Annotated Playlist

You Could Make This Place Beautiful

Hi, Friend.

Today’s annotation isn’t a poem but a playlist. I love making playlists, though I still slip and call them “mixes.” I was a mixtape teenager—like, actual cassette tapes—and a mix CD college student. Mixes were Gen X social currency. We made them for our friends; we made them for crushes; we made them for our exes to make them want us back. And we put an incredible amount of thought into every song, every transition, and every detail, down to the handwritten and cut-to-fit-the-case liner notes.

My first iPod had a click wheel and was the size of a toaster, and I took it everywhere. I had (and still have!) an iTunes playlist called “Writing” that was full of music I listened to while working on poems: Mojave 3, REM, Gillian Welch, Low, Wilco, Elliott Smith, The Decemberists.  

These days, I stream music on my phone when I’m on the go, and I prefer vinyl on my stereo here at home. No matter where I am, I listen to music constantly. I listen in the kitchen while cooking. I balance my phone on the edge of the bathroom sink so I can listen in the shower. I wear AirPods while walking my dog or running errands in my neighborhood. And yes, I still listen to music while writing.

I’ve heard many writers say that they can’t listen to music while they work, or at least not music with lyrics. (In which case I recommend Dirty Three, Explosions in the Sky, and Godspeed You Black Emperor! I bet Sigus Ros, while not instrumental, would also fit the bill.) It doesn’t bother me to hear someone else’s words while I’m conjuring my own. When I’m writing, the songs become part of the weather; they help set the tone for the work.

On my Spotify, you can find all of my public playlists, including a few for my recent books: Keep Moving, Goldenrod, and You Could Make This Place Beautiful. The YCMTPB playlist is just shy of 4 hours long (and I may just keep adding to it), but I’ve chosen ten tracks to annotate here with some notes.

“Unreal Is Here,” Chavez

Track one of a playlist is like the first poem in a collection: the welcome mat, the invitation inside. This Chavez song has been dear to me for many years, but post-divorce these lyrics hit different: “Your unreal is here now. There is nothing to not be amazed at.” (How I love the double negative and tinge of hope there.)

“I Used to Write in Notebooks,” Rhett Miller

No spoilers here, so I won’t mention how Rhett Miller shows up in YCMTPB, but I will say this: I’ve been a fan of his solo records and his band Old 97s for many years, and I now consider him a friend. If you’re wondering, “Isn’t Maggie’s son named Rhett? Is that because she loves Rhett Miller’s music?” Yes. And yes. Also, full disclosure: I still write in notebooks. Prose I might draft on screen, but poems always begin with pen on paper.

“Don’t Lose Yourself,” Laura Veirs

I’m low-key obsessed with every record Laura Veirs has released, but this song and this record (Saltbreakers) are still my favorites. I have clear memories of sitting at a no-longer-there coffee shop during grad school, listening to this album on my toaster-sized (and toaster-weight!) iPod. This song and “Drink Deep” are touchstones for me, and I don’t think I need to explain why “Don’t Lose Yourself” in particular is a personal anthem.

“Picture of My Dress,” The Mountain Goats

When you tweet something about your wedding dress, you really don’t think John Darnielle is going to see the tweet, and you definitely don’t think he might be inspired to write a song about a divorced woman taking a road trip with her wedding dress. But life is full of surprises, some of them devastating, some of them marvelous. This song was a marvelous surprise. (Fun fact: My actual wedding dress didn't have spaghetti straps. It was strapless.)

“Graceland,” Justin Townes Earle

This was one of the lullabies I sang to my daughter Violet when she was a newborn. I was so crazed with lack of sleep that I started singing her any song I knew the words to. I’m not sure why “Graceland” came to mind, but I went with it. I slowed the song way down from Paul Simon’s bouncy original, and at that slow tempo, sung nearly at a whisper to a fussy baby, it was even more melancholy. It’s a divorce song, after all. Prescient, maybe? This cover by the late, great Justin Townes Earle is the version I listen to most often. Sometimes my son still asks me to sing him this at bedtime.

“Like a Fool,” Superchunk

A perfect song on a perfect record by my favorite band, period. One thing I love about Superchunk is the tension between the music and the lyrics; the sound is often sunny and bright, thanks to Mac McCaughan’s sweet voice and the instrumentation, but when you hone in on the words—whew. Good luck not singing along.

“Woman,” Cat Power

I could listen to Chan Marshall sing classified ads, that’s how beautiful her voice is, but her songwriting is equally powerful. I remember listening to “Woman” on repeat in my car on a particularly harrowing day, and these lines from the song became a kind of mantra: “I’m a woman of my word, now you have heard, my word's the only thing I truly need.” These words made me braver, as the right words often do. 

“Always Love,” Nada Surf

Matthew Caws of Nada Surf is one of my favorite singer-songwriters, and he’s also just a genuinely kind and wise human being. A few years ago, we were listening to Nada Surf here at home, as we do frequently, and my then-seven-year-old son said, “They sing a lot about love.” And then: “It protects you.” Love protects you. All kids are poets, I swear.

“Poetry,” Victoria Williams

Those of you who remember making mixtapes know how important it was to have a stable of very short songs to fit at the end of a tape. Why let the last two minutes be blank when you could shoehorn in any number of brief songs by Guided By Voices, or “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths, or “This…” by Firehose, which clocks in at a cool 1:42? Back in my mixtape days, “Poetry” by Victoria Williams was a go-to. “Everything is poetry,” she sings. Yes, ma’am.

“Good Bones,” Natasha Lyonne

And speaking of poetry, holy wow, what an honor to hear my poem “Good Bones” read by the one and only Natasha Lyonne. This is from For the Birds, a 20-LP box set of bird-inspired music and poetry, with proceeds benefiting the National Audubon Society. Some of my favorite musicians, actors, and poets are part of this project—Ross Gay, Tilda Swinton, Florence Welch, Toni Colette, Ada Limon, Ocean Vuong, Elvis Costello, Karen O, and Greta Gerwig—but the box set is so swoonworthy, I haven’t even had the courage to remove the shrinkwrap.

I hope you find some tried-and-true favorites on the YCMTPB playlist, and I hope you make some new discoveries. Let me know what your favorite tracks are!

Happy listening—

Maggie