In an interview with Pitchfork shortly before the release of her second album under the moniker Waxahatchee, this fascinating bit of information was revealed about Katie Crutchfield’s bedroom decor: “There is a Dolly Parton poster to the left, a Pussy Galore poster to the right and a wall of cassettes, vinyl and books.”
That brief description says a lot about Crutchfield’s artistic aspirations as a young songwriter profoundly influenced by the DIY scene of her native Birmingham, Ala.
Waxahatchee’s 2012 debut, American Weekend, is spare and intimate, the lo-fi sound of a confessional Punk poetess emerging from a difficult breakup, the kind of record Elliott Smith would be proud to call his own.
The follow-up, 2013’s Cerulean Salt, is more expansive in multiple ways but no less emotionally piercing.
It’s as if Rilo Kiley made another great album after The Execution of All Things instead of moving to Los Angeles to become Fleetwood Mac.
“A lot of it is about realizing that your childhood is over, that your innocence is gone,” Crutchfield told Pitchfork about Cerulean Salt’s lyrical concerns. “When you’re a kid, you’re always happy, and everything’s good. And then you realize, ‘That’s never gonna be how I am again.’ ”
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