On January 11th, 2001, I went by myself to the Crystal Ballroom to see The Jayhawks. The Twin Cities band were already grizzled alt.country veterans renowned for their sunny harmonies, and their finest albums (Smile and Rainy Day Music) were yet ahead. I learned two lessons that night: 1) Concerts are not like movies in that it’s not much fun to go alone; and 2) Neko Case is a force of nature.
I’d heard a little of Case’s country noir before, knew of her vocals on Mass Romantic, but CD funds were limited and her discography was unfamiliar. What I recall was her stage banter—brazenly charismatic like the top rock stars—and how Neko belted out her songs in wild ripples. That voice, so epic, is described thusly on Wikipedia:
…a powerful, untrained contralto…a "flamethrower," "a powerhouse [which] seems like it might level buildings," "a 120-mph fastball," and a "vocal tornado."1
Case’s legend was still growing, still fresh outta Tacoma, hovering around the artist havens strung along the Salish Sea. She would eventually leave the Northwest for Chicago, then Tucson, and finally settled in Vermont. All the while, she kept cementing her role as an indelible icon of American music, carving out songs which both caught the zeitgeist and defied genre.
This is all of interest because Neko Case’s music is now arranged wonderfully on Wild Creatures, a career retrospective which dropped last April. The collection is a dense cross-section, twenty-three tracks culled from each of her seven albums.
(Also, Neko Case has a Substack.)
What’s astonishing is how packed this collection is with my very favorite songs, and how much their curation proves Case’s greatness and prolificacy.
Start, for instance, with the rollicking opener, “I’m An Animal,” which would be my intro music if I were a Major League closer and time-travels me back to driving Mindy to Phoenix Children’s, Lana in utero, past the long blocks of Phoenix. Hyperbole is not required to say “I Wish I Was the Moon” remains one of the most melancholically romantic songs ever written and also terrific to make out to. I know I have tender memories of the majestic “Star Witness,” but I don’t remember them right now.
Or there’s “Night Still Comes,” which felt prescient when it was released in the months leading up to Mindy’s second diagnosis. How could these lyrics not feel like foreshadowing?
My brain makes drugs to keep me slow
A hilarious joke for some dead pharaoh
But now, not even the masons know
What drug will keep night from coming
As amazing as these songs are, a whole other hits record could be cobbled from what’s missing. There’s none of Case’s bombastic pop-rock with The New Pornographers (“Crash Years,” “Slow Descent into Alcoholism,” and “The Bleeding Heart Show” could all make the cut). There’s no “Calling Cards” or “People Gotta Lotta Nerve.” Nothing from Case’s collaborations with k.d. lang and Laura Veirs. Not even the pop perfection she made for Katniss. I didn’t expect her cover of “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” for Boardwalk Empire to make the list, but that one’s so good.
Wild Creatures leaves the impression of an impossibly rich career, the oeuvre of a uniquely classic songwriter who’ll be revered well past her final recordings. As much as I love Neko Case’s work, I’ve only seen her perform once, on that Crystal Ballroom stage, hair afire in the spotlight. She told us she felt like writhing against the mic stand, which was charming and disarming. I’m grateful she stayed wild, kept singing what she wanted to sing. Neko Case’s best and most brilliant songs were still ahead. Maybe they still are.
Considering the prophetic nature of these tracks in my life, I’m taking to heart my most suprising spin on Wild Creatures was “Widow’s Toast,” a brief and minimalist lament nestled in 2006’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. The lyrics land heavier nearly sixteen years after my first listen. Today they ring of lessons learned and hope.
Spectres move like pilot flames
Their widows toast at St. Angel
Better times collide with now
The tears were warm, I feel them still
They heat to vapor and disperse
And cloud our eyes with weary glazeYou raise your glass and may exclaim
"I'll put my hands on the truth, by God"
But it's faster, love, than you and me
Faster than the speed of gravity
That's how it catches you from falling
And how it always always always slips awaySpectres move like pilot flames
Their widows toast at St. Angel
Better times collide with now
And better times
And better times are coming still
Case could also be singing about her own voice on “Hell On”:
My voice is not the liquid waves
The perfect rings 'round a heron's legs
My voice is straight garroting wire
I confess that I’ve not consciously listened to Neko Case. Now I’ll check her out.
Great stuff. A very astute observation that concerts are not as fun to do solo as movies.