SEWARD: Lust for life: How Christopher Owens learned to love music again
The story of Christopher Owens sounds straight out of a 1980s coming-of-age movie.
A boy born into the Children of God cult, Owens escaped to the punk rock scene of Amarillo, Texas, at the age of 16. He found a benefactor in businessman Stanley Marsh 3 and formed the band Girls. Girls, considered indie darlings, was also created with the now-deceased Chet "JR" White in 2007. The band released two albums, one creatively titled "Album" in 2009, and the other called "Father, Son, Holy Ghost" in 2011, before Owens announced that he would leave the band to pursue solo efforts in 2012.
Girls had been a band whose appeal eluded me. Anyone unfortunate enough to bring up late 2000s indie-rock in my presence will be subjected to unhinged ramblings about the merits of Deerhunter and Animal Collective. Girls came up around the same time as the peak of these groups, and their sound is akin to these personally beloved bands, with their combination of surf-rock, noise pop and psychedelia being tailor-made for my personal enjoyment.
This article was nearly written about another cult surf-rock artist known as Charlie Megira. Megira is someone who follows the band's exact formula and won me over much quicker than Girls did — although I cannot understand his lyrics due to my lack of command over Hebrew. Maybe someday, Megira.
They did not stick. Owens' nasally croon was annoying, and his lyrics were too simplistic for my liking. Repeated attempts at listening to "Album" would end in frustration and annoyance, as I could not shake my distaste for these vital aspects of the music of Girls.
These thoughts ran rampant through my head as I viewed the release page for Owens' latest solo release, "I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair", his first album since the release "Chrissybaby Forever" in 2015.
The release, fronted by a mostly facial, black-and-white shot of Owens wearing a flannel, is much more acclaimed than his previous work. Joe Goggins of DIY Magazine claims that it is, "potentially one of the year's best records." AllMusic, Northern Transmissions, Spectrum Culture, Paste, No Ripcord and Uncut similarly shower praise upon this release.
The reviews come to another consensus — the record is about the tribulations Owens underwent during his nine-year hiatus. With the death of White, a motorcycle crash that left him bedridden, his fiancée leaving him, homelessness and the loss of his day job, it is surprising that he came back to music at all.
Intrigued, I gave the album a listen. Then another.
If someone had told me that the frontman of Girls, a band that I had found to be at best tolerable, and at worst annoying, made this album, I would have laughed right in their face. Gone is the nasal croon of "Album" and "Father, Son, Holy Ghost."
Gone are the energetic surf-rock riffs and walls of sound that characterized those albums.
Owens, upon the first listen, sounds tired. The instrumentation is much more laid-back, with songs being stretched out to 6 or 7 minutes.
The subject matter of this album is no different than subject matters of the past: women — particularly a failed relationship. While it has not been made clear whether this album was about Owens' ex-fiancée, the signs are there.
Failed relationship notwithstanding, the album is not all doom and gloom. Owens is not bitter or angry toward her. He is accepting of her absence, searching for and finding the strength to move forward. The closing track, "Do You Need A Friend," is Owens speaking to himself, saying, "Crying only feels good for a while, then you're going to have to smile, if you want to love again."
He is afraid of the prospect of moving on, with the song ending on Owens' repeated mantra, "If you really wanna know, I'm barely making it through the days."
But he has made it. He knows what he needs to do to move on, and for the first time in a while, Owens seems prepared to take the necessary steps and escape the rut he was in for almost a decade. He is finally starting to love himself, and this album expresses all the love he has to give — to himself, music and future romantic partners.
It is a message that resonated with many, myself included. It has been a tough year for me, as I have been consistently receiving reminders of the mortality of my loved ones, failed romantic relationships and the ever-present stress that Rutgers has to offer.
Owens taught me how to love myself, persevere through hardships and reflect on my failings without beating myself up. He also inadvertently convinced me to enjoy Girls' music, which I never thought possible.
Owens has a lust for life. He is not tired, getting up and reclaiming what he had lost. I have a lust for life. What that means, I am not entirely sure. But I know that I am a better man because I have it.
Samuel Seward is a senior at the School of Arts and Sciences majoring in political science and minoring in English. Seward’s column, “Dead Air,” runs on alternate Mondays.
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