denial to despair to anger and betrayal to eventual resolve and acceptance. It’s a familiar path, so it’s saying something for Baird that After All still sounds completely fresh, original and genuinely heartfelt.
The set was constantly veering between genres and emotional states — from satirical to grave, from punk to alt-rock — and the performances never once felt jarring, because they were so anchored by the band’s technical prowess and jovial attitudes.