Cassandra Jenkins emerged onto my radar in February, thanks to Pitchfork’s glowing review of her album, An Overview on Phenomenal Nature, awarding it an impressive 8.3. It was during a distracted drive home from work that I first truly encountered her music, specifically the poignant fifth track, “Ambiguous Norway.” Lines like “Farewell, purple mountains” and “No matter where I go / You’re gone, you’re everywhere” resonated deeply, prompting a double-take: was she referencing “purple mountains” or Purple Mountains, the band? It turned out to be the latter, a subtle nod to a profound loss that permeates her work.
Jenkins was slated to tour with David Berman’s band, Purple Mountains, in the fall of 2019. Tragically, Berman’s death by suicide in August of that year cast a long shadow, and “Ambiguous Norway” became a reflection of a trip Jenkins undertook in the immediate aftermath. As she reveals elsewhere in “New Bikini,” “After David passed away / My friends put me up for a few days / Off the coast of Norway,” the geographical setting mirroring the emotional landscape of grief.
There’s an understated shock in “Ambiguous Norway,” a track so delicate and hushed it feels like a final, gentle farewell. Jenkins’ devastation is palpable – “Can’t seem to grasp what happened / I close my eyes” – yet within the song’s quietude, the seeds of healing begin to sprout. The repetition of “I walk around alone / Laughing in the street / Laughing in the street / Laughing in the street” at the song’s close suggests a warm remembrance of Berman’s life, their friendship, and his characteristic humor amidst the profound sadness. The repetition of “laughing” feels deliberate, an intention to memorialize Berman’s famed wit alongside the undeniable pain of his absence. This emotional duality is what truly drives the song, creating a powerful undercurrent of both sorrow and resilience.
Indeed, the entirety of Phenomenal Nature seems to exist within the penumbra of this significant loss, grappling with the immediate aftermath and the arduous process of healing. The songs themselves become vehicles for this healing, offering pathways toward recovery and acceptance.
In “New Bikini,” Jenkins recounts how loved ones encouraged her to seek solace and restoration in the ocean: “If you’re bruised or scraped / Or any kind of broken / The water, it cures everything.” By the song’s conclusion, she finds herself extending this very advice to a friend: “My friend Grey is sick again / The doctors shell out medicine / And add there might be something in / The mind-body connection / So I told him / Baby, let’s get you to the ocean.” This act of receiving support and then channeling it outwards, offering it to others in need, becomes a recurring motif in Jenkins’ work, further driving the emotional core of the album.
This reciprocal exchange of care is particularly evident in “Hard Drive,” a song structured almost like a four-act play, each act adding layers to the song’s exploration of healing and connection.
Cassandra Jenkins performing, highlighting her musical artistry and the emotional depth of her performances.
The first act of “Hard Drive” opens with the voice of a security guard encountered at a Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibition in the summer of 2019. Her words, “When we lose our connection to nature / We lose our spirit, our humanity, our sense of self,” establish a foundational theme of disconnection and the yearning for reconnection, setting the stage for the song’s driving narrative of seeking wholeness.
Act two introduces a New Age mystic who speaks of esoteric concepts: “chakras and karma and the purple flame / The birth of the cosmos / The ascended masters and the astral plane.” This voice represents another facet of seeking solace, exploring alternative spiritual paths in the quest for inner peace. The inclusion of this mystic voice drives the song’s exploration into diverse avenues of healing.
The third act shifts to a more personal and grounded experience: learning to drive at thirty-five with a friend named Darryl. Darryl, unlike any conventional driving instructor, imparts wisdom that transcends the mechanics of driving: “Speeding up the west side / Changing lanes / He reminds me to leave room for grace.” This act underscores the importance of patience, self-compassion, and “grace” in navigating life’s journey, a gentle reminder that drives the song’s message of self-care.
In the song’s final act, Jenkins encounters a healer named Perry at Lowell’s place: “I ran into Perry at Lowell’s place / Her gemstone eyes caught my gaze”. Perry, sensing Jenkins’ emotional state, offers immediate comfort and reassurance: “Oh, dear, I can see you’ve had a rough few months / But this year / It’s gonna be a good one.” Intuitively, Perry offers a simple yet profound act of healing: “I’ll count to three and tap your shoulder / We’re gonna put your heart back together.” The song’s tempo slows, mimicking a decelerating heartbeat, entering a meditative space. As Perry guides Jenkins, “So close your eyes / I’ll count to three / Take a deep breath / Count with me,” the listener is drawn into this intimate moment of healing.
The subsequent guitar sound, akin to a meditation gong, solidifies this shift into a centered stillness, transforming the song into a heart meditation itself. Jenkins’ vocals, reciting “One, two, three / One, two, three / Just breathe / One, two, three / Count with me,” become both her own mantra and an invitation to the listener. By ventriloquizing Perry’s healing words, Jenkins, as the singer, transforms these words into a balm for all who listen. This direct address and empathetic tone are crucial in what drives the song’s emotional impact.
Within the album’s context, the heart being mended in “Hard Drive” is explicitly linked to the grief stemming from David Berman’s passing. However, the song transcends this personal origin, acknowledging the universal experience of heartbreak in its myriad forms. “Hard Drive” leverages Jenkins’ personal pain to extend a hand to anyone feeling overwhelmed, afraid, wounded, or lost. The simple, repeated mantra, “One, two, three / Just breathe,” becomes a powerful affirmation. The song’s warm, wise voice offers solace: “One, two, three / Count with me.” The underlying message is one of shared humanity and resilience: “If I can mend my heart, you can mend yours too. I am here with you. Just breathe.” This unifying message of hope and shared healing is ultimately what drives the song and makes it so profoundly resonant.
