EMA’s debut solo album, Past Life Martyred Saints is a tragic, sincere, and all too often, tragically sincere record from this South Dakotan native that will sneak up on you and break your heart like the ass hole that it is. The beautiful, beautiful ass hole. Megan Bowers joins Brandon to hash it out.
Megan: OK. For some reason, having never done this, you’ve insisted that I write the introduction with hardly any instruction. Thanks a lot. Um…So, EMA is one Erika M. Anderson. (Not really sure where she came up with “EMA.”) Formerly, she was the front woman in Gowns, a band she shared with her boyfriend, Ezra Buchla, and one that I am sadly ignorant of, beyond what I just said. Past Life Martyred Saints is her first solo album and it just came out last Tuesday, May 10, 2011 on Souterrain Transmissions.
How’d I do?
Let me start by asking a question: Are you only going to do female singer/songwriters on this site? What’s the deal? Are you sure you don’t want to switch it up this week?
Brandon: Hey, give me a break. I can’t help it that so many women are making such awesome music right now. And you can’t deny that this album is truly fucking awesome. Also, you forgot to mention that she’s from South Dakota.
Megan: Right, she’s from South Dakota. And please don’t use the word “awesome” again.
A few weeks ago, you sent me “Grey Ship,” and I was definitely intrigued. And then you sent me the video for “California” and the mp3 for “Marked.” Honestly, I don’t think I was as blown away as you seemed to be. At least initially. “Grey Ship” is kind of undeniable in its virtuosity. But “California” kind of annoyed me in its disjointed stream of consciousness lyrical structure. It seemed as though she just threw together a bunch of unrelated incendiary sounding phrases in lieu of actual depth. And “Marked” with its tortured meek vocals and its “He Hit Me and it Felt Like a Kiss” aping centerpiece line “I wish that every time he touched me it left a mark,” felt just a tad too, I don’t know, for lack of a better word, “emo” to me.
And then I got the album and she’s standing there on the cover head down with the ‘E.T. finger” and…
For the sake of full disclosure, I think I really just wanted to disagree with you because I knew how excited you were for this album and I didn’t want to just nod my head in sync with you.
But then I went out with my boyfriend one night and I started to think about that line, “I wish that every time he touched me it left a mark,” and wondered if it wasn’t so much about loving a pugilist, but more like a desire for souvenirs of his affection. When my boyfriend touched me on the arm as he led me into the restaurant, I looked down and kind of wished it would leave a mark that I could always look at and be reminded of his touch.
And then when she quotes Bo Diddley’s “Who Do You Love” on “California” repeating in an aching timbre “I’m just 22, and I don’t mind dying,” I started to realize that it’s not just about what she says, but how she says it. And the whole album just hit me. Hard.
It’s gut wrenching, Brandon. I’m kind of worried about her, actually.
Brandon: Hey! You came around! So good to hear. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist Erika’s indelible pain. Also, how dare you question my taste!
I’ve really been struggling to come up with something interesting to say about this album. I think it’s indefatigably fascinating and dark. It feels a bit like digging through old boxes in an attic and discovering the hidden bleak lives of your grandparents – love letters from a secret lover, a journal entry of your grandfather confessing murder. The album’s a treasure trove of pain and raw emotion. It’s one of the reasons I love “California” so much, because it feels like found hurt, like scraps of shame and anger and pity and regret. She opens the song with “Fuck California/You made me boring,” which, like, no. Not that California couldn’t do that to a person, but it did anything but make her boring. I am boring. And so I’ve been struggling to think of something to say beyond, “Here. Just listen to it.”
I loved your take on the “Marked” line. I kind of doubt she meant it that way. When I think of the album, I think of people being hurt and consider her fatal relationship with Ezra Buchla (what a kick-ass name). From interviews and promotion for this album, their relationship seemed incredibly volatile and damaging. Though, I do believe that once an artist puts a piece of work into the public, it ceases to be his or hers. It doesn’t matter what she meant, but only what you take from it, how you interpret it. I think your interpretation is really beautiful.
Also, to touch on your remark that it’s not what she says, but how she says it. I think it’s both. The unadulterated yearning in her voice that whispers or cries out with equal agony is mesmerizing. But I also want to make the argument that there is a difference between sincerity and maudlin emotion, and I imagine you might agree that this album is nothing if not sincere. It’s an open, bleeding wound.
Megan: Probably a result of those “20 kisses from a butterfly knife.” (see: “Butterfly Knife.”)
I take it back. Neither this album, nor any of the songs on it are “emo.” Sincerity – yes. “Emo” was what I was hoping for when I was hoping to disagree with you.
But let’s get back to you, Brandon. All three albums you’ve done thus far on this site are by women obsessed with violence and/or death. Are you trying to tell us something? Is this the kind of girl you’re into?
Because this album is really violent. Either lyrically, like “California,” “Marked,” and “Butterfly Knife,” or musically like the dirge of “Milkman” the apocalyptic aftermath of “California,” the neck breaking diversions and ferocity on “The Grey Ship,” or even the bare bones nothingness of the arrangement on “Marked,” before a little organ solo pulls open the curtain.
And really, we’ve been talking so much about her voice and what she says, but we haven’t spent nearly enough time talking about these amazing arrangements. Erika’s already a master at creating soundscapes that perfectly compliment the emotional and lyrical thrust of her songs. The epic seven minute “The Grey Ship” in particular goes from lo-fi acoustic lullaby into a feedback filled burner ratcheting up the tension before completely disappearing in the wake of a single bass line, which then opens up into an electronic horror show begetting a fierce fucking rock track featuring, (what is that, a fiddle? Violin?) and all culminating in a quiet acoustic denouement. I mean, what the fuck!? I can’t get enough of this damn song and am kind of in awe of her for opening the album with it. You have to think after hearing “The Grey Ship” that she’d never be able to follow it up, but then here comes “California,” and you’re like, “Oh shit.”
Brandon: Yes, a hundred times yes. The power of this album has as much to do with the musical arrangements as it does with her voice. In a year of spectacular albums, this is already one of my favorites. But it doesn’t feel violent, though it has facets of violence, so much as sad and resigned. I would even go so far as to say nostalgic. I guess that’s why my initial thought was to compare it to digging through an attic.
I can’t stop thinking about Past Life Martyred Saints as a reaction to or recovery from her relationship with Ezra. Earlier, I tried to make an offhanded differentiation between “emo” and “sincere.” I think what I was getting at was this sense that everything Erika seems to be feeling and expressing through these songs seems purely genuine and heartbreakingly real. It seems every time I listen to “California,” a new line hits me. Most recently, it’s the way her voice catches when she says, “I’m begging you to look away.” My heart just breaks. The album is expertly crafted but never feels calculated.
Initially, I was afraid that EMA would suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous comparisons, that she’d be deemed yet another female singer/songwriter walking the same trail blazed by Patti Smith, Kristin Hersh, PJ Harvey, Karen O, Cat Power, etc. But I’m less concerned about that now, because I don’t think the musical landscape will ever grow tired or too crowded for artists and albums as raw and honest and heartbreaking as EMA and her debut.
Megan: And one last thing, before we go. The album actually keeps getting better. We spoke at length about the most accessible and immediately striking tracks on the album, but the other songs are slowly sneaking up on me. I think “Breakfast” and “Anteroom” are beautiful and I’ve had closer, “Red Star” on repeat all day.
Brandon: And?
Megan: You were right.
Brandon: A-ha!
EMA: “Kind Heart” (Robert Johnson cover)
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