“The fictional concept of death rears its head in so many of my songs, always on the periphery, or as a side note, or a reminder, a punchline or the bottom line, always sniffing around like a death dog. For once I wanted to try to put it in my center vision. In order to talk about death, I armed myself with the only antidote I know: writing. Is this a record about death or a record about writing? Hard to tell in the end. I began to think of poetry as time travel. I tried to write messages to the future.” — Jennifer Castle
Jennifer Castle's path has always been a patient one. Whether covering Bob Dylan or channeling the energy of Laurel Canyon on her album Pink City, an elliptical air defines her work. But she's never been more potent than on her new album, Angels of Death, a work that may well stand the test of time as a masterpiece.
Following a series of familial losses, Castle stares down mortality. It’s no small feat addressing the end, but what other choice does one have? The notion of grief — the shapeless act of processing and learning to live with loss — is tremendously and overwhelmingly intangible. Because as final as a loss may feel, the question always remains: Is anyone, or anything, ever completely gone? And though mourning brings moments of overwhelming despair, at other times, it opens our eyes to the present in a way they were previously closed to. And then there are the times when all these opposing ideas seem to act in concert. The middleworld, we hear Castle call it. That's where Angels of Death lives.
Jennifer Castle :: Crying Shame
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