This is a lovely essay, Nick. It is ultimately all about what you or I want to believe about a singer and a song, knowing that the singer (and writer, if same) are unreliable narrators. That could be a character they create. That could be knowing various unseemly qualities about them that put you off a song, or valorous acts that favorably predispose you to a song. There is no easy math. But your point about what the song means to you is really what it comes down to. That is when you might start to also ascribe a meaning or validity to the artist who brought it to you. Because if it hits you deep and hard, surely it came from somewhere equally deep with them and not, say, 30 minutes when they were bored. But those 30 minutes may have been a crystalization of a lifetime of experiences, thus resulting in a kind of received intimacy via a spark of realization.
I appreciate you reading, and you raise questions that I'm going to need to think about.
I agree that listeners will often find meaning or use in a song which was never envisioned by the artists; and that the artist's intention or perspective on the song shouldn't limit that.
But I don't know that I agree that it just comes down to "what the song means to you." I think the artist does provide some context, in their performance choices, for the song, and that they can be more or less honest in the way they present that.
But I'll have to think about whether I can defend that statement.
Understood. But for me it always comes back to the fact that music is performance. However much honesty or feeling there is, it is amplified through production, through word choice, through arrangement, etc. There is a fundamental manipulation that occurs going from a thought or a feeling to a final product. Not to mention the artist making edits or revisions to the source material in arriving at the final product, maybe even editing in ways that benefit their own standing. It's a complex and complicated dance, but I wouldn't say that the final product lacks intimacy and there are many factors that will influence whether you or I respond positively, negatively, or neutrally to that that have nothing to do with that product.
Absolutely, and part of what I only touched on in my piece is that the complexity involved in performance, on one side, and the decision, on the other side, for a listener to invest themselves emotionally in the art is the source of much joy and delight in music. At the same time, there’s the question of what constitutes an appropriate level of skepticism as a listener — to be willing to offer trust and investment but to not do so blindly (“And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind / And then you think maybe you'll trust him . . .”)
It's like noir with the unreliable narrator. I think that's why in my first message to you I said it lies with you. But I know there are instances when you can be overtaken by a song before any other reactions kick in. What happens after that, however does come back to the decision to remain or deepen in that emotional investment.
Nick, I’m deeply grateful for this essay — and especially for the generosity of engaging so directly with my recent piece on the physics of closeness. What moves me most here is your reframing of intimacy not as confession, but as trust. That distinction illuminates why some of the quietest folk recordings can feel overwhelmingly present, while more explicitly autobiographical performances can still feel distant.
I also love the arc from Van Zandt and Ferron to Bowie and Sinatra, because it reminds us that intimacy isn’t a single emotional register but a spectrum of relationships between artist, listener, and performance. Your essay doesn’t just respond to mine — it enlarges the conversation. Thank you for carrying it forward with such care and thoughtfulness.
Thank you. I realized, as I was working on it, that I was approaching the idea of intimacy from a different angle than you did, and I was glad to be able to put those in conversation because that contrast, in itself, is a reminder of the different textures of intimacy.
I’m very glad that you also found that juxtaposition satisfying.
This was definitely a subject for which I started writing and quickly realized that there was too much too say, and that I was in danger of biting off more than I could chew, but I happy with how it turned out.
This is a very thought-provoking topic, Nick. It’s also one that I struggle to define as intimacy feels as wide ranging as “love.” Sort of like, “I’m not sure what it looks like but I’ll know it when I see it.“
I’m actually working on a piece right now about connection, and it’s impossible to have true connection without intimacy.
I am exploring connections between memories, between friends, between works of art.
But more specifically, your post made me think about my recent four part mini memoir, and the thoughtful reactions I received from it. I felt a clear intimacy emanating from the words of my readers. Sure, a little bit of that was my ego enlarging from compliment, but I don’t think I was fabricating genuine intimacy.
Thank you for the nice comments. This was both a fun piece to write and very much just touching on the complexities of the topic -- I started it and quickly realized that I would have to keep it fairly narrow or risk it getting far too broad.
I think your posts absolutely feel like shard intimacies, and that you've earned a lot of trust -- both in those posts and overall, and that makes it easier to appreciate that intimacy.
(as I say to Emm, in a different comment, I think it's great when you do feel that trust; I just am also aware that it's good to have an appropriate amount of skepticism.)
This is a lovely essay, Nick. It is ultimately all about what you or I want to believe about a singer and a song, knowing that the singer (and writer, if same) are unreliable narrators. That could be a character they create. That could be knowing various unseemly qualities about them that put you off a song, or valorous acts that favorably predispose you to a song. There is no easy math. But your point about what the song means to you is really what it comes down to. That is when you might start to also ascribe a meaning or validity to the artist who brought it to you. Because if it hits you deep and hard, surely it came from somewhere equally deep with them and not, say, 30 minutes when they were bored. But those 30 minutes may have been a crystalization of a lifetime of experiences, thus resulting in a kind of received intimacy via a spark of realization.
I appreciate you reading, and you raise questions that I'm going to need to think about.
I agree that listeners will often find meaning or use in a song which was never envisioned by the artists; and that the artist's intention or perspective on the song shouldn't limit that.
But I don't know that I agree that it just comes down to "what the song means to you." I think the artist does provide some context, in their performance choices, for the song, and that they can be more or less honest in the way they present that.
But I'll have to think about whether I can defend that statement.
Understood. But for me it always comes back to the fact that music is performance. However much honesty or feeling there is, it is amplified through production, through word choice, through arrangement, etc. There is a fundamental manipulation that occurs going from a thought or a feeling to a final product. Not to mention the artist making edits or revisions to the source material in arriving at the final product, maybe even editing in ways that benefit their own standing. It's a complex and complicated dance, but I wouldn't say that the final product lacks intimacy and there are many factors that will influence whether you or I respond positively, negatively, or neutrally to that that have nothing to do with that product.
Absolutely, and part of what I only touched on in my piece is that the complexity involved in performance, on one side, and the decision, on the other side, for a listener to invest themselves emotionally in the art is the source of much joy and delight in music. At the same time, there’s the question of what constitutes an appropriate level of skepticism as a listener — to be willing to offer trust and investment but to not do so blindly (“And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind / And then you think maybe you'll trust him . . .”)
It's like noir with the unreliable narrator. I think that's why in my first message to you I said it lies with you. But I know there are instances when you can be overtaken by a song before any other reactions kick in. What happens after that, however does come back to the decision to remain or deepen in that emotional investment.
Exactly! I completely agree with that description.
Nick, I’m deeply grateful for this essay — and especially for the generosity of engaging so directly with my recent piece on the physics of closeness. What moves me most here is your reframing of intimacy not as confession, but as trust. That distinction illuminates why some of the quietest folk recordings can feel overwhelmingly present, while more explicitly autobiographical performances can still feel distant.
I also love the arc from Van Zandt and Ferron to Bowie and Sinatra, because it reminds us that intimacy isn’t a single emotional register but a spectrum of relationships between artist, listener, and performance. Your essay doesn’t just respond to mine — it enlarges the conversation. Thank you for carrying it forward with such care and thoughtfulness.
Thank you. I realized, as I was working on it, that I was approaching the idea of intimacy from a different angle than you did, and I was glad to be able to put those in conversation because that contrast, in itself, is a reminder of the different textures of intimacy.
I’m very glad that you also found that juxtaposition satisfying.
I'd never heard Ferron and loved her song.
I'm really glad you liked it. She isn't prolific but, of her work there are a handful of songs that are absolute touchstones for me.
Excellent post Nick. Great observationsns.
Thank you!
This was definitely a subject for which I started writing and quickly realized that there was too much too say, and that I was in danger of biting off more than I could chew, but I happy with how it turned out.
It turned out great. It is a deep topic but you handled it well.
This is a very thought-provoking topic, Nick. It’s also one that I struggle to define as intimacy feels as wide ranging as “love.” Sort of like, “I’m not sure what it looks like but I’ll know it when I see it.“
I’m actually working on a piece right now about connection, and it’s impossible to have true connection without intimacy.
I am exploring connections between memories, between friends, between works of art.
But more specifically, your post made me think about my recent four part mini memoir, and the thoughtful reactions I received from it. I felt a clear intimacy emanating from the words of my readers. Sure, a little bit of that was my ego enlarging from compliment, but I don’t think I was fabricating genuine intimacy.
Thank you for the nice comments. This was both a fun piece to write and very much just touching on the complexities of the topic -- I started it and quickly realized that I would have to keep it fairly narrow or risk it getting far too broad.
I think your posts absolutely feel like shard intimacies, and that you've earned a lot of trust -- both in those posts and overall, and that makes it easier to appreciate that intimacy.
(as I say to Emm, in a different comment, I think it's great when you do feel that trust; I just am also aware that it's good to have an appropriate amount of skepticism.)