Fiona Apple’s “The Idler Wheel…” turns 13
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Chords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do
The album’s cover art is a self-portrait by Fiona Apple.
Fiona Apple’s fourth album was released on this day in 2012, and it was her most experimental yet. Although now we can see it as the seeds that eventually grew into Fetch The Bolt Cutters, it was a risky move in 2012.
When explaining its meaning, Fiona says, “I like the idea of the idler wheel,” she said, “it just sits in between things, but it makes such a big difference in the way that the machine is working.”
Meanwhile, the whipping chords are about self-reliance: “[The whipping chords line] relates to (…) the ‘ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure’ concept. (…) But I read this thing in a nautical book about how when ropes get frayed you’d use the whipping cords to fix the ends. The whole thing of the whipping cords is that (…) no matter how well prepared you are in life, you’re gonna fall down a hole, and if you can fix the frayed ends of things, then you’re better off.”
It’s a testament to her self-reliance and resilience, as well as her core belief that someone doesn’t have to be big and mighty to make a big difference.
“This [album] I love, even though there’s a lot of pain that I went through during the making of it. I feel very sure of myself. Not that I’m so great, but that I’m right.”
The work immediately stands out from its predecessors in its stripped down, spacious, and percussive approach. The whole project is entirely devoid of electric instruments, creating a sound as raw, organic, real, and genuine as the lyrics.
This is not an easy album. Her voice is not cushioned by the usual gorgeous piano chords, but rather takes centre stage. She speak-sings, chants, yelps, and breathes, inviting us to participate in her exorcism-like process to making music. It’s Apple’s most mature work yet, and she knows it. “This [album] I love, even though there’s a lot of pain that I went through during the making of it.” She told SPIN magazine, “I feel very sure of myself. Not that I’m so great, but that I’m right”.
One of the things that makes Apple such a breath of fresh air is that she does not shy away from pain—or any emotion, for that matter. She confesses to and embraces her wounds, but with great power and uses this to become better and stronger every time. Her strength is not in having thick skin (she’s openly confessed to being very sensitive). Her strength is in her ability to never throw in the towel, never admit defeat, regardless of the pain she might feel. She faces it head on, writes fantastic music, and moves on.
“Say I’m an airplane and the gashes I got from my heartbreak make the slots and the flaps upon my wing, and I use them to give me a lift. Hip hip for the lift, hip hip for the drag, I want them all in my bag. Oh, give me anything, and I’ll turn it into a gift.”
This album is possibly my favourite of hers, so rich in imagery and poetry. She so perfectly toes the line between a complete mental breakdown and almost delusional self-confidence (“I’m caught in the cold, caught in the hot / not so with the warmer lot”, she sings in Daredevil). She’s no longer just projecting her pain outward like she did in Tidal, but she acknowledges the role she plays in her own story.
Nowhere is this done more clearly than in Werewolf, which in Fiona’s own words, it was admitting, “Yeah, all the anger that I had toward you was justified, and you are an asshole, but I was a great dance partner, and I brought a lot of that out of you.”
Every Single Night is a cute-sounding opener into a not-so-cute, always-fighting mind. She doesn’t sing it as someone who has survived a finished battle, but rather she’s in the midst of it. The track feels like it’s building up to something and she just isn’t able to release it, like when you need a good cry but the tears just don’t come out. But she tells us, “I just wanna feel everything”.
Jonathan opens with an ominous distant rattling and her signature piano. It’s a bittersweet song, and despite its dark instrumentation, there’s love in the lyrics: “Jonathan, anything and anyone you have done has gotta be alright with me. If she’s part of the reason you are how you are, she’s alright with me”. Total, unconditional acceptance.
The drums continue into the rolling and rattling Left Alone, a personal favourite of mine (and hers). The song tumbles down with a chaotic stream of consciousness halted by harsh introspection: “how can I ask anyone to love me when all I do is beg to be left alone?” Before answering the question, she rolls on to the next verse.
This song has some of the best lyrics I’ve ever heard. “It hurt more than it ought to hurt, I went to work to cultivate a callus” and “My ills are reticulate, my woes are granular, the ants weigh more than the elephants.” Who among us has not handled major life changes with grace, yet been pushed over the edge at a minor inconvenience?
“ It explores the worst, ugliest parts of the human experience and forgives it.”
The march continues into Werewolf and Periphery. The latter tells a story about her timeless sentiment that the entertainment world is “bullshit”. She leaves it, and us, with the sound of her singing to herself and dragging her feet across what sounds like gravel.
But then comes Regret. A seething and dejected song. The emotion just pours out of her in the screaming, “I ran out of white dove feathers to soak up the hot piss that comes from your mouth every time you address me”. The line was inspired by bombardier beetles who, as she eloquently explained to Dan P. Lee, “shoot this noxious shit out of their asses”.
Next is another favourite, Anything We Want. This song is gentle, child-like, and beautiful. The clattering jumps around you as Fiona paints a picture of a new love. She blushes (“my cheeks were reflecting the longest wavelength”), she flirts, and they do “anything [they] want”.
This album, and particularly this song, kept me company during a particularly bleak moment in my life. While it’s a love song, the line “we don’t worry anymore ‘cause we know when the guff comes we get brave. After all, look around, it’s happening now” exists on its own. It’s that self-reliance that keeps coming back in her music. It holds our hand and reassures us that we too can be brave.
That’s what this album does. It explores the worst, ugliest parts of the human experience and forgives it. It takes care of you when you listen to it, and accepts that as long as you’re growing, there’s nothing wrong.
The penultimate track, Hot Knife, is a bit of an acquired taste. There’s no big buildup, no big payoff, but rather puts you into a hypnotic state. Fiona and her sister Maude flood the song with their chanting for four minutes. Bonus points for the track having no looping, but rather the sisters just recorded for hours straight.
It was originally the closer of the album, but in the expanded edition we’re gifted with Largo. It’s an endearing song about the eponymous club in LA where Fiona sang, and sounds a lot more similar to her previous work. “When over the rainbow is too far, go to Largo”. It’s innocent and endearing, overflowing with a non-romantic love. How refreshing. She walks us through this club and introduces us to her friends. And then, just like that, the song ends.
I would not hesitate to say that The Idler Wheel… is a masterpiece. What she does in only 45 minutes explains why there were seven years between this and her previous album. She’s developed the confidence to play with instrumentation and grown enough to look at life with more nuance, but never losing the righteousness that makes us fall in love with her.
It’s a perfectly human album, an almost living and breathing thing, while somehow also a diary entry that we have all written.