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Broken Record #46
New York (via Bakersfield and Boston) musician Magana is about to release her debut EP Golden Tongue. It's a varied and erratic collection of 4 concise tracks, grouped together by Magana's sweet vocal style (which itself has the inclination to turn on a sixpence). Here in #46 of our Broken Record series, Jeni Magana talks about some of the records that make her tick.
This record is just sadness. It's wounded and it's weathered and it's so very real. The sparse instrumentation works really well for this; it makes me feel like she's just talking to me.
This is what I think of when you say the word "joy." It's so pure and fresh sounding, like I'm a little kid running through the forest. My roommate bought this record and we listened to it once and then he went on vacation for a month and I just played it on repeat while he was gone. It was January in New York, which is my least favorite time to be in New York, and I sort of clung to the sounds in this record to help me get up and get moving during the winter.
Everything about this record is satisfying. I had my mom singing along to this record. I drove a lifted Dodge Ram Charger (a hand-me-down from my brother) in high school and blasted this record with the windows down and thought I was SO cool.
It really depends on where you're driving I guess, but if I had the choice I would be driving through the redwood trees in Northern California and I would be listening to this record. I think it would work just as well anywhere that there are trees. It just makes everything seem magical.
I ended up living with my best friend from college for several years in New York. And for as long as I can remember, he had this 5-disc CD player and it lived in our living room in every apartment we moved into. There were two or three CDs that just lived in that player the entire time, and this was one of them. Inevitably, you would put on a CD and you'd be talking and not really thinking about it and suddenly you'd realize it was this record...again. I don't ever go out of my way to listen to it, but when it comes on I suddenly feel like I'm in our apartment on Boerum St. before we got priced out of the neighborhood, throwing a party and begging our drunk friends not to climb onto our roof. Good times.