“It was so intoxicating”: The album Weyes Blood had on repeat for half a decade
It’s been five years since Weyes Blood, also known as Natalie Mering, put out her magnum opus, and we’ve had it on repeat ever since. Titanic Rising marked the culmination of her artistry, an alluring collection of chamber pop which covered modern dating, climate change and her love for cinema-going. It’s an experiential album, a display of her all-consuming artistry that keeps you coming back for more.
Mering’s output is unbelievably well-honed, from her baroque instrumentation to her accompanying artwork, but it wasn’t always so defined and detailed. Before she became the Weyes Blood we know today, with her blue, glowing album covers and ethereal stage presence, Mering meandered through a whole range of music scenes and sounds.
She dabbled in noise rock and discovered new music while working at a record store in her teens, learning about Radiohead, Lou Reed and everyone in between. As she collected influences and inspirations, gathering more and more musical knowledge, she eventually landed on her current sound. It’s an entity of its own, but the stylings of her influences can be found within it – the vulnerability of Joni Mitchell, and the effortless cool of Can.
There was one record that particularly captured Mering’s attention while she was developing her tastes – Alexander ‘Skip’ Spence’s only album, Oar. As she recalled to Tidal, the record was in her car for “five years on repeat.” Mering was so captured by the record that she had to be pulled away from it. “People had to shut me down so I wouldn’t play it anymore,” she explained.
Released in 1969, the album hit record stores and radio over a decade before Mering was even born. Still, that didn’t stop her from connecting deeply with Spence’s creations. “It was so intoxicating,” she enthused, “and very in that realm of outsider/lone songwriters.”
Over psych-influenced twangs and gorgeous backing vocals, the record finds Spence singing of tears falling like rain and broken hearts on the ground, images you’d expect to find on a Weyes Blood record. The record is warm and fuzzy instrumentally, yet lonely and intimate. You can feel Spence through his sonic compositions, through his words and the strings that surround them.
With just one listen, it’s easy to see why Mering kept coming back to the record. It could easily become a comfort album, with Spence’s familiar vocals and gorgeous instrumentation, but there’s just enough deviation to keep things interesting. It’s a similar approach that Mering has taken to her own production.
Her music has a warmth and denseness to it. Vulnerable lyrics welcome you in, and baroque pop fullness invites you to stay, but there’s an eeriness to her creations, too. Piano chords feel slightly off, melancholy creeps in unexpectedly, and nostalgia turns into regret. It’s intoxicating and all-consuming to listen to.
Just as Mering kept returning to Spence’s songs for five years, her audiences keep coming back to her nostalgia-filled, cinematic soundscapes in the same way. If you’re destined to get a cassette tape stuck in your car for half a decade, cursed to listen to the same ten songs over and over, Titanic Rising wouldn/t be a bad record to be stuck with.
Listen to Oar by Skip Spence, the album Weyes Blood listened to for “five years on repeat,” below.
