I Told My Future By Reading Your Lips

And so we meet again. Thank you, friends, for turning up for the 18th installment of my Substack: Duchess of Rock, in which I spin the wheel and land on the song I have been most obsessed with this week. Today, I’m revisiting an artist I have long loved, and once interviewed at the start of my music journalism career, as he joins forces with another beloved singer-songwriter, who was once lazily labeled an enfant terrible by pop culture. Hearing them today, having left behind their brooding ballads, daring to find the gallows humor in the whims of the heart, sends me back to the growing pains we’ve all weathered, in life and in art.

Today’s pick: “All in Good Time” by Iron & Wine and Fiona Apple, from Iron & Wine’s 2024 album, “Light Verse”

Of course, there is a whole canon of stupefyingly good duets: Dolly and Kenny; Nancy and Lee. My personal faves, though, include Kris Kristofferson and Rita Coolidge crooning “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” especially the live versions where they all but make love with their voices and their eyes. And then there’s Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush joining forces for “Don’t Give Up,” with its magically understated video of them embracing for six-plus minutes, which I adored when it came out, for its perfectly pitched pathos leavened with a breath of hope.

When I was writing about music, I was particularly besotted by Mark Lanegan and Isobel Campbell’s duets albums released by, which perfectly played off their contrasting images – he of the heroin and cigarette-charred vocals and she of the bright-eyed-chanteuse-turned-torch singer. When I had the chance to speak with them both by phone, they were in Europe and the connection was so hopelessly bad, I essentially willed their answers telepathically onto the page.

This week, I was brought back to how bright-eyed I was myself, when at the start of my music journalism career, I interviewed Sam Beam, who performs as Iron & Wine, for his 2002 debut, “The Creek Drank the Cradle.” I was 26 and had outgrown a lovely, safe relationship and life in Portland, Ore., pursuing my writing in Boston at any and all costs. Having recently talked my way into writing music reviews — and eventually features — for the Boston Globe, I was flummoxed by the access this gave me to artists I admired. I took each telephone interview as a holy grail, an opportunity to seek answers from those just a bit older, wiser, and further along (they were getting interviewed about their art, so they must be doing something right). I wanted to know how and where and why they needed to live and breathe their music, as a justification that I had made the right choice, and a way to arm myself with as many creative weapons as possible. At the time, they all seemed so mature and wise to me.

I remember Beam was married with children, teaching film studies in Miami, and that was so grown up and settled as to be exotic to me. I tried it on in my imagination, as a way to afford and manage being an artist. But at that age, being a woman in this domestic scenario felt dangerously close to a life that wouldn’t allow me the time and freedom I needed to write. I was more drawn to questioning touring musicians about their favorite cities (in those years: Berlin and Barcelona) and how and through what alchemy they achieved inspiration. In my own quest for artistic vision and permission, I flirted and prodded and gleaned as much as I could from each one.

Years later — earlier this week — I stumbled upon Iron & Wine’s delicious new duet with Fiona Apple and was struck by how self-assured he actually sounds two decades later, a true master of his instrument and his songwriting craft. With amusement, I realized he’s only 18 months older than I am, and so much of the wisdom I attributed to him was my own insecurities at that age.

The new song is a rollicking romp, a little country folk, a little piano ballad, with the two trading sharply observed lines about love lost and recovered, and the jagged, joyous path to some semblance of perspective and peace. With the looping repetition of a round, the song builds resonance and buoyancy, both rising to the occasion, especially in lines harmonized with verve: “Dancing till we both collapse, wishing we could hide our tracks.” Their vocals and the song sound joyous, weary, wise; we were growing up together, far more than I realized at the time.   

Please sing along to a new song by an artist from whom you’ve long sought wisdom. Love, the Duchess

In book news:

My debut novel, “The Last Days of the Midnight Ramblers,” is out now from Flatiron Books. The first leg of my tour is in the books — thanks to everyone who turned up in support! Next, come see me in Seattle and Nashville. (Book tour details here.) 

Many friends have asked what they can do to support me and my book, and here’s a big one: whether you purchased my novel through Amazon, please log on and leave it a rating (I’d recommend 5 stars, but you do you!) and even a one-line review. Without enough reviews, my book won’t come up as a recommended title when readers search for related books. Thank you!

Sam Dunn asks brilliant questions in this piece for the Southern California News Group.

Jordan Snowden gives Ramblers some love in a thriller roundup for The Seattle Times.  

I get into it with four authors who have adapted their own work for Lit Hub.