Kid Lake’s Carter Long celebrated their ‘as the form wanes, the spirit appears’ EP release with a reflective show in Ridgewood, Queens!
Stream: ‘as the form wanes, the spirit appears’ – Kid Lake
I went to see Carter Long perform two years ago, when I had been living in the city for just a few months.
They weren’t performing as Kid Lake back then, but maybe with Cry Baby, another of their projects. It was my first time in Bushwick and I remember thinking how cool it was that my friends went to high school with someone who was pursuing music in New York. Carter was heartfelt and familiar, maybe because of our shared South Carolina roots, and I knew they had a talent that I’d witness blossom here.
Kid Lake’s debut EP, as the form wanes, the spirit appears, a Bukowski inversion, was released on a hot day in late August. I listened to it on a walk in the cemetery, full-sweat. In just eleven minutes, it manages to tunnel the mind into somewhere dark, dripping, but with the promise of an iridescent glow. Kid Lake’s visuals contribute to this grounded yet otherworldly impression, angel wings outside of the Family Dollar, magic in the mundane.
At the release show in Ridgewood, I observed a closeness. People walking back and forth, looking for each other, the ear of a friend to laugh into, a drink from the bar, carrying with them an ease that made the room warm with anticipation. Playing in front of a Palestinian flag, all three bands of the night had a quiet confidence that gave them a presence on stage.
One of the openers, Pear Juice, reminded me of The Moldy Peaches. They introduced the crowd to their collection of stuffed bunnies on stage, one named Pervert. They also brought out a friend (or two?) in a horse costume to encourage the crowd to dance. Innovative. The second opener, Amelia Cry Til I Die, was soft spoken and compelling, warning the crowd that the next song would be louder than the previous.
Every person in the room was curious about another, the hum of human noise that sometimes felt like a screech in the audio then felt like the easy cadence of a car stereo.
The hum had a sense of motion, fluidity that betrayed a youthful hope. It was capturing the transience of the moment, that very moment, the one we were acting out in front of the bands as if we were the ones on a stage. The bands reflected the crowd back to them lovingly. It was aligned, all of it. The visuals, the sound, and posture of the evening — open palmed in invite as Kid Lake graced the stage. They had a poise suggestive of an inner peace they were giving us access to, generously and without hesitation.
Kid Lake sang from the EP before playing some new stuff, so I’ll first translate the experience of moving through the EP. It begins in this place that feels sonically glitchy, like a chant, insistent: Tell me why you think you don’t deserve to die.
The following song took me back to a more familiar place, like Hovvdy, who is referenced as playing on the radio, “country road 3,” conjured images for me of the drive to Dairy Queen in upstate SC, backroads with barely another car on the road, listening to music, sitting in the space between conversations, traffic light bathing us in red, liminal, purgatory.
Tell me why we talked so much
Tell me why I listened
Then you said you’re in love
Tell me why it hurts so much
“KLTB 333” returns to the glitchy production, the high notes, something like yeule. They could have slipped this song into the I Saw the TV Glow soundtrack.
I never said I loved you then
But I know I did
Yeah I know I did
Kissing three times hoping
You’d pick up on it
In “ten years dead,” Kid Lake brings the tension of the EP to a head. The external narrative of these romantic connections were significant in bringing us here, but the focus returns to a more internal fixation, a memory that is repeating, detaching the subject from their selfhood. Maybe it was these romantic connections that brought about this reflection, but this song feels like a return. Perhaps the form waning to make room for the spirit. It follows that the sound would reflect that, the vocals clear and familiarly folk, delivering us to a breakthrough.
Timid now
Slowing down
Talking rough
Not profound
The closing song on the EP, “black like a dot on a map that represents death,” maintains the folk sound. Confessional and elegiac, it gives the impression of hard-fought clarity. It is deeply personal and prescriptive, especially in the following couplets:
I forgot who I was for a moment
But I’m afraid I found her again
…
If you’re willing to sit with a feeling
It will change
Kid Lake told the crowd this was their first headline show as this act. She picked a spot on the ceiling to gaze at, dreamily, singing through the reverb. The red and blue lights of the stage seemed to fuse at times to make a rich purple. Tori Weidinger on cello blended into a seamless harmony. Together, they brought to mind Honeywater, an acoustic folk sensibility that coalesced in this feels good, huh?
Yet to be released, Kid Lake’s new music was full of hope and transformation. She sang a song dedicated to her ex partner, who was standing in the audience, about coming out as trans. It was a moment that I felt lucky to witness, the evolution of a loving relationship and continued support.
Maybe it is the late summer claustrophobia of New York City, being worn down by the heat, but lately I have felt apathetic about the city I dreamt about moving to, growing up in South Carolina.
It is the pockets of expression like this release show, much like readings in my own literary community, gatherings where people are authentic and beautiful in their humanity, that remind me why I love this place. The fact that we create art to make each other feel something, that we are able to be moved by it, we are movable to each other, capable of connection. Isn’t that something?
Anyway, that’s what I left this show thinking. Wasn’t that something?
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© Neil Shukla
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