8. Ryan Adams: Love is Hell
I was 24. I stumbled over this album while reading in a music magazine. Somebody had written that this guy did the best cover of an Oasis song and that it was a pity that his own material wasn’t as good.
When I listened to the album in its entirety, I knew that this music journalist was wrong. Ryan Adams is one of the most gifted songwriters around.
It’s not a very popular opinion these days, considering the accusations in recent years. But I’m only referring to his songs, not to his person or his behavior. This album was my entry to his work as a songwriter. It’s not my favorite one, but it did stick with me and made me curious to hear what he was coming up with next.
And he did come up with a lot of stuff, often releasing more than one album a year. When asked in an interview how he did it, Adams said once: “If you consider yourself as being a songwriter, you should be able to write 12 passable songs a year, shouldn’t you?”.
That’s something I hold on to if there isn’t a spark.
9. Laura Veirs: July Flame
I was 30. Becoming 30 really is something. Back then I didn’t realize it. For me, it felt like always. No, even better. The privileges of youth combined with the benefits of adulthood.
Everything had turned out great. But when you turn 30, you have a history. You realize that people are looking at you in a different way. You are not the youngster, the underdog anymore. You’re one of the big guys now. It‘s like you’re a plane that reached travel altitude. But without knowing when the descend is scheduled or where you’re landing area is.
I had discovered Laura Veirs years before in a record store in Strasbourg. Her music had maneuvered me trough my student years, my first steps into an independent life.
July Flame was the perfect album at that stage of my life. It feels like a night in high summer. You got used to the heat and you made yourself comfortable. But you know that you can’t hold on to it forever. There are colder days ahead. But you decide to let it slide and live in the moment for once.
I danced to this record on my wedding day. Because life is good when you dance all night.
10. Elliott Smith: Xo
I was 37. It was again a time of transition. I would even say that it was the biggest crisis of my life as an adult.
I have always considered myself to be one of the lucky few. Since I was a kid, I had known that I was going to make music and that I would make a living out of it, one way or the other. But in recent times, it had become a burden.
2 of my closest allies in my musical endeavors, Gilles Loes on bass and, a few months later, James Gierens on guitar, had left the band. It felt like everything was falling apart. They always were and are more than just some random dudes I happened to play music with. I felt lost and incomplete.
When your entire existence revolves around that mission you created for yourself, things are getting very uncomfortable when you discover that you built your castle on thin ice.
In this strange period before finding my way again, Elliott Smith took me in his arms. Musically speaking of course. There were other people that took me in their arms for real. As I said, I‘m a lucky guy.
I had known Elliott Smith for a long time but never really listened to this troubled guy and his artful songs. Maybe I was too self-centered and simply not ready for it. Xo and the music of Elliott Smith is as sad and soothing as it gets. It puts things in perspective when you lost your shit.
11. Sufjan Stevens: Carrie & Lowell
I was 35. Allow me to break chronology here. I was a married man and the father of a little boy. My wife was pregnant again and we would soon welcome our daughter into this world.
In fact, 2 albums that I hold dear were released the week she was born: Kintsugi by Death Cab for Cutie and Carrie & Lowell by Sufjan Stevens. I love both, as different as they are. Just like my kids. Kintsugi is the mature album of a little indie band that made it big. It’s polished and shiny but made by people who grew up without selling out on their ideals. At least, that is what I choose to believe. Carrie & Lowell is as heartbreaking as life itself. It’s full of loss and love. It’s a record that will be as true and eternal in one hundred years.
A few weeks after our daughter was born, I had to go some place and I was in a real hurry. I put both albums on top of my car and ran back into the house because I had forgotten something. Pampers probably. I came back, drove away and forgot about the albums on my car. I was devastated when I realized what had happened.
A couple of days later, I found both albums in my letterbox. They had come back to me. Somebody in the street where I live must have found them, counted 1 and 1 together and came to the conclusion that it must have been my CDs. Both were scratched but played without a problem. And like that, they will forever be connected to the birth of my daughter.