As autumn threatens its coldness – and the certainty of winter in its wake – I do what any music-obsessed nerd does.
I make a Fall playlist.
This is one of the fun things about seasonal shifts: the rituals. There are universal things, like pumpkin spice lattes, Halloween decorations, raking and crunching the fallen leaves.
But what makes a Fall playlist?
For my sister, it’s Taylor Swift’s folklore on repeat. For my childhood friends out in the cornfields of Ohio, it can range from somber emorock to folk or country. Last year, mine simmered down to mostly Enya (rough Fall ’21 for me).
I’m not sure what makes all of these “Fall”, but when I try to conceptualize these things, it comes down to the quality orange. The setting sun, the amber leaves, the pumpkin, the color of bonfires and fading heat. Something softly blazing and flickering out.
“Little Hell” by Talel McBriar has this quality. Even the title quietly broils with its suggestion of Hell itself. In this lead single from her new EP Flood Season, McBriar resigns herself of her resentment toward another as she seeks a new road forward. The song weaves between commentary toward this person, imagery of cold twilight walks, and that subtle desperation of a young artist hoping to break free of their hometown.
I have a few friends who release music. One thing I can tell you: it’s not easy or recommended to allow for a “long” intro, and what constitutes “long” gets shorter all the time. When trying to get playlisted or seen by others, people can lose interest in seconds. So when “Little Hell” opens with a luxurious 30 second intro, complete with slide guitar, drums, and bass, I know I’m in for a treat.
Then McBriar’s vocals flow in. Powerful, yet somehow light and clear, her voice breaks through the molassesy drawl of the backing instrumental.
I’m dumbstruck.
How has this voice remained unheard for so long?
In my stupor, I cling to what brought me here in the first place, my magnum opus: my Fall playlist. I scurry to add her in, where she takes home with indie folk greats like Sierra Ferrell, Gillian Welch, Angel Olsen, First Aid Kit – in fact, the slow, unapologetic pace is warmly reminiscent of Julia Jacklin’s “Don’t Know How to Stop Loving You”, their voices sharing a high, ringing quality.
According to McBriar’s instagram, she “wrote this song when life was very on pause and consisted of many walks a day.” Many will relate to the rumination that fills her private promenades, and to her lamentation of being “sick of talking to friends through a radio tower.” As if to mimic the way such thoughts fall off into the air as she treads on, harmonies flow in to echo her words.
It’s in the chorus that McBriar’s melodic arrangement and songwriting stand out. The lyric, “What would you do to be somebody else?” has the simplicity of a billboard tagline, but McBriar delivers it with a masterful use of dynamics that will have any listener singing along with the enthusiasm of a Taylor Swift bridge.
Speaking of McBriar standing out: I watched a few performances of this song. My original thought was that the song acoustic – especially without the slide guitar – might be a bit boring. The video centers on her, her acoustic and its bright red capo popping against the green of a British Columbian forest.
I was humbled by the strength of her alone with her instrument.
Alongside her voice, which soars easily and strong without mixing or mastering, her guitar playing utilizies its own hammer-ons and slides, sparking the strings into a ghostly warble alongside.
No bells and whistles, no added “aesthetic” – even her guitar strap’s green fades into the background. The only flourishes McBriar receives is the sun glowing a halo to her hair, and a gleaming silver nose ring.
As Goldilocks would say: it’s just right. Somehow a voice as powerful as hers manages to glide and glissade without a groan, hitch, or gravel, creating a sound both delicate and pronounced.
“Will I still hear that three chord song
When I live in the cemetery?
Just sick and tired of all this news
It’s always been a little scary”
While I hope McBriar’s found her way out of that “little hell”, out of the cemetery-feeling, the news-tired weariness, and “far”sickness of wishing to leave home, I’d be kidding myself that I wasn’t happy to hear the feeling sung so well.
So go listen. Get excited for the little hell of Fall, with goblins and ghouls and cheap costumes – pumpkin pie chills and leaves dying. Get excited for the loneliness, the longing, and go take a melancholy walk with this song. As you sit in the somber sound, maybe you’ll think what I thought:
If this is what makes an angel sing, I’ll take a little hell.
