Fiddlehead Music

Jeanie Keogh's essay "Somewhere Over Greenland" appears in this fall's Creative Nonfiction issue. What does she "put on when story ideas are hatching"? 

Lately I have been listening to John Cage's strangely delightful and thoughtful sonatas as performed by Boris Berman. They are very short, running between two to four minutes. There are sixteen sonatas and four interludes, so even after some twenty-five listens I still don’t feel like I can encompass the scope of the music.

For years I’ve listened to the likes of Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Mary Gauthier, and Chris Whitley while writing, as well as a smattering of classical works, but over the past year — perhaps reflecting a spiritual or emotional change — the focus has shifted almost entirely to classical music, both traditional and contemporary. Works by people like Olafur Arnalds, Ludovico Einaudi, Anouar Brahem, Hildur Gudnadottir, Hildegard of Bingen, and Dijan Gasparyan.

Aside from waiting for the new Strokes EP to drop so I can buy it just to burn it? I’m listening to Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool. Obvious choice, I know. May as well get it out of the way. This is candid Radiohead. Seems to be Johnny Greenwood driven, symphonic and organic. It’s not In Rainbows, but what is?

Then there’s Marlon Williams. Self-titled debut album of a New Zealand singer-songwriter providing his take on American country-western. Voice like something you have to take methadone to kick. Eclectic and fucking eerie.