Calm exudes from the grooves of Ache Is a Cricket in the Night, the sophomore set from Where’s Beth. In some respects, it’s the sonic equivalent of the sea on a storm-free day: Gentle waves roll this and that way, while seagulls swoop to the waterline in hopes of plucking a salty snack from the surface. As art scholars will tell you, however, such scenes tend to possess more than just picturesque imagery; a dark cloud on the horizon may hint at tough times to come or a single fishing boat might serve as some sort of foreboding clue. Such is the case here. The songs remind me sof the James Wright poem “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota,” which trades in idyllic imagery and existential dread.
The Beth in question, Sarabeth Weszely, studied creative writing at the University of Iowa. From what I gather, she traded cornfields for the concrete jungle of New York City before, a while back, heading to the Pacific Northwest. She recorded these eight tracks—many of which recall her Big Apple days—in her Seattle home; she plays guitar and sings, and is accompanied by Abbey Blackwell (bass, background vocals), Steve Moore (Wurlitzer, synth), Jesse Thorson (drums, percussion), Mike Turnwall (electric guitar, pedal steel), Carrie Jennings (flugelhorn), and Karen Laura Peters (cello). Weszely has a poet’s eye for crafting haunting lines, and a songwriter’s gift for turning them into drifting hymns.
“White Ants,” the languid leadoff track, is a good example: It chronicles life most city dwellers will hear as theirs, from noisy neighbors to bone-rattling trains to ants that bypass traps and proudly parade across countertops. But, beneath the surface, a taut undertow of angst flows. The same’s true with the other songs; the mundane mixes with the sublime, the profane with the divine. “Nothing Quite So Boring as Urgency,” for example, delves into the monotonous aspect of day-to-day life, from clogged drains to urban distractions to the fleeting moments that make it all okay. Another highlight is “Puget Sound,” about her new home; it’s a daydream set to song, to an extent, albeit one that plays with the personification of what Wallace Stevens termed the “inhuman” world. “Back Again,” for its part, explores the cyclical nature of life, while the title track delves into the existential angst that keeps us awake at night. “Overtime Waltz” is another moody gem, this one about feeling alone at Christmastime.
When I first clicked play on Ache Is a Cricket in the Night, I immediately enjoyed the slow-moving waves flowing from the speakers. From a distance, it seemed sumptuous and peaceful, perfect for late nights and early mornings. The more I listened, however, the more I heard, with Weszely’s lyrics turning life’s minutia into the very reason for this thing we call life. Little things become big things, and the big things—and big thoughts—are what keep us moving forward. It’s a wonderful, thought-provoking set that trades in existential dread without giving into it, in other words. It’s well worth multiple plays.
The Old Grey Cat 