I was in the garden yesterday. Truth be told, I was walking Duchess Peppercorn, and she was exploring the grounds, but I was in the garden for the sake of the stage setting. The weather was seasonal, but more so in the sense of "Seasonal for Tulsa" and less "Seasonal for Minneapolis." I'll take it. Last winter broke me a little bit, so while hitting nearly 70 degrees in early March is definitively bad and a harbinger of something worse, I will enjoy it. 

Spring in the garden has sprung. The seemingly spontaneous growth of tulips and grass everywhere I looked delighted me, in so much as I ever am truly delighted.
It was the type of day that made me long for spring break. Both as a child and former educator, I embraced spring break as the last chance to catch my breath before the long sprint toward summer. 

But now, in corporate America, mired in late-stage capitalism and the churn of kickoffs, concepting, feedback, and delivery, there is no Spring Break. 

There is only Paid Time Off. 

One is considerably more romantic than the other. 

All things being equal, money being no object, Vacation Days inconsequential. Where are you trying to go?

Are you setting off on a wild-ass hike through the Rockies or an epic bike ride across New Zealand?
A week in the sun and sand on a remote isle in the Seychelles or Maldives?
What type of travel replenishes your soul or fills up your tank?

This week's theme: 

Songs that take you somewhere. 

|Song|
Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games

|Artist|
of Montreal

|Released|
2005

|Lyric|
Let's pretend we don't exist
Let's pretend we're in Antarctica

|One Word|
Trippy

|More Than One Word|

I can't say for sure, but of Montreal gives us a clue where they'd like to go if given an opportunity to get away from it all:

Let's pretend we don't exist/ Let's pretend we're in an Antarctica. 

Antarctica is low on my list of imaginary places if we're pretending we're somewhere, but maybe they're just really into penguins. Who is to say? Of Montreal is weird. I think that’s safe to admit.

Few acts gleam with the eclectic brilliance of Montreal in the kaleidoscopic realm of indie pop. This Athens, Georgia collective has carved out a niche melding psychedelia, glam rock theatrics, and unabashed pop sensibility that defies easy categorization.

With a penchant for whimsical storytelling and unabashed introspection, of Montreal weaves intricate tapestries of emotion and absurdity, inviting listeners on a journey through the darkest recesses of the human psyche and back again.

From its opening notes, "Wraith Pinned to the Mist" envelops listeners in a whirlwind of shimmering synths and infectious melodies. It's a buffet for the senses. The song, on the whole, is a masterpiece, but its chorus—an irresistible earworm if ever there was one— truly cements its place in the pantheon of indie-pop classics. With its quirky refrain of "Let's have bizarre celebrations," "Wraith Pinned to the Mist" beckons listeners into a realm of joyful abandon, where the boundaries of reality blur and anything is possible.

|Song|
Postcards From Italy

|Artist|
Beirut
|Released|
2006

|Lyric|
And I will love to see that day/
That day is mine

|One Word|
Transportive

|More Than One Word|
Leen and I spent spring break in Italy during one of our years in Qatar. I almost proposed to her on the Ponte Vecchio, but I neither had a ring nor much of a plan to make it happen. So when I say I almost proposed, I mean, when we were planning the trip, I thought to myself: Boy, it would be very romantic to propose in Florence. It would be nice to go back, now that we're married, and I could think about giving her a piece of jewelry on a bridge that I have to describe as mid at best. In the absence of visiting Italy, listening to Beirut must suffice. 

I'll admit, naming a band after a city in Lebanon but playing music that is far more European in design is a bit confusing. Also, whenever I asked people if they had heard of Beirut, they assumed I meant either Beer Pong or the city. But no, I meant the band. 

Have you ever heard of Beirut? I bet not. Allow me to explain a bit. 

Beirut's musical tapestry unfolds like a travelogue for the ears—a rich and eclectic fusion of Eastern European folk, Balkan brass, and indie pop sensibilities that defies easy classification. At the heart of the sound lies the voice of frontman Zach Condon, whose world-weary croon imbues each song with nostalgia and longing despite being only in his early 20s when he crafted this song.

In tracks like "Postcards from Italy," Beirut weaves a sound that transports listeners to the sun-drenched streets of southern Europe, where accordion melodies mingle with cascading horns and lilting percussion. Condon's lyrics evoke a sense of wanderlust and romantic longing, painting vivid vignettes of love and loss against a backdrop of cobblestone alleyways and azure skies.

But Beirut's music extends far beyond the confines of traditional folk music. In songs like "Postcards from Italy," they seamlessly blend elements of indie rock and chamber pop, creating a lush and immersive landscape that feels both timeless and utterly contemporary. The result is an intimate and expansive sound, drawing listeners into a world of bittersweet beauty and unbridled joy.

At its core, Beirut revels in exploring the human experience—celebrating the joys of love and connection while grappling with the pain of loss and longing. With "Postcards from Italy" and beyond, they invite listeners on a journey of self-discovery and introspection, weaving a sound as intricate and evocative as the world itself.

It's probably better to be in Italy than Antarctica. But that's just me. 

|Song|
Mykonos

|Artist|
Fleet Foxes

|Released|
2008

|Lyric|

Brother, you don't need to turn me away
I was waiting down at the ancient gate

|One Word|
Ephemeral

|More Than One Word|

I've never been to Mykonos. I flew into Athens once and stayed for a long weekend. The furthest I got away from Athens was a day trip to Delphi to see what the Oracle was up to. But people seem to really like heading to the Greek Isles. Don't get me wrong, I am sure they're great. I am just saying I didn't find a bus from central Athens heading to Mykonos, so I settled for yogurt with honey and a carafe of red wine in Delphi. It was pretty good, too. 

There are not a lot of songs about Delphi on my list, though. Mykonos however...

On their debut album, Fleet Foxes emerged as torchbearers of a new folk revival—a band whose harmonies echo with the ghosts of Appalachian ballads and Laurel Canyon troubadours. Led by the ethereal vocals of Robin Pecknold, Fleet Foxes crafted a sound that was at once timeless and yet utterly contemporary. When Pitchfork named their debut album Best of the Year, many people, myself included, were like: wait, who? But when you go back and listen to it, the decision checks out. 

"Mykonos" transport listeners to a world of myth and mystery, where lush acoustic guitars and cascading vocal harmonies evoke the rolling hills and misty fjords of their native Pacific Northwest. Pecknold's lyrics are poetic and enigmatic, weaving tales of love and loss against a backdrop of ancient forests and endless skies. With "Mykonos" and their debut album as a whole, Fleet Foxes tapped into something truly special — a sound that resonates with a sense of longing and discovery, inviting listeners on a journey of introspection and questioning. In an era of disposable pop and digital ephemera, Fleet Foxes remind us of the enduring power of music to transport us to places both real and imagined, leaving an indelible mark on the musical landscape in the process.

Mykonos as an island is probably very cool. You should go. But don't sleep on Delphi, either. Also very cool.

|Song|
King of Spain

|Artist|
Tallest Man on Earth

|Released|
2010

|Lyric|

And I will settle in Pamplona
And I'll provoke the bulls with words
And then I'll send a man to meet them all
The blood is fake, so I have heard

|One Word|
Clever

|More Than One Word|

I recently covered my trip to Spain with my friend Matt during my Destroyer sololiquy, so I will only tread a little bit into this territory again except to say I would like the boys, at least one of them, to study abroad there. Specifically, I would like them to study in Granada. 

Granada, for the uninitiated, was the home of the Moors, and they built this dope ass palace at the top of a hill called Alhambra. Whenever I hear this song about being the King of Spain, I think about living in Alhambra and reigning over my empire from this location. I understand there is a current King of Spain, and it would be QUITE controversial if he were like: I live at Alhambra now, but rules are out the window in this world where I have been named the King of Spain. 

In the folk landscape where authenticity is revered above all else, Kristian Matsson, better known as The Tallest Man on Earth, stands as a towering figure despite his name being a misnomer. I saw him live once, and he's far closer to a short king than the tallest man. That said, with his raw, emotive vocals and nimble fingerpicking, Matsson has carved out a niche all his own—a realm where heartache and hope intertwine with poetic grace.

On King of Spain, Matsson captivates listeners with a jaunty melody and evocative lyrics. He channels the spirit of traditional folk troubadours while infusing his music with a distinctly modern sensibility. The song is imbued with a sense of wanderlust and playfulness, evoking the dreams of never-will but wouldn't it be nice. 

|Song|
Minnesota, Wi

|Artist|
Bon Iver

|Released|
2011

|Lyric|
You know it won't beseech you,
We're laying in an open field
I will let you grow, no need to know this

|One Word|
Vast

|More Than One Word|

Antarctica, Mykonos, Italy, Spain, and Minnesota/Wisconsin. Name a collection of more perfect Spring Break destinations. 

I'll wait.

There are other "Location" songs on my top 100, but let's burn all our Bon Iver oil here because, and spoiler alert, it's his last entry on my list. Justin Vernon tops out at three entries on the list, which is near the top of anyone. I've explained why Vernon resonates so much with me. He definitely was a 'right place, right time, right mindset' artist, and the connection to being a Wisconsin boy didn't hurt either. What about this song elevates it over the rest of the catalog?

Aside from its name, which works for me as a man who has lived exclusively in Wisconsin and Minnesota (plus the stint in Qatar), this song has some gnarly horns and evocative lyrics. 

The second track on Bon Iver's sophomore album is a cryptic and poetic epic that evokes images of icy caves and open fields. There's a definite connection, almost longing for the natural world. The song is followed on the album by the track Holocene. Geologists recently settled an ongoing debate regarding whether or not we are in a new Geologic epoch (beginning in the mid-20th century, when nuclear bomb tests scattered radioactive fallout across our world called the Anthropocene). They decided no. The definitions of times and impacts need to be clarified and pinned down before anyone makes any changes in eras. But Bon Iver's use of natural imagery on this album (and all his works) certainly makes a listener pay attention to the world around them (that is, if you can understand anything he's saying.)

Like many a Bon Iver song, this one is more interpretative than prescriptive in its meaning, and for me, it's about a vibe. It doesn't have much to do with Wisconsin or Minnesota, for that matter. He's not name-checking the Wisconsin Dells, Green Bay Packers, Uptown, or Duluth. Instead, like most of his songs, it's about vibe. For my readers not in Wisconsin or Minnesota, trust me that when you listen to this song, you'll be transported to a place that is like spending time in Wisconsin in Minnesota, whatever that might mean for you. 

More next week. In the mean time, check out the full playlist.