I have written about The Milk Carton Kids before, both as a defense of openers and as a confessing fangirl. I have talked about them, many times, loudly, manically, ironically entirely out of sync with the music I love—mellow, subtle, hauntingly beautiful. I have made it a personal mission to introduce their music to as many people as possible. When people ask me why I feel so passionately about this band, my answer usually goes something like this: “Have you heard their music?! No, like actually, have you? Because you can download their first two albums for free from their website…” Such a response is helpful, especially for those who looking for new music without the commitment of actually buying said music (cough everySpotifyuser cough), but it doesn’t really answer the question. And with their new album dropping next week, I thought now would be as good a time as any to attempt to convey my reasons for devotion.
I guess the best place to start is the beginning. On December 6, 2011, my mother started Facebook chatting me about an Over the Rhine concert she and my father were planning on attending that weekend. She told me, and I quote:
Mom: the opening act is something to do with “milk cartons” I don’t remember exactly.
Me: hahahahaha its the milk carton kids. i was thinking about going to it, but we have a floor date that night so i might end up doing that instead…but we’ll see!
Yes, indeed, I almost traded my date with destiny for a date with a bunch of guys who would rather be playing Pokemon (much love, Second Beets). Instead, I searched for The Milk Carton Kids on YouTube and was hooked almost instantly. I rustled up a few friends, headed to the concert, and left my heart on the CFAC stage that Friday night.
While that concert was the cornerstone of the early stages of my fandom, things really geared up in January of 2012. As I settled in for the fifteen-hour bus ride from Grand Rapids to Concord, Massachusetts, where I was to spend the three-week interim studying Emerson and Thoreau and Hawthorne, I tuned my iPod to the first (and coincidentally very fitting) track from their album Prologue:
Michigan’s in the rearview now
Keep your hands where I can see them
You took the words right out my mouth
When you knew that I would need them
What am I supposed to do now
Without you
Without you
As we left Michigan behind in pursuit of more literary pastures, the snow continued to drift and cover most of the land between here and there. I talked to people sitting near me, teetering in the space between strangers and acquaintances. I read a bit of Walden as we headed in the pond’s general direction. I watched Winona Ryder’s middling attempt at Jo March in Little Women. But in between those activities, I put my earbuds in, turned on the Milk Carton Kids, and looked out the window.
I’ve always loved long car trips, and my favorite car trip activity is staring out the window. I like moving while the world stands still. I like dreaming of all my life could be, of what the future might look like. I like listening, really listening, to the music in my ears,. For those times when you don’t wait to talk, but instead want to listen, and when you listen, you want your music to say something to you. Yes, you want harmony and melody, instruments and voices, beat and rhythm.
But you still want a little more.
On my trip to New England, I discovered that the Milk Carton Kids have the “little more” that I crave. The clever phrasings, the lilting harmonies, the bone-soaking sadness, the hard-earned joy—it fills me up with the subtle satisfaction of uncertainty.
I have embarked on my fair share of travels since then, and I have always taken the Milk Carton Kids with me*. Whether it be on a train, bus, or airplane, in a hostel, hotel, or Airbnb apartment, there are always windows to the outside world.
So, as I previously mentioned: their two first albums are available, free of charge, on their website. And their newest album Monterey comes out on May 19.
I encourage you to find a window and listen.
*And while their recordings are definitely something to write home about, seeing The Milk Carton Kids live is the most preferred experience. Luckily, we have this video as a highly condensed version of what you get at any given performance—hilarious banter, flawless cohesion, and tears from Marcus Mumford (or somebody who really likes Marcus Mumford).
Catherine Kramer (’14) has a degree in English and works in publishing. Her continued existence is made possible by grace, warm hugs, and iced chai lattes.
