Paralyzed By The Emptiness- R.I.P Jason Molina
For somebody who managed to write a four-page essay on the
new Justin Timberlake album, I find that I am somehow at a loss for words when
I have sat down to try to write about the life and untimely passing of Jason
Molina.
When I started this blog in January, I had a list of ideas
for pieces to write—aside from the track and record reviews, I had wanted to
write long form essays about artists that I really liked, and music that I had
specific memories attached to. Jason Molina was on that list, and it is really
unfortunately that these are the circumstances under which I now write about
him.
Jason Molina died on Saturday, March 16th, 2013.
According to the press release that has surfaced since this was announced, he
was 39 years old, and after a lengthy struggle with alcoholism, it was kidney
failure that ended his life. Over the course of his career, under his own name,
as well as that of Songs: Ohia and The Magnolia Electric Company, he put out
around 14 proper studio albums, the final being 2009’s Josephine. By that point, his dependence on alcohol was too great,
and the entire tour to promote the album was called off.
His health troubles were made public in the fall of 2011
with a post on his website, and in May of 2012, Molina wrote a short post discussing
how he had been in recovery, shuffling back and forth between Chicago, England,
West Virginia, and Indiana. He said he was doing well, but had a long ways to
go; “It is slow going, but it is going.”
Nearly a decade ago, when I was in college, I remember my
friend Colin telling me about both Songs: Ohia, and The Magnolia Electric
Company. I was standing in his dorm room, both of us looking towards the Mac
Mini on his cluttered desk, and he told me two things about Jason Molina:
The first was a story about how when playing a show in our
very own college town of Dubuque, IA, Molina ended the show early because he
just seemed too depressed to continue.
The second story, which apparently was a common occurrence,
involved a show in Iowa City, where the general tone had been set by Molina
that the audience was undeserving of his music.
The second story, about the audience being undeserving,
happened quite a bit apparently, as this very old Pitchfork review of Pyramid Electric Co points out.
My friend Colin has a family now—a wife and a newborn
daughter. He’s openly admitted to me he no longer reads music news as regularly
as he used to when we were both younger, if at all now. And he has, in a sense,
stopped listening to music all together. I sent him a text message the day
Molina’s passing was made public, and after his initial “holy shit,” he said,
“It’s kind of heartbreaking. That guy got me through some angsty times.”
The more I read people’s responses to Jason Molina’s
passing, the more that sentiment rang true.
I’m not a super fan by any means, so maybe I’m the last
person who should be eulogizing. It was in October of 2012 when I finally sat
down and immersed myself in parts of his canon—the essentials, of course, are
2002’s Didn’t it Rain, released under
the Songs: Ohia moniker, then the follow up, 2003’s confusingly titled Magnolia Electric Company. Was that the
band’s name now? Was that the album name? Molina claims it was both.
At the time, the album I grew most attached to was one he
released under his own name—2004’s Pyramid
Electric Co. It’s a short set of incredibly raw and bare-boned songs,
recorded three years prior. The song “Red Comet Dust,” was the one that made me
specifically take note of this record.
There’s a truth within Molina’s music. When I listened, I
was moved by so much of it—the raw emotion he put into everything. Stylistically
he was all over the place—from the early ramshackle, lo-fi days of Songs: Ohia,
to the sparse solo recordings, to the Crazy Horse influenced country rock of
Magnolia Electric Company—no matter what the sound, he put every bit of himself
into those songs, and when you listen, you can feel it. He had a voice that
could be both fragile and confident. His lyrics could be flat out
devastating—the line “paralyzed by the emptiness” in “Blue Factory Flame” is
just heartbreaking to me, and the first time I heard it, I couldn’t believe my
ears.
There are many people in the world who have been fans of
Jason Molina for exponentially longer than I have, but upon reading of his
death on Monday, I was heartbroken. His death is not only tragic due to the
circumstances, but also because he was such a gifted songwriter, and spoke to so
many listeners, summing up their feelings in ways they could never do.
...Through the static and distance
A farewell transmission
Listen...
A farewell transmission
Listen...
(from Pyramid Electric Co)
(from Let Me Go, Let Me Go, Let Me Go)
(from Didn't it Rain?)
(from Ghost Tropics)
(from The Lioness)
(from Magnolia Electric Co)
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