Fiona Apple's Fetch The Bolt Cutters

Some songwriters have taught me more about writing than novelists have. Joni Mitchell is one. Leonard Cohen is another. And Fiona Apple is another.

Fiona has written verses with more tension in them than most poems. Take, for example, 2012's "Daredevil":

I guess I just must be daredevil, I don't feel anything until I smash it up,
I'm caught on the cold, caught on the hot, not so with the warmer lot, and all's I wants a confidant to help me laugh it off

First two lines, halted, and not at all with the same meter as the lines in the rest of verse, are Fiona taking her steps; then, the titular daredevil, she comes out confidently, only to "smash it up"; with "caught on the cold, caught on the hot" she is actually halting again, her thoughts circling on just what it is she wants to say; and when she finally arrives at what she's getting at - she's a daredevil; again, she doesn't think things through - she simply "wants a confidant", some help, someone else's mind, only to reveal the punchline: "to help me laugh it off." And then, proceeding from this is the chorus: "But don't let me / ruin me, / I may / need a chaperone."

The expression of art needs to arrive at the meaning before the actual meaning of the art, if that makes any sense. The way she chooses her words is vastly more important than what she is actually saying.

Now's a good time as any to mention that Apple's background is in poetry, which I feel I shouldn't have to mention though people have compared her lyricism, for some odd reason, to Joni Mitchell's or Kate Bush's. Apple has cited Maya Angelou as a major influence, who was namechecked in her 1997 MTV speech. Anyone who has familiarity with poetry, particularly African-American poetry, would grasp this quite quickly; whereas most songwriters focus on imagery and scene-building, Fiona's lyricism is characterized by rhythm. Her lines vary in length, she relies more on the word's momentum than the music's, and she's more interested in the sudden passion of a line, an observation, than the chorus. Take the opening lines from "Anything We Want":

My cheeks were reflecting the longest wavelength, my fan was folded up and grazing my forehead
and I kept touching my neck to guide your eye where I wanted you to kiss me when we find some time alone.

Notice how Fiona rhymes in the most unusual of places - only with "kept" and "neck", and we're not sure if it's intentional. This is no pop song, dusted with sugar for the audience's pleasure - this is closer to beat poetry. The guitar even sounds like the guitar in "Can I Kick It?", come to think of it.

2012's "Idler Wheel" is really important to me, for the aforementioned reasons. I have studied it a lot.

In the early gloom of the Pandemic, 2020's "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" came out, and it came out on my birthday, no less. This is egotistic, sure, but I thought it came out for me. I remember being huddled over the sink, in the dark, listening to the album hungrily. Later, the album would win "Best Alternative Music Album" at the Grammys, one of the few times a nomination actually fully deserved its win.

But this discussion is not going to be me gushing over "Fetch the Bolt Cutters". This is more of a reckoning.

I think it's an incredibly well-written album, and I think it cements Apple's reputation as one of America's generational songwriters, but I never have an appetite to listen to it.

I, therefore, don't think it's a very good album.

To me. I'll explain all this.

I remember listening to the opening song on "Fetch the Bolt Cutters", "I Want You To Love Me", with my heart a-flutter. This song appeared, I think, shortly after the release of "Idler Wheel"; Fiona played it live. It had been eight years since "Idler Wheel", and so it felt like, through that spiraling piano, as if I was going on an adventure again. When you hear Fiona return back to her meditative, brutal lyrics, which through their meter convey motion,

And I know when I go all my particles disband and disperse, and I'll be back in the pulse,
And I know none of this will matter in the long run, but I know a sound is still a sound around no one, and while I'm in this body I want somebody to want and I want what I want and I want
you to love me,

with the piano groaning like a human body, you think you're in "Idler Wheel Pt. II".

Well, "Shameika" is the first track to fuck that notion up.

Artists use the first song on an album to invite, and to, on some level, introduce the album's musical ideas; a big blast of energy should start albums. The second song is when the artist matures the album's themes and really show its many sides. "Shameika" is perfect at this function. In contrast to "I Want You To Love Me", it is abrasive, violent and relentless; and, where "I Want You To Love Me" is simple in its conceit, "Shameika" is confused and bruised:

I used to march down the windy, windy sidewalks slapping my leg with a riding crop, thinking it made me come off so tough,
I didn't smile because a smile always seemed rehearsed, I wasn't afraid of the bullies, and that just made the bullies worse.

Typically, in music, recalling is an act of nostalgia, it is an invitation for the artist to reflect on happier, more innocent times. Fiona's tone can be called self-flagellating, but that's not entirely right; one gets the sense she is searching for something, in a hurricane - hence the instrumentals. She largely remarks on droll events: "In class I'd pass the time / drawing a slash for every time the second hand went by, / a group of five done twelve times was a minute."

It's in the third verse where the search in her memories becomes fruitful, and she seems to race violently to the little foothold she's gotten in her thoughts:

Hurricane Gloria in excelsis deo, that's my bird in my tree, my dog and my man and my music is my holy trinity,
Tony told me he'd describe me as pissed-off, funny and warm, Sebastian said I'm a good man in a storm and Shameika wasn't gentle and she wasn't my friend but she got through to me and I'll never see her again

thus lending some meaning to the constant refrain throughout the song, which I had not mentioned: "Shameika said I had potential". I hadn't mentioned it, because the line seemed like a non-sequitur - who is Shameika? What is her relationship to the singer? It's only at this point in the song where we have some answer: regardless of who the singer knows, regardless of what the singer has lived through, regardless of whether Shameika is a kind or even a good person, Fiona has made some very small, human connection to some other human being, which is an ember she holds onto as the hurricane of her thoughts subsides and repeats as the song ends.

And that's "Fetch the Bolt Cutters": it's about the little and big things we do to each other as human beings, it's about memory, it's about pain, and it's about Fiona trying to arrange some meaning for her life. Compared to "Idler Wheel", "Shameika" introduces many of the musical concepts of "Bolt Cutters": it is much more realistic, lyrically, and the way it's recorded makes you realize just how much dead air there is for the notes to bounce off of and, consequently, how much silence Fiona is surrounded with. I mean, "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" could have been produced by Steve Albini. It's, frankly, an amazing song.

On the title track, Fiona continues to put focus on the little things:

I've been thinking about when I was trying to be your friend I thought it was them, but it wasn't, it wasn't genuine
I was just so furious but I couldn't show you 'cause I know you and I know what you can do and I don't want to war with you, I won't afford it, you get sore, even when you win.

I just love her run-on sentences. In an album where her ranting could easily come off as self-serving, Fiona unlocks the musical nature of words themselves, such that her sentences and their clauses flow so effortlessly into each other, and it's very important that Fiona relies on prose more than poetry because she wants you, the listener, to understand the logic of what she's trying to say. And so she tries to explain,

And you've got them all convinced that you're the means and the end, all the VIPs and PYTs and wannabes afraid of not being your friend,
and I've always been too smart for that but, you know what, my heart was not, I took it like a kid, you see, the cool kids voted to get rid of me,
I'm ashamed of what it did to me, what I let get done, it stole my fun, it stole my fun,

arriving to the chorus, "Fetch the bolt cutters, / I've been in here too long," analogizing her social isolation and anxieties as a cage separating her from other people. This is, of course, the main tension in the album: in "Shameika", she treats a momentary connection with warmth, in the title track, she addresses how vulnerable she is in her relationships with other people.

Which leads to the following track, "Under The Table". But here is where I'm given pause, as I think on what to write next. Because ... "Under The Table", by and large, has the same content as the song before it.

This is Issue #1 I have with "Fetch the Bolt Cutters": it gets very same-y after a while.

There's no issue of the lyricism weakening; there are great verses as

I'd like to buy you a pair of pillow-soled hiking boots to help you with your climb, or, rather, to help the bodies that you step over along your route so they won't hurt like mine,

and

If you get me to go and I open my mouth to the fucking mutton that they're talking about you can pout, but don't you, don't you, don't you, don't you, don't you shush me.

But I largely view these lyrics as an extension of the title track. The question is, Does this song have an identity of its own, apart from the album?

This is where we get into a discussion of biases. Obviously critics are biased, but in what ways, and can we name and describe them?

I don't recall when I read this; I swear to God it was Christgau, and I swear to God it was for "Modern Vampires of the City" (2013), and yet I can't find the citation - it may be this line: "Each verse/chorus/bridge/intro melody, each lyric straight or knotty, each sound effect playful or perverse (or both)--each is pleasurable in itself and aptly situated in the sturdy songs and tracks, so that the whole signifies without a hint of concept." Nevertheless, I remember Christgau saying that part of what makes a great album is that the songs cohere into a theme, and yet the songs themselves can stand apart from the album. As I think more and more on art, I am more convinced this is true. There is a craft to making great songs, and there is a craft to developing a song cycle such that the themes of each song overlap with one another such that the cycle is much more than the sum of its parts.

To me, it's really important that the next song is not like the last one. I don't want to have the same meal twice in a row. Possibly because I'm a bookish person, I see an album as having an argumentative structure, using the previous songs to develop the ideas of the next ones. This is what makes listening to albums exciting, seeing how the ideas develop in wonderful and wild ways.

I really love how "Under The Table" is written, but, beyond the lyricism, there's not much in terms of color, imagery or even ideas; she doesn't even bother presenting the alluded memory, of the actual table and the uncomfortable dinner. What "Under The Table" excels at is emotion: all the ways Fiona is able to inflect her voice with anger and her ability to make you feel as she feels in the moment. But there's nothing else.

And I can say the same for "Relay", which, again, I think is lyrically great, but the song is ... just itself.

For example, there's this string of insecurities from Fiona (and whether she actually believes them or not is not the right question to ask of the music, in comparison to its pathos):

I resent you for being raised right, I resent you for being tall, I resent you for never getting any opposition at all,
I resent you for having each other, I resent you for being so sure, I resent you presenting your life like a fucking propaganda brochure
and I see that you keep trying to bait me, and I'd love to get up in your face but I know if I hate you for hating me I will have entered the endless race

perfectly depicting to you just what "relay" she has in mind.

I love this song. It is so evocative and depicts the moral and psychological complexities of the situation it is in. But, again, does this song have an existence outside of this album? What distinguishes it from its sibling songs, besides its lyrics?

In comparison, the follow-up, "Rack of His" has a very musical opening (I think it's accomplished via the Mellotron?), and it actually has a narrative, beginning with Fiona recalling,

I gave you pictures and cards on non-holidays, and it wasn't because I was bored I followed you from room to room with no attention and it wasn't because I was bored.

Finally, a song with a central action, that of Apple being taken with puppy-dog love. And this track has wonderful imagery, possibly my favorite verse in the album:

Check out that rack of his, look at that row of guitar necks, lined up like eager fillies, outstretched like legs of Rockettes

she sings in seething contempt. Is there a better metaphor for the male gaze? While Fiona is trying to attain love, she notices - and it's not subtle - how the object of her affections objectifies women.

She continues this theme in "Newspaper", which is typically when I check out of the album.

I do get the distinct feeling this album is not for me. As in, it's not for men.

But let me be clear: that doesn't mean men can't listen to "Fetch the Bolt Cutters", and that doesn't mean men won't enjoy or find emotional resonance in "Fetch the Bolt Cutters", but the album seems to be designed to garner far more emotional resonance from women, who are much more likely to put themselves in Apple's perspective.

Let's address the most important verse first:

It's a shame because you and I didn't get a witness, we're the only ones who know; we were cursed the moment that he kissed us, from then on, it was his big show.
I grew concerned when I saw him start to covet you, when I learned what he did, I felt close to you, in my own way, I fell in love with you, but he's made me a ghost to you.

First of all: the falling you's of the last four lines? Perfect.

But, to clarify from the rest of this discussion: Apple wants you to understand the logic behind her thinking, but she's not all interested in painting a picture such that you, if you don't have an idea of what she's talking about, see or contextualize what she's talking about. There's a reason why writers and musicians and artists alike take so many pains to recreate the scene of their love or fear: they want you to understand. The album, as beautifully-written and deliberated as it is, does not make many attempts to make you understand.

And, to be clear, that doesn't mean men can't understand. People can name an innumerable number of films or art that concern female vulnerability in the context of a male-oriented society. However, I don't understand, and I know for a fact that when Fiona says "you", I cannot put myself in place of that "you", nor can I put myself in the place of the singer. Therefore, I am listening to a dialogue between two people that I have no inherent emotional stake in, and there is only the dialogue to observe, as is the constraint of the album. Sure, I can have a historical stake in it - that is, I am fascinated that such a relationship can develop in the first place - but I myself cannot relate to it. And music, we recall, is at its heart a medium of emotion.

And that doesn't mean every man won't relate to it, but - and this is important to me - I don't, and if I don't, then there's not a bad chance someone else won't either. And I think this is the right place for me to halt the review of this album, lest I develop an even more uninformed view of it.

It's such a weird dilemma, too, being almost an uninvited guest in the music. Take, for example, "For Her":

Look at how feathered his cocks are, see how seamless his frocks are, look at his paper beating over that rockstar, look at how long she walks and how far.
Was she lost, or, maybe she was not far, traveling in the stock car anymore,
maybe she spent her formative years dealing with his contentious fears and endless jeers at her endless tears.

This is lyricism at its finest and its most propulsive, but I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to look at. My guess is that the power of the music comes from taking Fiona's perspective - that is, being a woman indignant on behalf of another woman. And sure, I can be indignant, but I, crucially, am not a woman, and so I can't get mad in that specific way. If I attempt to feel mad, I fear that my anger is performative, and I fear that I am making a caricature of women by pretending I understand a woman's perspective. I don't, and it's kind of an insult to imply I ever could.

And I realize, too, in trying to understand this music, I run the risk of thinking that other women can even empathize with Fiona's viewpoint. What if Fiona's thoughts are just her own? What if other women dismiss her viewpoint as neurosis or projection?

I find, increasingly, I am more and more unequipped to deal with this music; I have neither the experience nor the emotions to contextualize and ground it, and I can't even come to describing what experience I would need to acquire in order to find that ground. And therefore it strikes me that I should say nothing, and thereby not listen to the music anymore.

(That being said, I realize now I should really study how Fiona constructed these verses. It has perfect, derisive "I'm so mad I can only mutter" rhythm.)

I therefore conclude this is a very specific album. This is an album with a specific audience in mind. That's why I can't call it my best album of 2020.

But...that's, like, fine?

First of all, I would argue that every great album has a specific audience in mind: the artist. The artist has to approve of it; every other listener is unimportant, compared to the creator.

Two, if music is a medium for communication, then Apple had something to say, and she said it. Like, that's the point.

Three, every other album in the world is meant for men.

I think this is what is head-scratching to me: it's certainly not a bad album - I can point to you, as I have been doing, all the technical strengths of the lyrics, for example - but I can't call it a good album because I can't identify its virtues beyond its lyricsheet and, again, music is inherently an emotional medium. I have to live with not being able to evaluate the music of one of my favorite artists. But that's, like, a me thing.

And perhaps that says something about music criticism generally: it is a medium of art that requires as much emotional resonance with the artist as possible. With literature or film, it is always possible to make your audience empathize in a narrative, it's a matter of how the arguments are formed; with music, there must be a fundamental connection. But this connection is not tenuous; for example, it's very easy for me to relate to the music of Sleater-Kinney or Neko Case. I mean, Charli XCX singing about wanting children is relatable to me.

So what does this tell us about Fiona Apple? That "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" is a selfish, self-absorbed, oblique album? I do think it's actually fair to give it these attributes, but to say that these are malicious attributions is missing the point of this review. First of all, making art is inherently selfish; to make art from anyone else's point of view other than your own is to make fangless art and to invalidate the very purpose of art, period. Second, the very idea of the album is that Fiona Apple does not have to ask permission of anyone to do anything. She doesn't have to justify what she's doing to anyone, and she doesn't have to do it in any specific graceful, polite way. In fact, if you don't get it, as Apple might be saying, then you don't have to say anything, because it's my album anyway. Thereby allowing Fiona to enjoy the freedom her titular bolt cutters have won her. Maybe that theme is a bit too postmodern, but whatever: at the end of the day, "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" is about having the courage to define yourself, even at everyone else's behest.

I will say this - the nice thing about writing out long, tedious reviews is that sometimes you, the writer, actually do change your mind at the end of it. I think I've solidified my respect and appreciation for Apple's writing via this review, and I actually am excited to see what she does next, even if it ends up similar to "Bolt Cutters". But if she decides to just chill for the rest of her life, that's cool too. Up to her.

---

Reviews ought to be self-contained, so this comment is not part of the essay proper. I was curious about Christgau's review of "Fetch the Bolt Cutters" and found this extremely cringey contemporary evaluation of "Idler Wheel".

I mean, it's not fair for someone so remote to speculate on someone who could care less, but man, this is a genuinely skin-crawling review that essentially treats Fiona Apple, who was 34 at the time, like an object or a little kid. In my own contemporary language, it's so fucking weird and actually kind of gross. I have no clue if this is how Christgau normally is; I'm certainly blindsided by it.

But his review brings up interesting points, because Fiona Apple was a popstar wunderkind, and she was looked at that way, which is all the more creepy because Fiona was raped when she was a kid. The most lenient of lenient of readings is that Christgau is aware of this and is speaking from the audience's perspective and not his own; the most general reading is that he legitimately knows nothing about his subject, which checks.

Furthermore, there is good commentary on how polar Fiona Apple is: to see Jessica Hopper call her "the martyr-saint, crucifying herself so that we might live drama-free" is cringeworthy, unless it was said ironically. Christgau is not incorrect to say that Apple is garbed, by her fans, in robes of "seriousness", and I imagine the rollout of "Idler Wheel" did not help. I actually do recall the 2012 reception of "Idler Wheel", and, while it is a shock to read Christgau categorize the album as "pop", that was how it was labelled, largely because of Fiona's reputation; in fact, I recall an incident in a concert where a member of the audience actually yelled at Fiona to seek therapeutic help (pre-Pandemic Karen!). In more recent years, Fiona seems to have a more relaxed relationship with her career, starting with the tongue-in-cheek cover art on "Fetch the Bolt Cutters": she's bug-eyed, beaming, implying, "Hey look, I got a new album out, wanna hear it?"

Still, to reduce all of Fiona's shtick to lovely-dovey stuff is (when "Regret" and "Periphery" exist) ... I don't know, I'll give Christgau credit because, as someone who listens very widely, he was likely looking at the lens of Apple's hitherto niche genre a la Norah Jones. Still...and I understand criticism is a profession, but...if you don't like something, why write about it, and poorly and ignorantly, at that?

Let me take umbrage with one particular line from the "dean of rock n' roll" (umm, there are no other rock n' roll critics?): "nobody truly believes she's much of a lyricist". Incorrect: I do. I am an "emotionally engaged male heterosexual Fiona fan" that does not saliver over her romantically, though, to be fair, she is a decade and more older than me. The first few verses of "Anything We Want", where Fiona "looks like a neon zebra / shaking rain off her stripes" are some of the most evocative I've ever heard.

Anyway, I know the dude wrote it a million years ago and it's not fair to call anyone out on something so old and rather innocuous and, to be fair to him, he did get it right at the end: "lyrics aren't why we're here. Music is." (I'll give him more breadth: this write-up was a month after "Idler Wheel" came out, so there's not much time to let the album and its implications sink in. Even more breadth: often criticism against an artist is actually criticism against an artist's critics, which is very funny and postmodern and strange.) But this is so embarrassing people should see it in hopes that no one ever writes anything as cringey as this, which prospect I fear every time I put out an essay nowadays. But the other end of it is, one can't be so scared as to do nothing.