Aoife O’Donovan – Age of Apathy
Yep Roc – 21 January 2022
Age of Apathy is Aoife O’Donovan third studio album, a measured reflection of life and times, her life and times. Generally muted, the album reflects on memories and stories that step either side of the Millennium. There is a lot to listen to, a lot to work with where strong lyrics reveal as much as tell; imagery more so than direct, obvious descriptors. Many songs are without a chorus, or a further line might be added to one as the song progresses. The narrative is important, not a simple two lines and repetitive hook. All this leads me to dangerous territory, somewhere where I seldom like to tread, that of comparison. I hear not even echoes but reflections -there’s that word again – reflections of Joni Mitchell whose songs unfold a narrative, a story that can be both easy and opaque to see through. The same occurs here, epitomised by the title track.
Age of Apathy is a great descriptor, a period of time perhaps started by, perhaps punctuated by the Twin Towers: hold me like you held me on the day the towers fell. There are echoes of a different past, most notably and not so coincidentally, Joni Mitchell’s My Old Man. The song reveals perhaps a wish to be born into the age of apathy. For those too young to remember or who were born after the event, does it have the same meaning to those that were around at the time? Or does it fall in with any atrocity that has time apart and generational distance? Especially for Americans, is there a regret that 9/11 means less to young adults, or is there a wish, an envy of the Age of Apathy?
This may sound a tad heavy, but for many of us, the past couple of years has allowed or even led us to an examination of the path we have travelled thus far. At worst, we can but fall into a dark place, but hopefully, we reflect (again) and move on, noting that we are still here, still moving forward. So, B61 is about relationships that are in need of support and that such things are not straightforward: She carried the world on his shoulders.
Elevators, re-examines memories and realises that nothing lasts, just like the ice melting on my tongue. But the memory lives on. On Prodigal Daughter, a song featuring Allison Russell that she began writing with Tim O’Brien several years ago, has a more straightforward narrative but is nonetheless equally emotionally charged.
These emotions though are not off the scale. There are no histrionics, no shouting or wailing – and neither is there any apathy. Aoife’s songs are delivered in a way that makes you want to give them time, give them attention. As the album draws to a close, there is hope; there is brightness; there is a future. Featuring Madison Cunningham, Passengers offers a bright, positive look forward. This is a record of Aoife’s journey that coincides with so many of us that we can walk with it, feel it, echoing all our own straits of the past two years and a positive look to the future. Listen carefully but listen to enjoy it. Excellent.
Photo Credit: Omar Cruz