Yes, I've posted this song twice in a row. Yes, it only came out on Friday. I don't care. It's been ringing in my head nonstop since I first listened to it, and since then it's been the only song on my weekend playlist. I find myself humming it as I walk around the city, singing tiny snatches of the lyrics. It's possessed me, in the best possible way. And frankly, I wanted to take a week to write about it. Baroness is, if not my favorite band of all time, tied for first, and their story is brilliant and rich and complicated - far bigger than one of these little weekly posts. But a wiser man than me once said something to the effect of 'If you think about something three times a week, you should write about it'. I've thought about this song three times a day since it came out.
A little over three years, on August 15th, 2012, near Bath, England, Baroness' tour bush crashed, falling off a viaduct nearly 30 feet high. Nine passengers were injured, including several members of the band. They'd just released an album, Yellow & Green, about a month beforehand, and as such I was following the tour with eager anticipation, waiting for the American dates to be announced. News of the bus crashed shocked me, as did the stories that followed it: John Baizley, lead guitarist and vocalist of the band, had broken his left arm and leg, while Allen Bickle and Matt Maggioni, drums and bass respectively, had suffered fractured vertebrae and would shortly announce their departure altogether.
This is where that odd concept of nerd-ownsership, one that I've discussed before in several articles, comes into play. See, this was a tragedy, with a huge impact on countless people's lives. But I won't lie to you - I was primarily worried that I'd never hear Baroness again. It's a profoundly selfish thought, truly the dark side of fandom, but I think it's also something we can't help but feel. Nonetheless, I was ready to accept that fact, that this was just a cruel twist of fate. Better to be happy with the music I had, three brilliant records, than to wish for the band to torture themselves just so I could hear them again.
John Baizley disagreed with that assessment though, and endured a grueling regiment of physical therapy in order to put himself back together. He'd check in every once in a while, and it impressed me as an amazing act of will and dedication. It would have been so easy to just write everything off, not only because of the physical pain, but because of the uncertainty involved - even if he recovered he'd just lost half his band, and he couldn't really be sure he'd ever play at the same level ever again. But Baizley was not so easily discouraged, and when life spit in his face, and he'd simply stood up, said, "No, fuck YOU", and started putting the pieces back together.
On August 14th, 2013 - nearly a year to the day after their bus crash - I saw Baroness play live at Irving Plaza in New York. I've been to a lot of shows in my 26 years, but I don't think I've ever experienced one that felt like such a pure moment of catharsis. There was this sense of dread that I couldn't quite shake as I rode the train there, that they'd be different, wrong, somehow fundamentally changed. And I think the band, as a whole, WAS different. I can't speak for Baizley, or his mental state, but I can tell you this: he played like a man reborn. There was a tangible sense of energy and appreciation, that every one of us was lucky to be alive and present in that moment.
This song, 'Chlorine & Wine', the debut single on Baroness' next album, Purple, captures that feeling, bottles it, and injects it directly into your brain. It's got an undeniable build over it's near 7-minute runtime, all leading to a fantastic call-and-response finale that I can't wait to see in concert. It is catharsis incarnate, the end of a three year journey that reminds us, as Baizely writes, "In spite of the winter, there's ways to keep warm". I had feared that Baroness might never make it back, or that if they did they'd be somehow less than they once were - my favorite band, and a cornerstone of the weird post-metal genre that's become my heartsong. But Baroness is far from dead - it's returned stronger, leaner, and with a new sense of drive and purpose. Purple cannot come fast enough.
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