As this entry goes live, it is the southern solstice; in the northern hemisphere, it’s the longest night of the year. In tribute, I’m playing Over the Rhine’s The Darkest Night of the Year.

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In writing about the new Over the Rhine Christmas album, Jeff wrote this:

Ten years ago Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist produced a Christmas album, The Darkest Night of the Year, as their band, Over the Rhine, began to dissolve around them. Over the Rhine persisted but the album marked a distinct ending of an era with the departure of guitarist Ric Hordinski and the subsequent construction of a six-piece band.

[Jeff certainly knows OtR's history better than I do.]

The dissolution of the first era of Over the Rhine is what leads to the album’s character: dark, moody, and plaintive. To quote Linford Detweiler from when I saw OtR in concert earlier this year: “Sad music makes me happy.” It does the same for me. I’ve often sought why this is true for me; the only answer I’ve really come close to with it is that profound expressions of sadness or dismay are rooted in valuing things that we should love and cherish. Great breakup songs must lament good times, whether they’re the 80s power ballad begging the girl to come back or Ben Folds wanting his black T-shirt back (you bitch). You don’t mourn unless the loss has value.

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I think that my two favorite tracks off of TDNotY are “Coal Train“, which evokes all the imagery of being in Linford’s childhood country church in southeastern Ohio, having to pause as the coal train comes by, and “Amelia’s Last“. Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” brings a sense of scope and purpose to the protagonist’s life at the coming of the solstice: a moment of contemplation before moving along to carry forward. That’s a common sentiment as the end of the Gregorian calendar’s 12th month draws to a close, as we turn weary eyes to a new year.

Similarly, I think “Amelia’s Last” brings a sense of understanding of our place in this world, albeit with a slightly different perspective. Where Frost is quiet and contemplative, Detweiler is troubled and restless; the liner notes comment that “This record is for … anyone wrestling with their own dark angel this Christmas.”

these are the (whose are the?)
these are the raw materials
you and me
these are the (whose are the?)
these are the angels’ inferiors
who
someone breathed this breath in us
“oh amelia, we’ve so far to go
oh amelia”

these are the (whose are the?)
these are the ordinary clothes
you and me
around extraordinary flesh and pulsing madness deep and close
who
someone breathed this breath in us
“oh amelia maybe we’re not that far
oh amelia is this who we really are
my amelia”

Someone breathed this breath in us, and we are in His woods. This is who we really are, and we have miles to go before we lie down our last.