In March, a 12-year-old letter Fiona Apple once wrote to a young gay fan named

Bill surfaced online. "A person who loves is a righteous person," read the supportive
note, "and if someone has the ability and desire to show love to another-- to
someone willing to receive it, then for goodness' sake, let them do it." The message
was warm, thoughtful, sincere. But its presentation was just as important. It was
written-out by hand, on lined paper. And there were Apple's pen marks-- a
distinctive blend of print and cursive-- legible yet casual, perfect in its
imperfections. The letter provided an instant reminder of the singer-songwriter's
lasting appeal, why she can take six or seven years between albums and return to
even-more-rabid followers. Unguarded honesty doesn't go out of style.
This is especially true in 2012, when major artists can get so caught up in "brand
management" and web-based "social engagement" that the core of their art--
emotion, intelligence, meaningful connectivity-- is sometimes lost amidst
bottomless scrolls. Being able to slice through the bullshit is arguably more coveted
now than when Apple did just that during her ferocious acceptance speech at the
1997 VMAs. Another famed modern truth-teller and award-show crasher (and
noted Fiona fan), Kanye West, has been able to harness technology, the media, and
his own public projection by constantly negotiating with all things fresh and new.
Apple doesn't really care about all that. In interviews from both 2000 and 2012, she
claimed to not listen to any new music whatsoever, and when she recently sat
down with Carrie Battan for a Pitchfork interview, she referred to Google as "this
whole Google thing," like an overwhelmed grandmother. On her entirely acoustic
fourth album,The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping
Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do, the 34-year-old makes
herself heard with her voice, her words, her piano, and not much else.
This is the most distilled Fiona Apple album yet. While her celebrated previous
work was marked by eclectic musical flourishes courtesy of producers including Jon
Brion and Mike Elizondo, The Idler Wheel is fearlessly austere in comparison. She
worked with touring drummer Charley Drayton on the album, and his touches are
light and incisive. Speaking of the record's signature clattering percussion--
including thigh slaps, truck stomps, and "pillow," according to the credits-- Apple
associated the homemade sounds with an increased freedom: "I just like that
feeling of: 'I'm in charge, I can do whatever I want.'" And this musique concrte
approach is not random. Every single waveform is pierced with purpose, from the
muted heartbeat thumping through "Valentine" to the childlike plinks popping
around the uncharacteristically optimistic "Anything We Want" to the chugging
factory sounds that give "Jonathan" its uneasy rhythm. On the oddly life-
affirming "Werewolf", a banjo shows up, plucks exactly four notes, and then dips
out, never to return. "You made an island of me," she belts on that song, and The
Idler Wheel's spareness does lend it an insular loneliness, one that's divorced from
the outside world while also being intimately in-tune with its basic realities. As
Fiona's self-drawn album cover suggests, the inner workings of her mind can be
scary, ugly, and head-splinteringly vivid.
"Werewolf" also features the album's most jarring and powerful found-sound
moment: just as the self-conscious ballad climaxes, the roar of children screaming
on a playground enters, adding an uncanny mix of dread and wistfulness. The fact
that Apple was inspired to insert the yells by a classic-movie battle scene that was
running when she first played the song only adds to the sample's ambiguity as well
as its spontaneity. Much of the album involves Apple's constant struggle between
naivety and cynicism; on opener "Every Single Night", she sings, "I just wanna feel
everything" and "every single night's a fight with my brain." The saga can turn into
lacerating theater, as on "Regret", which, with its mechanical beat and ominous,
monk-like ambience, could nearly pass for a track on Nine Inch Nails' The
Downward Spiral. The song also features the most brutal hook of Apple's career: "I
ran out of white doves' feathers to soak up the hot piss that comes from your mouth
every time you address me," she bellows, tearing her throat apart in the name of
pure vengeance. And while she's undoubtedly one of our foremost talents at the art
of the kiss-off, the blame for Apple's woes is a bit more spread out now. "How can I
ask anyone to love me," she offers, "when all I do is beg to be left alone."
"Left Alone" is nothing short of a vocal masterclass. It has the singer going from the
verses' rap-like cadence to the hook's curlicue jazz stylings to the operatic long
notes of the bridge-- notes that slowly curdle underneath their own exasperated
weariness. This makes sense considering Apple is a child of Billie Holiday, Ella
Fitzgerald, and hip-hop, a songwriter who's spiking the Great American Songbook
with today's mirror-upon-mirror confessionalism. She's able to convey more with a
quick, original turn of phrase-- "my woes are granular," for one-- or an in-the-
moment scrunch of the face than many pop stars are able to muster with 100-foot
screens and volcano pyrotechnics.
It's an old-school approach, though it rises well above mere sepia Instagrams.
Instead of being far-off and dreamy, her throwback moves are the opposite--
intrusive, corporeal. This is not background music. It demands attention. "Look at!
Look at! Look at! Look at me!" she pleads on "Daredevil", a knowing admission of
her self-destructive tendencies. But even after being thrown into the media
spotlight at a young age, and having to deal with crippling doubt, Fiona Apple
didn't go boom. She's still here, brave enough to indulge in raw emotion and smart
enough to make those feelings carry.