The Changing Of Seasons

Growing up in Warner Robins, Georgia (a glorified suburb of the city of Macon and known as a hot bed for more than weather - Wartown's motto is "Every Day In Middle Georgia Is Armed Forces Appreciation Day"), my skin was used to heat. Having been born into a subtropical climate, I found my move to Chicago several years ago alienating. The summers were only mildly cooler than what I was accustomed to and while I welcomed the windy breezes, I was left cold by the onslaught of Winter. The first year was practically unbearable - many folks romanticize snow, what with all of the possibilities of snow ball fights and snow angels and all of that crap you see being pitched at you from any number of things starting at Charlie Brown Christmas Specials down to the half a dozen yearly romantic comedies utilizing Winter as their central climate. Me? No thanks.

With each passing year, my skin became accustomed to the frigid demons that inevitably came to snatch Fall from my grasp. As I adapted physically, so did my tastes. At first, I relied on the instrumental catharsis of acts like Explosions In The Sky to get me through the tundra of ice that had formed around my Uptown home. The following years were spent huddled in my Lakeview living room with three layers of clothing on while soothing myself to the frigid sounds of Scientist and King Tubby and all other manner of dub reggae malcontents. For many, reggae is synonymous with summer and certainly for me, I find rocksteady and early ska rhythms soothing during the warmer months - but the frozen echoes of guitar drop outs ping ponging across walls of ice solid bass prove perfect as an aural sound track to the time of year where the surrounding environment pulls no punches and acts as hatefully as a slighted ex lover.

Note Cox's heavy beige coat - us Southerners really can't stand the cold.

This past October, as the final fugues of Summer played themselves to the last and the chilly breath of Autumn began to set in and impose itself onto both myself and the just barely holding on windows of my Humboldt Park apartment, Mellie and I went to see Deerhunter play a show under an over pass (see above). While the desolate environment the show was being held within was suitable, the event itself was far from intimate as the audience numbered in the upper 100's due to sponsorship and advertisement from Urban Outfitters. Standing in one spot for over an hour and listening to the band play through the majority of their latest record Halycon Digest, I found myself getting lost in each note - a rare instance because as much as I love music, I honestly can't stand the majority of live shows I see (more on that some other time). Bradford Cox's voice acted as balm to the chilly weather encircling the lot of us as we stood and watched him and his bandmates slowly peel off song after song like layers of an onion. Each hit of the snare gave off visible waves of sound that mingled and corresponded with the notes of melody emitting from the amplifiers arranged across the stage.

As I stood there and listened, I got to thinking about the music and the process of its creation. Here are these Southern boys playing this cold and very chilly music and while certainly apt for the then current climate they were playing it within, did it disorient them to play it during the height of June or July? As time has gone on, Deerhunter have begun to emit a warmer center with each passing record, but it seems the lads live in an eternal state of Autumn and early Winter. Their releases certainly act as something of a metaphor for the changing of seasons. First release (and cheekily offensive) "Turn It Up Faggot" is all rage and hormones - a paean to the Rites of Spring. Their second recording, Cryptograms is awash in Georgia rain and scorching baked sun fall out. Like the flood of '93 (known to all Georgians older than 21 for the near unprecedented devastation it caused), its swaths of guitar feedback and discordant distortion wash over the listener in waves composed of equal parts heat and torrential bursting dams. The vinyl edition of the record has the Fluorescent Grey EP tacked onto the 4th side and provides fleeting relief from the grey clouds and echo driven rage of a very hard Summer. Cloaked in shimmering melodies and sounding very much like sunshine cracking through stubborn clouds, the EP gives testament to where the band would head next.

3-D Glasses not included.

The one two punch of Microcastle and Weird Era Cont. sees the band going in a more subdued direction and as hinted in the shifting tones of Fluorescent Grey, sees their descent into Autumnal tones of crisp clarity as melodies ring like clocks and drums clip by like the finest Neu. It's in these two recordings that we see the collective body heat of Deerhunter beginning to drop and change to varying shades of blue. It's with this record that the band also began to gain much of the following I would see at the 'secret' show Urban Outfitters sponsored under the over pass. Far more subdued than Cryptograms and considerably more polished, Microcastle in particular proved to be one of the strongest independent releases in some time and proved to be a gateway to the Winteresque soundscapes found on much of Halycon Digest. Only at the end of the record where saxophone lines weave in and out and Bradford Cox wails odes to the late Jay Reatard does Halycon see a subtle shift back towards spring, bringing the band full circle.

Side forays such as their Rainwater Cassette EP as well as their legion of side bands (The Lotus Plaza and The Atlas Sound being most notable at present) have shown Deerhunter's winter to have been a long one. With the final two numbers on Halycon Digest signalling a brighter turn on the horizon, perhaps they're coming out of their boarded up residences to explore the bright world outside.

With this year's weather being some of the most bizarre on record all across North America what with all of the blizzards, missed segueways from Winter into Spring and Spring into Summer as well as the now elevating heatwaves, perhaps the Southerners comprising Deerhunter will act as a metaphor for a seasonal change with their next batch of tunes (prolific as the lot of them are, it won't be long before we see new music squinting its eyes as it drinks in its first doses of daylight).

One can only hope anyway. After a long Winter and a barely there Spring, Summer days are just what we need.