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August 2, 2020
Noah Falck's Playlist for His Poetry Collection "Exclusions"
In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Previous contributors include Jesmyn Ward, Lauren Groff, Bret Easton Ellis, Celeste Ng, T.C. Boyle, Dana Spiotta, Amy Bloom, Aimee Bender, Roxane Gay, and many others.
Noah Falck's Exclusions is an inventive and contemplative poetry collection that defines the world by what's not there.
Natalie Shapero wrote of the book:
"Noah Falck's Exclusions purports to leave everything out, and yet somehow this book has everything in it: birth, death, rust, sex, smoking, shadows, floodlights, Olympic mascots, how the sun flattens / into a sort of messy bruise / over the lake. Falck is a deadpan Nostradamus, dispensing fast-hitting predictions and sour flashes of the past. Teenagers can t get drunk / fast enough is what you think of / when you think of home. These poems are fraught machines that crack and fizzle, that think deeply and resist the low ground, that come from a place of uncanny wildness and heft."
In his own words, here is Noah Falck's Book Notes music playlist for his poetry collection Exclusions:
Each of these songs on the playlist I played repeatedly during the writing of my poetry collection, Exclusions (Tupelo Press). Music has always been an integral part of my writing process, in terms of the space it creates from the actual writing, and the emotional energy it provides to dive back in.
“From a Soon-to-Be Ghost Town,” Fruit Bats
I’d say there are almost no “happy” poems in Exclusions. That’s not to say that the poems don’t come from a place of joy, even in their darknesses. This tune, however, is stitched with joy, comes from a place nourished with light, and I immediately felt that upon hearing it. Every time I hear it - the uptempo beat, the dash of piano, the jangly guitar solo, the belting vocals “And you didn’t want to leave / Cause you liked the air,” it always leaves me wanting to hit the repeat button.
“Gwan,” Rostam
I remember getting lost one summer on the backroads in the middle of nowhere Ohio on the way to Kenyon College, and this song came on. Those winding, one lane roads like unmonitored roller coasters where people fly by at 70+ mph. I had this on full blast, windows down, driving past the blur of barns, cows, and those great open fields. It felt like a dream. I love the grace inside this song. The environment it builds. There’s sort of a bedtime story feel to it. The jogging drums. And the cello. Oh damn that cello. It’s a song that creates an instant feeling in me. And I want my poems to do that same thing. Create a space where you can both feel and discover.
“Depreston,” Courtney Barnett
I think Courtney Barnett is a masterful songwriter. Maybe one of the best we have today. I’m excited to be around to see what she does next. This tune feels like a short story. The details dropped in every line. (“I’m saving $23 dollars a week” ... “A garage for two cars to park in” ... “A collection of those canisters for coffee tea and flour.”) The simple, steady guitar riff throughout. The lyrical repetition that fades into the music as the song leaves. As I wrote my book, I returned to this tune often. I think it gave me that sense that you could tell an entire life story in a very short space or at least the sense of one. In addition, I love how she talk sings the word ‘garage.’
“Devil Town,” Daniel Johnston
This early '90s classic two-stanza a cappella tune has always left me in awe. It’s sparingly haunting. Devil Town could be a location in my book. Vampires hanging around the outside of some condemned movie theatre smoking cigarettes, no shadows anywhere. Yep.
“Wintersong,” Blake Mills
What I dig about this song is it feels like 2 songs. It has this slow, soft beginning for the first 2 minutes or so. This beautiful distorted folk rhythm. Then it just jumps tracks around the 2 minute mark. A Neil Young-ish guitar peeks in the window. And the wind slowly picks up, and the female vocals come in with it. For an instant it sounds like Fleetwood Mac as they sing “You don't have to tell me nothing /'Cause you know that you've already shown it.” Just as it’s about to burst open it ends. The whole thing is composed like a poem, and I respect all the choices in its composition.
“The Wild Kindness,” Silver Jews
David Berman has always been a presence in my creative life. I’d gluestick a photo of him to my office wall if I had an office (currently I work out of my dining room). There is a dusty, poetic swagger in everything he does. So much surreal clarity and originality. This song holds my favorite stanzas in all of rock and roll: “Grass grows in the icebox / The year ends in the next room / It is autumn and my camouflage is dying.” These beautifully strange images of time make me shiver, every time I hear them. My exclusion poems want to be in that runoff country of wildness.
“Burning,” The War On Drugs
I think my heart still aches for the midwest (I grew up in Dayton, Ohio), even though Buffalo doesn’t feel that far removed from it. “Burning” by The War On Drugs is a track that feels old and new to me like Ohio. It seems to have cherry picked whatever the best parts of those 1980s rock n roll jams were and brought them together into one sweeping Americana jam. It makes me think of the midwest, perhaps in some of the imagery Granduciel uses, though I know it could be anywhere.
“Teenage Spaceship,” Smog / Bill Callahan
When my daughter was born this tune was the first one I remember that had a calming presence for her. If she was crying uncontrollably I’d throw this track on and sing it to her. She would immediately chill out. I love the lyric: “So large on the horizon / people thought my windows / were stars.” It’s just perfect in so many ways. Thank god for Bill Callahan.
Bonus tracks:
Cotton Jones - “Sail of the Silver Morning”
Nap Habit - “Tightrope”
Ass Ponys - “Last Night It Snowed”
R.E.M. - “Harborcoat”
Noah Falck is an author, poet, and educator. He was born and raised in Dayton, Ohio, and attended the University of Dayton where he received a BS in Education and a Master s in Literacy. He is author of the poetry collections Snowmen Losing Weight as well as several chapbooks including You Are In Nearly Every Future, Celebrity Dream Poems, Life As A Crossword Puzzle, & Measuring Tape for the Midwest. He also co-edited My Next Heart: New Buffalo Poetry (BlazeVOX Books, 2017). He has received fellowships from the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop, The Ohio State University, and Antioch Writers Workshop. His poetry has appeared in Boston Review, Harvard Review, Kenyon Review, Ploughshares, Poets.org, and has been anthologized in Poem-A-Day 365 Poems for Every Occasion (Abrams Books, 2015). For ten years he taught elementary school, and currently spends his summers mentoring as a faculty member in the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop. Now living in Buffalo, New York, he is Education Director at the non-profit Just Buffalo Literary Center and curates the Silo City Reading Series, a multimedia poetry series in a 130-foot abandoned grain elevator.
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