At first, I hated you. I was so excited to get my own copy of The Sunset Tree. “This Year” is the song that introduced me to The Mountain Goats, and “Up the Wolves” became a fast favorite. I didn’t even realize you existed for a day or two, when I got to the album’s penultimate song, “Love Love Love.” There you were on the bridge between the second and third verses. 

Love Love is going to lead you by the hand
Into a white a-[pause]-less place
Now we see things as in a mirror dimly
Then we shall see each other face to face

The first time you made your presence known as I drove over a bump in the road. I replayed the song, hoping it was the bump that caused the skip, and not a scratch in my brand new CD. You were still there. I played it again, hoping my ears deceived me. You remained.

You put me in an uncomfortable position. As you were the only one skip in the disk, the album remained listenable and it seemed a waste of money to buy a new copy, especially when there are so many other albums I want. Yet my brand new album still had a flaw, a vandal preventing the full enjoyment of the music. I decided to put up with you.

Months later, I offered my box of CDs to friends as we all drove out to Lake Michigan together. Immediately, a friend grabbed The Sunset Tree. She’d grown up with the album and wanted to listen again. I told her about you, and as she expressed sadness at your existence, I realized I wasn’t upset you existed anymore. I’m quite happy to have you in my life.

You’re the kind of quirk that doesn’t happen often in our digital age. Apps are windows for users, not a vault which physical releases are rotated in and out of to create buzz and artificial scarcity. Spotify and Apple Music, the plethora of streaming services, and even Xbox Game Pass and Audible all offer access to art for a subscription, but it’s easy to lose access if the subscription is cancelled, or, more likely, if the media is pulled from the service. Rarely do people even own files locally on their computers.

Even the ahem, other ways to watch media aren’t immune to this. I sat down to rewatch a favorite show last summer, and found multiple episodes had bad audio mixes, with dialogue drowned out by the soundtrack or missing altogether. When I complained about this at a movie night, a friend’s eyes lit up and they ran to the basement, returning with a DVD of the first season which they gifted to me, solving my problem.

The song itself is the perfect place for you. A slow track near the end of the album, helping listeners calm down after higher energy tracks.“Love Love Love” ponders what love as a motivating force actually looks like, a relevant question for an album dealing with abuse. The simple guitar with subtle ambient support from percussion and strings being plucked draw attention to the lyrics while still being musically interesting. You sit in the midst of this track making it all fade away for a blip, before letting it return for a warm and satisfying ending. 

You are a reminder that no company can take away the piece of art I’ve purchased, and I can still listen whenever I want. “Love Love Love” has become one of my favorite songs, not just on the album, and I think it’s partly because of you. I’ve listened to the track on other platforms and at this point it feels like something’s missing without you. It’s like my copy has a secret for just me, an imperfection which makes the album all the more special, like a misprinted trading card. I look forward to listening through The Sunset Tree on my next road trip, and hearing you make your presence known once again. 

Sam Tuit

Sam Tuit graduated from Calvin in 2021 with a degree in film and media. He lives in Grand Rapids and works as an event coordinator. In his free time, he loves trying new things, cooking for others, and having nuanced conversations about the stories our society is telling.