The Five Albums I’d Take to The Desert Island Where I Guess I’ll Die Alone?
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
Updated: 3 days ago
I’m not sure why we humans went all in on this “what would you take to a desert island” trope, which seems to assume we’ll both be aware — ahead of time — about this marooning and that we’ll somehow not able to also plan for our rescue. Oh, and that we’ll be focused on what kind of entertainment we’ll want to stare at in despair as our final hours tick away against the backdrop of so many coconut trees brimming with fruit we apparently can’t figure out how to I access. Maybe “Gilligan’s Island” had a bigger cultural impact that we knew at the time.
And maybe I’m just an overthinker.
I will play along, but I do want it noted that if I do actually become aware that soon, I’ll be shipped off and abandoned on an island somewhere, I would really prefer it if someone would just come and get me versus waiting to see how it goes with my album selections. I know I’m past reproductive age and rapidly careening toward whatever “retirement” will mean in 20 years, but I promise I still have value. I’ll tell you about it after the rescue (see, I’ve learned a thing or two in the past few decades).
So, here are the albums I’m taking and why:
Neil Young, “Harvest”
I was raised on Neil Young. “Harvest” is the soundtrack of my youth, the first album where I knew every lyric (even before I was too young to understand them), and I could anticipate which song would spin up next as the last one faded away. I’m pretty sure my dad wore a groove in the vinyl, but somehow, I’ve never grown sick of “Harvest.” These days, I marvel at the shocking youth of young Neil as he put this together, a man who was born with more wisdom than most of us will ever have and one of the best lyricists of our time. I love how the reflections captured here gain new significance the older he (and I) get. Not many albums are able to evolve with us, but “Harvest” does.
While “Old Man” and “Heart of Gold” and “Alabama” are fantastic (and good grief, this album was a hit machine), I have a soft spot for the rare cinematic folk mashup, and “A Man Needs a Maid” hits it for me every time. I could totally close my eyes and escape for 3 minutes to this tune as the coconut crabs plot their big feast (I’m assuming I’ll go out Amelia Earhart style here, given how long it took the people to come rescue her, which was, effectively, forever).
Ben Kweller, “Sha Sha”
Way too often overlooked, Ben Kweller will surely gain a place in my children’s memory banks the same way Neil Young did in mine. Because they’ve heard this album front to back approximately 735 times, usually on one of our very long road trips. Surely they associate “Family Tree” with crossing the border, manymany times, into Michigan from Ohio as we made our way north for Thanksgiving or a beach trip along Lake Michigan. I know I do. My mom heart swells when we sing these songs at full volume and completely off key, but all together as an imperfect little family.
Kweller is one of those musician’s musicians, and I’m not sure why he’s never become more mainstream (though he does appear on lots of mainstream movie soundtracks), but you’ll find lots of other performers citing him as the GOAT for very good reason. He’s a brilliant lyricist and the man can write a hook. Try not to sing this stuff. Also, “Sha Sha” is a young album — this person was a young teen when he started putting it together, and it captures the energy of looking out at what’s to come when you’re not yet jaded but you also are a natural-born pragmatist with an optimist’s heart. Lines like “I am wasted, but I’m ready” bring it all together. I’m sure I’ll tap into any remaining bits of hope as I take in “Sha Sha” one last time on the very sad beach.
Ben Folds Five, “The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner”
Once upon a time, when young Kurt and young Sarah were just beginning to accept the outcome of their obviously fated internet meeting, in the days of ye olde internet, when text-based roleplaying games (MUDs) based in the fantastical world of Tolkien's Mirkwood were all the rage... ok, they were never really the “rage,” but for a very specific subset of the internet, they were absolutely the ideal environment for introverted overthinkers to find one another. And that we did. And then, some time after that, I found it very important to relay to Kurt how great I thought Ben Folds was, because frankly, if he didn’t get Ben, I’d likely have had some serious decisions to unwind.
So, we went full ‘70s style for our first listen of my favorite Ben Folds (Five) album — lights out, laying on the couch, eyes closed, just taking it in like a couple of wannabe hippies. Which mostly worked, but much of this album is actually pretty high energy, but also, it’s so freaking good that neither of us moved for the whole thing. And, he got it. He got me.
And now, when we belt “Army” (“Grew a mustache and a mullet; got a job at Chic-fil-A; citing ar-tist-tic differences, the band broke up in May; and in June reformed with me; and they got a different name; I nuked another Gramma’s Apple Pie; and hung my head in shame, oh no...”) together and when we chuckle at Ben’s uncle’s voicemail (in which he asks Ben about his “most valuable possession” (his brain), it’s a shared experience with so much unsaid, but somehow, one that says everything about our past quarter century together.
Anyway, this will be a very sad moment in my desert island solitude, and that’s saying a lot, given the grim circumstances.
Danielle Ponder, “Some of Us Are Brave”
I’m going to want to cling to something beautiful and life-affirming as the grim circumstances reveal their terrifying reality there on the desolate beach, and Danielle Ponder (who is ridiculously underknown) is exactly that vibe. Her voice is incredible. I have no pithy side remark. Her voice is simply incredible. Definitely click the video here. Man, oh man.
Anyway, so the rich, powerful tones of Danielle Ponder will take me back to making big Sunday morning breakfasts when the kids were both still at home and Kurt knew it was the best next choice for what to play on the turntable. And it will make me smile to remember how many visiting guests would stop midsentence when this album was playing in the background to say, “Wait. Who is this??,” giving me the segue I needed to profess the Gospel of Danielle Ponder.
Also, Danielle started her career as a public defender, which is very cool, especially because she pursued this path after watching her brother encounter an unfair, broken system. I love this idea of people in jobs like lawyer having secret identities including stealth superstar singer. This album will keep me hanging on to the tiny bit of hope that maybe the coconut crabs will change course before they eat me.
Simon & Garfunkel, “Bookends”
I had a very difficult time deciding on #5 for this arbitrary list tied to a pretty silly theoretical situation, which is annoying, but my difficulty is a reminder that this is an impossible logic puzzle for anyone who loves music. I don’t know what mood I’ll be in (probably a bad one, given my loathing of hot, humid weather, the abject loneliness, and what with the impending potentially grizzly death on the horizon).
Ultimately, I landed on Simon & Garfunkel because can you really go wrong? I’m obviously going to be dipping into a melancholy pool of acceptance at some point, and it’s hard to imagine a better companion. “Bookends” is probably a weird pick from the vast S&G catalog, and that’s part of why it’s here. It’s a journey, and they were obviously very high when they created much of this work (“Voices of Old People,” really?), but when a single album contains “America” (easily one of my favorite songs ever), “A Hazy Shade of Winter,” and “Mrs. Robinson,” you approach “Punky’s Delimma” with a little more open-mindedness than you might have. And you wonder if maybe the weed changed a lot in the past 60 years, because “Bookends” really is a journey. It’s weird. And at times, it’s 100% not weird. It’s just good. It’s a metaphor for life. Sometimes, it’s a literal contemplation on the fleeting nature of life, on becoming old, on venturing out, on what’s actually important...
Anyway, so the melodic melodies of Simon and also Garfunkel will surely soothe me as I slip into the numb haze of dying on this island, and that seems like the perfect mood for the moment at hand. If I were dying in an abandoned warehouse, for example, I’d go with something a little more hard-edge, but here on this terrible, ill-fated land mass, Paul (and sometimes, Art) will be my steadfast guides as the crabs descend. I’m sure it’s what they envisioned, lo those many years ago, when they crafted these enduring musical contributions, providing the soundtrack to my imaginary, ill-timed, lonely death.
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