“Lo Fi”: A Novel to Read and Listen To https://ift.tt/vNJlOGp
Allison “Al” Hunter — the main narrator of Liz Riggs’s stunning novel Lo Fi — might not exactly be role model material. Al tends to live on the wilder side of Nashville’s music scene as she struggles through her early 20s and her not-so-fantastic job stamping wrists at The Venue. When Al isn’t stamping wrists, she’s indulging in mix CDs, pills she obtains from the bartender, Colt, with whom she’s sleeping, and way too much alcohol. In fact, her daily life is a bit like a scene from Tove Lo’s music video “Habits.” Apart from Al’s wayward spiral, messy promiscuity, and slight brushes with famous and semi-famous musicians, however, readers also find a myriad of listen-worthy playlists carefully spun with gritty insights about the music industry and a young woman’s journey to becoming the songwriter she was always meant to be.
For music fans, Lo Fi is not the type of novel they will part with easily. Its randomly placed playlists not only help shape Al’s character and act as emotional and scene shifts, but also they introduce readers to — or remind them of — the songs and bands that shaped their own identities. Bands like Mazzy Star, Death Cab for Cutie, Belle and Sebastian, Blind Melon, the National, Dashboard Confessional, and, yes, even Taylor Swift, are some of the greatest bands, songs, and musical icons that have shaped the music industry since the 1990s. Al’s playlists, too, invite readers on a musical journey, and all they need to do to embark is plug some headphones into their phones and laptops and find the songs on YouTube or Spotify.
Of course, Al’s playlists introduce a bit of nostalgia into the novel. Anyone who spent their teen years or early 20s in the late 90s and early aughts burning CDs and making mixes will recall the beauty of swapping those mixes with friends or indulging in them on one’s own. Even the novel’s reliance on a media like CDs is enough to stir nostalgia for those who spent their youths and a good bit of income expanding their CD collections, especially since current streaming services have, for years now, made CDs a historical relic, although, as audiophiles admit, they — and cassettes — are making a comeback in listening circles.
To do this, the story focuses on Esther, the mysterious songwriter frequently associated with another male Nashville musician who steals attention away from Esther. It is not until Esther begins establishing herself as a musician in her own right that she gains the following and receives the attention that are rightfully hers. Thus, both Al’s journey and Esther’s gently remind readers of the struggle female musicians have faced in yet another male-dominated industry.
Of course, one cannot read Lo Fi and not recognize that it is also a novel about vulnerability. Initially, readers are introduced to this concept via Al’s self-consciousness about playing in front of crowds after “The Incident.” After Al knocks over a microphone after an open mic at which audience members heckled her singing, Al refuses to perform in front of others. Her songwriting in turn suffers, and the chords and the lyrics she conjures are forced. Nonetheless, Al loves the music and the bands too intensely to forfeit her dreams and desires. Her personal experiences are merely one small example of what musicians and band members sacrifice in order to pursue what they truly love — the music. Via its exploration of Al’s vulnerability, Lo Fi tangentially offers readers an inside view of musicians’ and songwriters’ vulnerability, which Nashville’s hustle and bustle frequently overshadow.
The novel also nudges readers into a philosophical conversation about the musician-audience relationship. Initially, it prompts this conversation by exploring Al’s relationship with Nick, her frontman ex who does not necessarily want Al but who also does not want anyone else to have Al. Nick holds a strange, toxic power over Al, and Al spends the majority of the novel breaking free from him. Their relationship is ultimately a microcosmic representation of the larger musician-audience relationship. After all, without audiences, bands are defunct. By the novel’s end, Al displays profound emotional growth when she states, “When I first understood how it worked, I couldn’t fathom the idea of giving your song away for somebody else to sing.” Her true growth appears when she acknowledges that she mistakenly thought “writing a song for someone else was less about giving it away than about sharing it.” Her maturity shines when she recognizes that music “transforms” and “something different happens when you hear a song with other people.”
Eventually, Al offers readers a mature insight about the musician-audience relationship: “The bands don’t ever love you back, of course. They say they do, but what they really love, mostly, is just that you love them.” This insight leads Al to the realization that “[m]ost of the bands will split up,” but that, in the moment, “it’s hard to imagine any of us ever doing anything but this.”
Lo Fi is a magical novel, one that evokes the songs and the memories that make one’s youth spellbinding. Al commands readers to “[j]ust put the fucking headphones on and relax.” For this type of novel, Al’s advice is solid. Lo Fi is not the type of novel one reads without a set of headphones, a turntable, or CD player, and a playlist from the past. Al’s emotional highs and lows are intensely personal. Her journey is a journey quite a few individuals have taken, and her experiences prod readers to remember that experiences, like music, can be universal. Al’s self-discovery, too, stirs a great deal of empathy, and her journey reminds readers that the most intense periods of their lives — just like their favorite songs — become even more unforgettable when one shares those moments with others.
Lo Fi
By Liz Riggs
Riverhead Books
Published July 9, 2024
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