Both poet and performer is how I would class Fiona Apple. I must impress that she is not a performer in the sense that she overloads visually. Well known for the angst filled lyrics that span her career, the recent footage from SXSW that fluttered across the internet documented her throaty, tendon exposing, raspy rendition of new album opener Every Single Night. She writes from the most raw and extreme portion of the female neurosis. Often, a blur of lyrics, beautifully worded, present the disastrous divinely. Her stage presence, even with her petite form, projects the unhinged emotions exposed in each song.
The little tantalising snippets from forthcoming ‘The Idler Wheel…’ drew me back to previous albums. ‘When The Pawn…’, especially, evoking my formative years. It was a device with which I could and still can relate and unburden.
I have been growing cautious of the pedestal that I was building for an artist that has been a defining musical stable of mine. Tethering my excitement, I took my first listen to ‘The Idler Wheel…’ this evening via NPR who are providing a preview in advance of the release on the 18th of
June. To use a parallel structure: Fiona Apple’s ‘The Idler Wheel…’ will be to women what The Walkmen’s ‘Heaven’ will be to men this June. Don’t think me sexist, some connections will forever be symptomatic of gender. We must consider author, audience and content. These vessels can appeal to many but may be owned by few.