Ponytail Picks #37 - The Sea
Hold on and keep your legs steady. The waters are unpredictable today. And with Joel on his honeymoon1, we’re heading out just you and me.
LISTEN
The sea = change = life
Bill Callahan takes some concentration to truly appreciate. On the surface, his conversational baritone and midwestern-folk sound feels like it’s written to put you to sleep. A closer look doesn’t necessarily contradict that first impression, but it definitely rewards keeping your ears open.
Take “Son of the Sea,” the 14th song of 2019’s 20-track Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest.
Callahan starts in a house, something we expect to be sturdy, and says it’s full of life. But already, in the next line, is this:
Life is change. Even death is not stable.
Then, in an echo to the beginning, he says “the house if full of whatever I bring to the table,” and sings of the stress a father feels when grappling with the need to provide for his children, children who look to him and, seeing that his hands are empty, look “to the table and then to the sea,” already knowing the disappointment of relying on him, seeing that he is as helpless as they are.
And we’re only at the sixth line of the song.
There’s a dream-like—but also sea-like—quality to the logic of the song, the way it sways back and forth between images, themes, and generations. It really does work as a lullaby. But also, simultaneously, it’s a rogue-wave wake-up call to the need to look out for our loved ones.
Don’t ask me what it means. Instead of trying to nail it down, let it shift through your mind, as its nature seems to be. Think of it like the tide.
WATCH
The state of the sea in two episodes of a docuseries
Our Planet: “Coastal Seas” and “High Seas”
Since high school, one voice has defined the nature documentary in my mind: Sir David Attenborough. At some point, the DVDs for Planet Earth ended up in our house, and for many Sundays in a row, we couldn’t look away. The stunning visuals combined with that old, aristocratic voice entranced us for hours, no weed required.
Our Planet continues in that vein. Released on Netflix in 2019, it has Attenborough—already 93 years old at the time—narrating eight episodes, each one focusing on a specific type of habitat. Land and fresh water get their time, but the dramatic 100 minutes showing life in the sea are the two episodes that really pop, not just for the fast-paced hunting sequences (who knew orcas and other large dolphins eat other dolphins??) but also because of how they present the undeniable impact of climate change hiding under all that water. I haven’t felt that convicted to take care of the ocean in a long time.
READ
A seaworthy debut novel
Closer by Sea by Perry Chafe
A now-deleted review of one of my all-time favourite restaurants got some heat from the chefs recently, not for being negative, but for telling the staff they should watch the TV show The Bear to learn how to run a restaurant. I’ve already written about how much I love the show2, so when the hubbub erupted, my first thought was I hope this doesn’t dissuade them from actually watching it. My second thought was this: if you react to The Bear by using it to make a shitty comment in a restaurant review YOU DID NOT GET THE POINT OF THE BEAR.
But I’m not writing a review of a restaurant or a TV show. I’m writing about a book. So why am I bringing this up? Because I want to talk about negative reviews.
Did I like Perry Chafe’s Closer by Sea? It’s complicated. While this is his debut novel, Chafe has an impressive résumé in TV, having produced and written for CBC hits like Republic of Doyle and Son of a Critch. For better or for worse, you can tell. He knows how to ground the story in his setting—Perigo Island, a fictional mash-up of Fogo Island, NL, and Chafe’s hometown of Petty Harbour3—but for the most part, the details he uses only serve the one function. Besides an iceberg and maybe a dead father’s boat, the objects and places surrounding the characters don’t seem to symbolize much of anything. And on more than one occasion, narrative explanations of fishing gear feel condescending, even when you debateably need them.
So then why am I writing about it? Because it has the one thing that makes up for most flaws: heart. Chafe sets the plot—part mystery, part coming-of-age story reminiscent of classic ‘80s films like Stand By Me and The Goonies—in his own stomping grounds, just before they go through their toughest economic times, the cod moratorium of 1992. The love he has for his people oozes through the story, its characters, and their struggles in a way that’s undeniable yet hard to define. Much like the icebergs floating in and out of the novel, the aspects of the book that work well lie under the surface.
Which leads to my issue with writing negative reviews. If I relied on a point or number system, Closer by Sea probably wouldn’t get a recommend-worthy rating, and yet I still loved this book enough to tell you all about it here. And so writing a traditional review doesn’t really serve my intention.
I’ve read a lot of talk recently about how we don’t have enough negative reviews in cultural criticism anymore, that people are too nice. While I get the sentiment, I don’t know if I agree. There’s a lot to be found in art that isn’t necessarily perfect by the day’s aesthetic standards, and poo-pooing the work doesn’t encourage people to see that value. Plus, also, more often than not, it kind of makes the writer sound like an arsehole. Do I need to be an arsehole in order to write about art? I hope not.
So please, go read Closer by Sea. Forgive it of its sins. Let it make you feel warm inside, like a bowl of fish stew on a cold, wet day on the water.
We’ve brought this boat to shore. Tune in next time, when we scan the airwaves of
radio.
Yes, Joel got married. “To [his] wife.”
Season 2 was equally fantastic.
Where I happened to pick up the book during a recent visit.
Bill Callahan is an American Treasure. His song "Pigeons" is a favorite of mine. It's on his 2020 album "Gold Record."