"I make decent cash/I'm a minor star," Wolf begins, amidst the pleasingly-insistent pop of "Sod in the Seed." It sounds, at first, like a fairly standard moment of comic self-description (or self-deprecation, if you think Yoni's a major one), but it soon is revealed to just be a statement of facts: positioning life in the indie music realm in a greater global conversation about culture circa 2012.
Wolf is exploring the "first world curse" of "a steady hurt and a sturdy purse"; an era of astonishing freedom, opportunity, and plenty bringing with it the numbing buzz of depression. In short: Wolf is weighing up what a life of scribbling "vapid raps" is worth; and how much feeding "fears and hopes to the ears of folks listening" can combat the essential, existential ennui of being an entertainer for hire.
And, yes, he is rapping; something he didn't do at all on 2009's Eskimo Snow, and something that allows him to cram more words than usual into "Sod in the Seed." "So what if a man blinks in morse code when he sings if he sings his heart out?" he asks, in a flurry of syllables sprayed with the speed of blinks (and/or morse code), and, boy, is it good to have Why? back in our lives.
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