To be totally honest about this, I listened to this album over and over like a teenager wearing an album out all while rehabbing. While mom was visiting, the weeks afterwards. . . still, now, off and on.
This album is the soundtrack of Little, Big for me. They are inextricably linked and tied up with this summer and my childhood and magic and sadness.
But what Begonias sounds like is that party or the memory of that party from years ago. . . that party when you were really pretty and everyone else was pretty too, like everyone in the room literally had a shine to them that leached into you and warmed you right up. It was the first time you felt grown and free and like you could make choices just to make them about the shape of the night and your future and that boy sitting across the room. The party might have had lots of candles lit or maybe loads of small white strands of twinkling lights hanging overhead. You probably spent some time outside staring up at stars. There was definitely a balcony involved. . . or maybe a cobblestone paved courtyard. Someone you'd been crushing on for months smiled at you and smiled at you and at some point, said your name in just the way you'd been hoping they would say your name for weeks--on the edge of a laugh, like your name could be the answer to the most fascinating question someone ever asked.
Begonias sounds like the tenuous memory of that evening. It sounds like country music if country music had always been about porches and sunlight and love. . . and never hate or abuse or jingoistic nonsense or a boot up anyone's ass. It's a gorgeous and nostalgic album that on some level, a little, saved me this year.
Thanks, Caitlin and Thad.
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