A nostalgic roller coaster filled with melodic elegies, Neko Case’s ninth LP, Neon Grey Midnight Green, is a tour de force. The first time one hears the GRAMMY-nominated artist's enchanting voice, it arrives unexpectedly and without warning, But when it departs, it leaves an impression, that once gone, is never forgotten.
While this unmistakable contralto is the main attraction that pulls listeners in like a fishing lure that finds its mark, it’s only the beginning of what makes Case someone we yearn to return to. And, with each listen of one of her songs, uncover new nuances and subtle sonic layers buried in her hypnotic melodies and poetic lyrics.
For nearly 25 years, Case has documented the melancholy and the madness, the hope and the hopelessness of our so-called modern world. From her dazzling 1997 debut, The Virginian acclaimed albums like Blacklisted (2002), Fox Confessor Brings the Flood (2006), and 2009’s Middle Cyclone (which was nominated for a pair of GRAMMYS), every new offering from Case is a cause for celebration. Neon Grey Midnight Green is no exception, this time honoring the music and to the musicians who inspired Case to follow her muse on this unknown, uneven path artists tread.
Earlier this year, Case revisited places and spaces in her heart with the memoir, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You, which reached No. 5 on the New York Times non-fiction bestseller list. In the prologue she wrote that "making music is a soft rebellion in a world that's always at your shoulder asking, 'What makes you think you are so important that someone should listen to you?'"
Listening to the dozen songs on Neon Grey Midnight Green, this rhetorical question is moot. Self-produced mostly at her home studio in Vermont — with additional sessions in Denver, Colorado with the PlainSong Chamber Orchestra and in Portland, Oregon with Tucker Martine — the record opens with the piano ballad "Destination," an ode to musicians, past and present, who engage in this "soft rebellion." What follows are 11 more tracks that showcase Case’s adept skill with language and with melody, all backed by an all-star group of musicians.
If publishing a memoir and releasing a record in the last six months is not enough, Case is also writing the original music for the forthcoming Thelma & Louise Broadway musical for screenwriter Callie Khouri and she pens regular essays on her Substack, Entering the Lung, mostly on nature and finding life’s beauty in the small wonders many overlook.
Catching up with GRAMMY.com from her farmhouse in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, finds the the 55-year-old recharging her batteries before hitting the road for an extensive fall North American tour that begins Oct. 1 at Levon Helm Studios in Woodstock, New York. Case talks about the inspiration behind some of the new songs, finding her purpose, and the kindness and love she seeks — and finds — in the unlikeliest of places whenever she’s on the road.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
Your lyrics are so deep, so profound and so poetic. The imagery you create in your songs is so vivid. Is that intentional and is a trait of your songwriting approach?
I like to try to not be afraid of that. I prefer story over repetition and love a good chorus, but sometimes I let the story be more the thing than the typical song structure. I also try to give that a balance and I try to make it melodic and singable too.
The dozen songs on Neon Grey Midnight Green feel cohesive and almost like a cohesive narrative in themselves. Was that intentional or did it just happen organically in the writing and recording process?
Well, most of the songs on the record are about musicians or music, or just that sort of love. And, the record is a tribute to musicians, really. I had bits and pieces of songs, and from the beginning, it made sense as a tribute, so I guess I kind of knew what form it was going to take … I don't really go in that way usually, but this time, that love for musicians is what I wanted to impart.
Talk about the significance of the album's title. Is this about all the different shades that exist in the world and the beauty in taking time to appreciate these small wonders?
The title is actually a reference to when I try to find myself on a map of the world. If I look inward and I kind of think of where I am, or who I am, the first thing I see is the colors of the sky in the Pacific Northwest: the neon grey that represents the low-ceiling clouds and the rain, and then the midnight green, which is a color that happens only in that part of the world, as far as I know, in certain circumstances, and together, those colors just seem very indicative of that place to me.
So, the concept of a homage to musicians, and the title that evokes a place, was the starting point for the making of this record. From there, what was the process? Did you take some of these song fragments and ideas to your longtime collaborator, guitarist Paul Rigby, who co-wrote several of the songs on the album.
Mostly, I have the lyrics first, and then we work on them. But for some things, there was music first. I sing a lot of things into my recorder, and then we will figure out what chords work well under the stuff from there. But, yeah, Paul was there.
Who were some of those additional people who were touchstones for you?
It was just a lot of people I met coming up who do things differently. They were doing it, no matter what it was — mostly women and mostly gay women especially — there was something so capable about them that I noticed. I didn't have that swagger, but felt like that's who I was inside.
For them, their swagger had something to do with the fact they had grown up not caring about the male gaze and they were so much more focused and so far ahead of me. I just love them so much for their sense of purpose that they wore on their sleeve.
You self-produced Neon Grey Midnight Green. That, in itself, is a bit of a statement, isn't it?
I've produced many of my records, but it's always collaborative. Since there are so few producers who are women, or non-binary, or gender other, like, it's just time to go, we can produce records too. It's good to remind myself [of], because sometimes when I'm thinking of producers, I immediately think of men because that is the majority of people in the industry.
Chatting with Sarah McLachlan recently, she spoke about the legacy of Lilith Fair and how groundbreaking that all women’s festival was when it was launched back in 1997, the same year your debut The Virginian was released. Do you feel the music industry, especially for women, has changed in the past few decades because oftentimes it feels these days whenever society takes a step forward, it’s followed by another step backwards.
Well, I mean, there's a lot more of us now, and we're still treated like s—.
Turning to a few of the songs, talk about the inspiration behind the gorgeous piano-driven ballad "Winchester Mansion of Sound." The song grabs you right from this opening couplet: "Only you can play so far out of tune / And still kick me in the heart." It's a tribute to one of your dearly departed friends in the music industry, right?
Yes. That one is about my friend Dexter Romweber from the Flat Duo Jets who passed away last year. I spent a lot of time worrying about him because he was a very dynamic, alive and complicated person. He had a lot of troubles and I just had a terrible feeling that he might die, but I knew there was nothing I could do.
The record is joyful and filled with love, but it also permeates with death, loss, and grief.
Well, if you're like most people, you are probably very afraid of confronting death and grief specifically. But, if you walk forward into it with your eyes open, there's so many lessons and death has so many gifts. It gives you a better understanding of the people that you lost. And, in a way, it's kind of disrespectful to not look at the grief and consider it and think about it.
Another one of these songs that is a tribute to a lost friend is "Match-Lit," about Dallas Good of the Sadies, who passed away suddenly in 2022 at just 48 years old. In your memoir, you shared how Dallas came to you one night in your dreams. I’m guessing that’s what inspired this one, with its lines: "In my dream I saw you, match-lit with mischief and laughing... You looked at me and smiled so wide But all I could say was, 'Wait...you can do on the other side?!'"
Yeah. Every time I light a match, I think about Dallas. He's been gone quite a few years now and I still can't get my head around it.
On your Substack, "Entering the Lung" you write mostly about your rural life living in Vermont and the neverending beauty that surrounds you. You write a lot about nature and take time to observe and appreciate the small wonders the natural world gives us as opposed to what one sees when you turn on the news. Nature, for you, I’m guessing is therapeutic?
I like writing a lot and it's a nice way to keep that going. I like writing about nature and what the little changes are around my home throughout the year.
I think every human being needs it, even if they don't know that they need it. That's one of the reasons I write the Substack … to try to make people interested in those things, or just get them interested in noticing them and how nature makes you feel more awake, more alive, and makes you feel a little bit smaller. In a way, that's very comforting and reminds us that human beings aren't the most important thing on the planet Earth.
Is that your hope with this record that people will find some connection, and maybe these songs will help them heal, grieve, or find a little more peace and serenity in their own lives and remind each and everyone of us how much we matter. You capture this sentiment in more detail in this Substack essay you published on the release day of Neon Grey Midnight Green.
Yes. I want to remind them how powerful they are and how effective they are.
I also want people to remember what musicians are. I want people to remember what it sounds like when musicians are all playing together, which is why I wanted to have an actual orchestra on this record. Not that I have anything against using a synthesizer or a keyboard to make a string section or something, I like those things too, but this time, at least, I wanted the record to be musicians all in the same room and playing together.