Summer House

Alright, so! I didn’t have as much time to work on this as I would’ve liked. Some family troubles arose in the last few weeks and I ended up buying a car and making a trip to Massachusetts. So the mix isn’t quite there (headphones encouraged). But! I found this assignment terribly fun and rewarding. Thanks, Nora!

Originally, I was set on performing something (glass bottle, windchimes, etc.) for the wind requirement—but a few weeks ago I fell in love with Kamasi Washington’s score for the Michelle Obama documentary, “Becoming”. So my winds are a sample of the beginning of his piece entitled “Provocation“. If you haven’t heard that soundtrack yet—definitely check it out. As for the random wiki-ing, the WikiGods gave me a gem on my third click: Raventhorp. Essentially, it was a huge gothic summer house built on the coast of Maine for Anne Longfellow Thorp (daughter of poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow) and Joseph Gilbert Thorp (son of a wealthy lumber baron). The house is beautiful albeit haunted-looking (google some photos!) and I found it immediately inspirational. At first, I thought it would be interesting to explore what might have gone down in such a place—given the owners’ social circles. But then, as I could find very little about Anne and Joseph, I found myself imagining a love story for them—maybe they disappeared, wanting nothing to do with the worlds into which they were born, and instead determined to create their own. The song ends up being the fictional story of Anne and Joseph burning Raventhorp to the ground, determined to set off on an entirely new life, all their own.

Lyrics

Summer house

on the coast.

Son of a sin,

daughter of a ghost.

Looking out

on the waves.

Making our beds,

digging our graves.

I remember thinking I’d die

if I didn’t have you then.

Blood moon orange sky

hanging over Madison.

On the long drive east you said,

“We’re not like them.

We’re story-less.”

Clearing out

before the snow.

A pillar pyre—

the death of our home.

Stepping back

to watch the flames.

The wraparound porch,

the gables ablaze.

I remember thinking we’re dead

if we ever return.

Your face lighting up

in the glow of the burn.

And on the long drive south

you threw your head back and said,

“We’re new again.

We’re story-less.”

• Alternative Rock
• Folk
• Indie
• Indie Rock