I promise this isn't turning into a music newsletter. But, the things that I find myself writing or thinking about that are not poems and working on this NOVEL (We will talk about that next time) tend to be songs. So, I am resurrecting my monthly Seven Songs playlists which I executed flawlessly in 2024 but abandoned shamelessly in 2025.

You can add the playlists to your Apples or Spotifys if that is something that you do.

In one of the most compelling and engaging bits of newsletter-writing, I am going to say nothing about this track beyond its continual presence ditty-ing out of car speakers, laptops, and headphones in a near-incessant loop (seriously) because there is more to come about that in a quickly approaching newsletter. My apologies, reader.

Nina Simone exists on the periphery of my musical holdings in a space that seems too cool for me to visit long. Every now and then I come across a song like this and I have to be brave and hope my listening is innocuous enough. I came upon this one during a vile-some scroll through Instagram from @dream.weasel (who, if you follow, I am sorry - she is absolutely amazing and I foresee a lot of her suggestions showing up in the playlists of this year).

This song summons a vibe like a demon from a late 70s first edition Dungeons and Dragons module. It is slow and gathers like smoke as it comes to formation and in the middle of it is Simone coaxing and whispering and growling. I don't know if I have heard a song that evoked so many imagined facial expressions. The ease with which this woman tacks purcussions into literal spoken sentences, the way she seems to play coy with the microphone and leave huge swaths of space for the repetitive rhythms and, in turn, how the music will sometimes just stop to listen - it all begs to be listened to over and over, and each time I feel filled with a powerful disdain. That disdain bellows in my gut these days, so why not give it a soundtrack?

My nephew suggested Fahey to me and shared this song. I won't go into detail about how rad my nephew is growing to be or how much hope and joy I received watching this YouTube video of his band playing cover songs in Chicago, but know I want to.

What grabs me in this one is the weird dichotomy of dread/despair and hope, hope hope. It's almost as if this piece were a glossary (Dammit. I cannot believe I missed that show. I love you Todd Beane) of emotions. They go everywhere and give you enough time to sit with each and push them up against the others to create these weird secondary emotions. It is a lot of work for a single guitar.

For my job job I had to write a piece about California music in the 60s and 70s. Instead of gravitating towards The Byrds I just fell back in love with The Beach Boys. This song in particular is just a drive. The drums push it along like a freight train that those angelic harmonies just haunt for the whole journey. Its a toe-tapper and a smile in the cold woods of Midcoast Maine and I adore it.

"Is it a bar, or is it a Seger Bar?" This single question from Boston based Instagram dive bar-fly @wickedfast brought me a terrible amount of joy in January. I have one of Seger's records on vinyl, a scratchy print of Night Moves I pulled out of a dollar box somewhere. I listened to it often in 2025 and was struck. There is something terribly cheesy about Bob Seger that reminds me of dudes working on cars while as a kid I rode my bike up and down the street I grew up on. There is also a whisper of the time I worked at Davis Truck & Trailer for my dear passed friend Mac Mercer, where classic rock radio was pumped into the mechanic’s bays at all hours of the day. There is something under the surface of Bob Seger’s music that I cannot name, but I think it is the same thing I look for when I am longing for wood-paneled dive bars with worn-in, cracked leather stools. It may have something to do with being from Arkansas where things like this happen all the time. As I have gotten older, my enjoyment of Bob Seger has become less ironic.

Ethiopiques #21 is, without a doubt, in my top seven albums of all time. I wear it out every winter. It IS the soundtrack to reading and drinking coffee as the sun comes up in the cold for me. It is some of the most beautiful piano music I have ever heard. It is spellbinding. Seriously, if you have never listened to Emahoy I am jealous that you get to experience it for the first time. Naturally it appears on this list because, as I said, January, winter, cold, coffee, etc.

I come back to The Band like an audible comfort food. Winter in Kansas City is rough (hence the exodus to Maine), but there is something in the austere beauty of the prairie, the blue-grey skies and pale, dead grasses that makes me yearn for late-70s twangy rock. This track, specifically with Rick Danko's quiver and belt, with the bop and bounce and pre-synth organ explosions may be a little more energetic than the flatlands call for, but I cannot help myself. Such compositions. It is just sometihng else.

If you have made it this far, thanks. Keep your chins up folks. Drink some water, get some sleep, and save your strength for the fight. See you soon. -RSR