Album: At The Cut
Artist: Vic Chesnutt
Genre: Folk
Year: 2009
Label: Constellation
2009 was a murderous year for famous people. Michael Jackson, Patrick Swayze, Farrah Fawcett and David Carradine all passed from this world and into the undiscovered country. All of these people were fairly well known individuals, some more than others, but still, I think it’s safe to say they all made the headlines when they died. But in the waning weeks of 2009, we lost someone else, someone who wasn’t famous by any means, especially if you compare him to the aforementioned celebrities.
We lost Vic Chesnutt.
And I know you’re going “who?”
Don’t feel bad if you don’t know who he was, I’d only just started getting into his music a month before he died, which adds a level of surrealism to this, my feeling compelled to write something about him. More so because I had thought about writing something nice about him before I found out he’d died. The confirmation of his passing kind of sealed the deal. Vic Chesnutt was a folk singer-songwriter from Athens, Georgia. He wrote beautifully poignant songs about things like mortality, the imperfections of human nature and other depressing things.
I first discovered his work in a roundabout way. I have a love for the art of David Lynch. Film, music, writings and all. Over the summer I learned of an album called Dark Night Of The Soul by artists Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse that featured David Lynch singing on a few songs. I acquired the album and learned that all of the tracks featured different singers on them, ranging from The Flaming Lips to Black Francis of the Pixies. On the album’s penultimate track, the haunting “Grim Augury,” I was first introduced to Vic Chesnutt. In the song, Chesnutt, singing with his imperfect, weary voice tells a tale of a Lynchian dream sequence and warns his friend not to take it as a sign of trouble ahead. Chesnutt’s appearance on the album is, ultimately, far too short to get a real taste of him, so I decided to do some more research.
It took me quite some time to get around to looking the man up and I discovered he’d been writing and performing music since about 1985. Over Thanksgiving, I picked up his most recent (and now, sadly, his last) album, At The Cut. By this time, I had learned more about Mr. Chesnutt. At the age of 18, Chesnutt was in a car accident that paralyzed him from the waist down which I would guess probably has something to do with the chip he’s got on his shoulder in some of his songs, as well as his obsession with human mortality. Being confined to a wheelchair, he discovered he was still able to play guitar and started writing music. Twenty seven years later, Vic Chesnutt had built up a good-sized following and released his latest album, At The Cut. For this album, Chesnutt reassembled the all-star backing band that played on his previous work, the also impressive North Star Deserter. The band is nothing to sneeze at as it features four members of Thee Silver Mt. Zion as well as Guy Picciotto of Fugazi on guitar. Those players, combined with Chesnutt’s songwriting talents, made for a powerful, moving and now tragic work of art.
It is bizarre to listen to this album now and think, “the first time I heard it, he was still alive.” Especially given the subject matter of some of the songs. The album starts with “Coward” which begins simply enough with just Chesnutt and his guitar. As he plucks, a violin enters and then his voice. Listening to him sing was haunting before, when he was alive, now that he’s dead, it seems even more ghostly. Chesnutt proclaims that “the courage of the coward is greater than all other” before crying “and I am a coward!” Bold statement. The way he sings it, it sounds like he’s trying to work up the guts to say anything at all, likes he’s physically dragging the unwanted words out of his mouth. It makes for a powerful image of the broken man. And that doesn’t even describe the music. As the song builds, the intensity rises and the other musicians enter the picture. Picciotto and Efrim Menuck’s guitars sound like the lament of the fall of a great man, and the whole band sounds like they’re in mourning for something. Which is, as I have said before, made even creepier by Chesnutt’s untimely death.
“Coward” provides a good example of the full band songs, and the second song “When the Bottom Fell Out” contrasts starkly with it because it features a lonely Vic Chesnutt and his solo guitar. The song is another sad one (really, he didn’t have happy ones) about falling from a great height. Impossibly though, Chesnutt begins to glide before eventually smashing into the ground below. But the song really feels to me like it’s about being at peace with your situation, even if death is fast approaching. Chesnutt falls and feels terror, but as he approaches the ground, he comes to a place of peace with himself and says, “It’s been pretty great going.” I promise this is the second to last time I’ll say this: It’s freaking me out just how much of this album is about death and how it was his last one. Especially with a song like “When The Bottom Fell Out.” I’ve got chills.
My favorite song on the album by far though, isn’t really about mortality to my knowledge. I’m not honestly sure what it’s about, but I know it’s the most beautiful song on the album and in some ways, the saddest. That song is “Chinaberry Tree,” a full band arrangement that features some of Picciotto and Menuck’s best guitars as well as Jessica Moss’ soaring violin. The song features Chesnutt simultaneously disparaging about and lamenting his need to cut down a great chinaberry tree. The chorus is what get’s me every time, with Chesnutt howling “chinaberry tree” at the top of his mournful voice.
Not to be callous or anything, but it’s nice that Chesnutt went out on such a good note, musically speaking. At The Cut doesn’t have a bad… uh… “cut” on it and that’s a damn rare thing. But there’s something that I just can’t get past. The ninth song on the album is titled “Flirted With You All My Life” which at first appears to be a song about unrequited love but as it progresses reveals itself to be about Death. In the song, Chesnutt traces his close relationship with Death and how it’s hounded him all his life and taken those close to him. More than that, he says at one point how he’s kissed her “once or twice” referring to the times he’s attempted suicide. However, the song’s chorus and end have Chesnutt singing the words “I’m not ready” over and over again. This album came out last year! In less than a year of this album’s release, Chesnutt died. More than that, his death may have been the result of suicide, which makes “Flirted” both incredibly ironic and incredibly sad. Chesnutt was never destined to be super famous or idolized by millions and I’m one of the few people I know who listens to his music. I’m hoping that this review will, if nothing else, convince you to look into this sad but brilliant musician. Oh Vic. If you’ve been flirting with Death all your life, it looks like you’ve kissed her for the last time. I hope sincerely that wherever you are, you’re in a better place. R.I.P.
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