His exacting details and corresponding references to his generational experience give the songs depth and believability that are relatable, though your own circumstances will no doubt be different. Quinn Christopherson is a singer-songwriter from Anchorage, Alaska, the youngest of four children born there to Native parents: his mother is Ahtna Athabascan, from the interior of the state; his father is Iñupiat, from the Arctic Northwest. Christopherson is also a trans man who first endured a life of strangers trying to reduce him to this or that gender. Like anyone else in the world, Christopherson is more than the sum of a few demographics.
Christopherson came to storytelling long before he came to music, per se. As a child, he began capturing his own stories in poems, a practice he pursued with satisfaction until his father, Glenn, gave him a guitar when he was 20. Local bars and open mics offered him entry into a scene and, better still, a long association with fellow songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Nicholas Carpenter, who remains his closest collaborator and bandmate. The acoustic recordings fit seamlessly between the atmospheric backgrounds, spot on percussion and the exquisite vocals.
It is difficult to determine which songs stand out on the album; as you listen you realise that this is a concept album, one that cannot be understood without dwelling on his impeccable ability to tell his own story. His style of storytelling provides an impressive reconstruction of a life and its most structural elements: friends, family, feelings, neighbourhood, context, awareness of the passing years.... Some of his lyrics are at once reflective and relentless, poetic and foreboding, a path between the imaginary and the spoken word: “I watch your hair blend in with the sky, Evelene. You don’t need a man to have a good night” from Evelene; “Kids were mean, middle school was cruel, but I had good friends and I read good books” from 2005; “I got a new name (name, name), the same face, I'm just losing old friends (…) I don’t know who I am” from Bubblegum; or “I hope the kids we raise are ambitious don’t play it safe, have a lot to say live a long life and get paid” from Kids.
The musical production works with precision, as the instrumentation becomes the appropriate canvas to present his narrative. Perhaps, Bubblegum is the song that best represents his musical realm, and in which Christopherson invites us to discover the different stages of growing up from adolescent to adult. The verses unfold one of the deepest feelings we as human beings come to experience socially; that uncertainty will always be a companion on the journey. Only he makes it hopeful and relatable by providing the adventurous yet comforting conclusion that we will surely stumble upon beautiful and moving music like the one he makes.
Christopherson came to storytelling long before he came to music, per se. As a child, he began capturing his own stories in poems, a practice he pursued with satisfaction until his father, Glenn, gave him a guitar when he was 20. Local bars and open mics offered him entry into a scene and, better still, a long association with fellow songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Nicholas Carpenter, who remains his closest collaborator and bandmate. The acoustic recordings fit seamlessly between the atmospheric backgrounds, spot on percussion and the exquisite vocals.
It is difficult to determine which songs stand out on the album; as you listen you realise that this is a concept album, one that cannot be understood without dwelling on his impeccable ability to tell his own story. His style of storytelling provides an impressive reconstruction of a life and its most structural elements: friends, family, feelings, neighbourhood, context, awareness of the passing years.... Some of his lyrics are at once reflective and relentless, poetic and foreboding, a path between the imaginary and the spoken word: “I watch your hair blend in with the sky, Evelene. You don’t need a man to have a good night” from Evelene; “Kids were mean, middle school was cruel, but I had good friends and I read good books” from 2005; “I got a new name (name, name), the same face, I'm just losing old friends (…) I don’t know who I am” from Bubblegum; or “I hope the kids we raise are ambitious don’t play it safe, have a lot to say live a long life and get paid” from Kids.
The musical production works with precision, as the instrumentation becomes the appropriate canvas to present his narrative. Perhaps, Bubblegum is the song that best represents his musical realm, and in which Christopherson invites us to discover the different stages of growing up from adolescent to adult. The verses unfold one of the deepest feelings we as human beings come to experience socially; that uncertainty will always be a companion on the journey. Only he makes it hopeful and relatable by providing the adventurous yet comforting conclusion that we will surely stumble upon beautiful and moving music like the one he makes.
