Album of the Year Write-Up: Set My Heart On Fire Immediately
This piece was originally written for r/IndieHeads’ Album of the Year 2020 series.
Background
Mike Hadreas started his music career on Myspace in 2008 under the name Perfume Genius. Two years later, he released his debut album Learning, which immediately received critical acclaim, through Matador and Turnstile Records. After following that release up with Put Your Back N 2 It in 2012, he released the album Too Bright in 2014, which launched Hadreas’ career into a new realm and established him as a queer indie music icon. Between the growing critical praise for his work and his increasing frequency of working with big-name collaborators like Adrian Utley from Portishead and Sharon Van Etten, Hadreas was rising to prominence in the indie scene quickly.
If Too Bright represented Hadreas’ rise, No Shape in 2017 further cemented his status as a queer icon. Acting as an album-long love letter to his boyfriend and collaborator Alan Wyffels (whom he had met when both were recovering addicts), No Shape was a grand new take on Hadreas’ sound, achieved through Blake Mills’ production and Shawn Everett’s audio engineering. Throughout his career, Hadreas’ music has shown a continual marked evolution in production, progressing from spare piano ballads to bombastic chamber pop that has a unique sound, incorporating unusual instruments such as harpsichord and harmonium.
Prior to his fifth album, Mike Hadreas pursued a side project in the form of the dance production The Sun Still Burns Here. Incorporating ten new songs from Hadreas, the piece was a collaboration with dancer/choreographer Kate Wallich and the YC dance company that toured Seattle, Minneapolis, New York, and Boston through late 2019 and early 2020. Two singles from this project were released as singles: “Eye on the Wall” and “Pop Song,” both of which were specifically made for this performance and, therefore, songs that didn’t appear on his next album. Though, in a Reddit AMA from earlier this year, Hadreas states that he intends to release a formal record from the dance performance in the near future.
Instead, shortly after the tour for The Sun Still Burns Here ended, Hadreas released “Describe” on February 25, 2020, announcing it as the first single for his newest album, Set My Heart on Fire Immediately. After releasing “On the Floor” as the second single from the album on March 16, Hadreas released the album in full on May 15, 2020. The production on the album is spotless and Hadreas’ lyrics are poetic and painfully beautiful. His signature ethereal voice manages to fit in perfectly among an eclectic blend of genres and instrumentation. The critical praise for the record was among the highest of Hadreas’ discography, including a career-high 9.0 from Pitchfork.
Review
*DISCLAIMER: I am unsure if Mike Hadreas identifies as disabled. I use the term “disabled” in this piece to talk about my own experience as someone who identifies as disabled and to talk about the disabled/chronically ill community as a whole. Similarly, I use “queer and trans” to refer to the LGBT community as a whole and to speak about my own experience as a queer trans person.
Right before COVID-19 hit the US, my ex-girlfriend and I attended a performance of The Sun Still Burns Here, a performance by Mike Hadreas, Kate Wallich, and The YC dance company at ICA Boston. At the time, I had become sick enough that I had started to use a wheelchair more frequently, and I was using one that night. The dance incorporated themes surrounding the body, physical connection, and transcendence. The performance was overtly sensual and almost violent. I sat in an accessible spot at the front and, at one point, one of the dancers was rolling around and writhing right in front of my feet. After, during the Q&A, someone asked about the performance. Hadreas said something about how it felt strange for him sometimes due to having a “weird” relationship with his body. When I was picked to ask a question, I first jokingly asked a question about rat arthritis (something he tweets about with surprising frequency) and he laughed so hard and joyously that he kicked his feet into the air. After he finished laughing, I asked my real question: was engaging with his body in the form of dance healing in any way?
I can’t remember if he said yes or no, but he thoughtfully took a sip of what looked like Coke Zero and mentioned being sick a lot as a kid, and how being so sick and in and out of the hospital all the time made him feel betrayed by his body. I thought back to being in the ER, being roughly handled by nurses and doctors, feeling scared and sometimes violated in a time of need. I nodded and thanked him.
When I got home, I was admittedly curious and wanted to know more details about what he had talked about at the performance that night. I found out fairly quickly through research that he speaks openly about having Crohn’s Disease, which is an inflammatory bowel disease in which the immune system attacks the entire digestive tract. I do not have Crohn’s Disease. However, while we do not have the same illness, all the chronically ill and disabled people I’ve known in my lifetime — myself included — could relate to that sense of betrayal. To live in a sick and/or disabled body is to be acutely aware of how much the body and its functions are entirely out of one’s control. Our society views sick and disabled bodies as unsightly burdens and is often hostile to them when not infantilizing them or using them as objects of inspiration. To live in a queer/trans and sick/disabled body attracts even more societal disgust and hostility and often intensifies that sense of betrayal and lack of control. Our bodies are the exception — an afterthought — in a world that is not made for us.
In a feature with NewStatesman, Hadreas talked more at-length about how The Sun Still Burns Here influenced his relationship with his body and spurred the creation of Set My Heart on Fire Immediately. The piece notes the following about Hadreas’ evolving relationship with his body:
He said that The Sun Still Burns Here was only possible because he was in remission for a couple of years. I imagine that it must have been wonderfully freeing to be feeling better and to have the ability to undertake such a physically taxing and ultimately rewarding project. I also imagine that if it were me, I may have been worrying in the back of my mind when that remission would end and if it would put a halt to everything. Chronic illness symptoms especially tend to fluctuate, often day by day and sometimes even minute by minute. If I go out for even just an afternoon, I have to extensively plan around my physical state and mobility, which is a common experience for chronically ill and disabled folks.
In regards to how the performance spurred the creation of the album, Hadreas states: “The dance experience ‘changed what I was desiring and what I wanted. I was around a lot of people for a longer period of time and I liked it. I realised that I have a tendency to nest and to hide, and I think I’ll always have and need some of that, to refuel, but I also want to be around people and I want to make things with people and I want to be in the world and in my body.’”
Throughout his career and discography, Hadreas has focused heavily on the experience of having a queer and chronically ill body, and this overarching theme has not gone unnoticed by critics. The body has always been an overt theme of Hadreas’ work, from the image of bodies “cracked, peeling, riddled with disease” on “Queen” to the description of “God… singing through your body” on “Slip Away,” and Set My Heart On Fire Immediately is no exception. The album, as a whole, especially focuses on healing from the inherent trauma that can come with having a marginalized body. This album unsurprinsingly spoke to me deeply as a chronically ill/disabled, queer, and trans person — a combination of things that can never be separated, as they all influence each other and the way I navigate both my own body and the world at large. I knew I wanted to write about the album from a similar perspective.
The album opens with the track “Whole Life,” a song about approaching middle age and letting go of pain and trauma inflicted upon him in the past. Mike arrestingly starts the album by singing “Half of my whole life is gone / Let it drift and wash away” in a soft and lilting tenor. The words “Half of my whole life is gone” have a certain finality to them, and sound almost like letting go of some sort of existential fear and dread. For me, being disabled and chronically ill forced me to start considering my own mortality at a young age, as my body deteriorated more rapidly than those of many of my peers. I’ve had many periods in my life that I spent grieving over time and opportunities that were gone after I had lost them to illness and disability. As a queer and/or trans person, it can also be difficult to imagine life beyond a certain age, likely due to high rates of PTSD in the queer/trans community, and as a result of many queer and trans youth having few or no examples of adults like them thriving and living happy, healthy lives. For many queer and trans people, reaching certain birthdays or milestones is a huge deal and can feel strange or overwhelming if they had never envisioned themselves reaching that point before. As a queer trans person with what often feels like a broken body, I have to wonder if making it that far feels like a huge — albeit surreal — accomplishment.
The external homophobia and transphobia that young queer and trans people experience also leads to many remaining closeted and struggling with internalized homophobia and transphobia. The titular character in “Jason” seems to be heavily grappling with this internalized homophobia. Hadreas sings about a strange and uncomfortable sexual encounter he shares with this man when they were both in their early twenties, noting how Jason undresses Mike but does not undress himself, and that “even his boots were on.” Hadreas then finds himself having to emotionally support Jason through the encounter, and being “proud to seem / warm and mothering.” Jason is clearly distressed about having sex with another man and having to confront his own queerness.
Among young queer and trans people, it’s very common to have risky or uncomfortable sexual encounters or to be involved in toxic or abusive relationships, likely due to the queer/trans community having a large number of traumatized young people, many of whom have little to no support from more experienced adults. In situations where one or both people are closeted or repressed, sexual encounters can be especially strange and uncomfortable. “Jason” captures that weird discomfort between two vulnerable young queer people, each reaching for connection but ultimately not receiving what they really want. Jason never undressing captures a deep sense of self-hatred and discomfort that feels like it permeates the entire encounter, and it seems as if he felt like undressing would be fully engaging in and enjoying the experience of sex with another man, which he was not ready for. At the end of the song, Hadreas sings about stealing money from Jason’s jeans, hammering home the complete lack of trust between them.
Compared to the fragile distrust on “Jason,” “Your Body Changes Everything” represents a striking shift in its depiction of safety and security within a relationship. Jason is a wreck; he has not confronted his own queerness, and clearly feels scared of and betrayed by his own body and desires. In contrast, “Your Body Changes Everything” is not about an uncomfortable or negative experience with the body. Instead, Hadreas has stated that the song is about not strictly adhering to normative relationship dynamics and roles, describing the track as being “about being open to whatever happens, and not carrying all this bullshit with you.” There’s clearly a sense of trust between the two people at the center of the song and a comfortable vulnerability that wasn’t in “Jason.” In a way, Hadreas’ depiction of himself has healed from the earlier experience in “Jason,” and he comes off as more mature and more secure in who he is, bringing this into the relationship and evolving from where he was three songs earlier. There’s also a stronger mutual sense of give-and-take between him and his partner in this song, emphasized in the lines “Give me your weight, I’m solid / Hold me up, I’m falling down.” With the progression from “Jason” to “Your Body Changes Everything,” Hadreas illustrates a common path many queer and trans people find themselves taking. Often, queer/trans individuals will take a long time to find a person they can healthily love and trust. As much as sex can be difficult for those with chronic pain/illness/disabilities, gender dysphoria, or an otherwise fraught relationship with their own bodies, when one has a trustworthy partner, it can be incredibly healing, too. For many, it can be a way to experience the body as a vessel for joy and pleasure, rather than purely a vessel for pain and suffering. This form of healing can be a meaningful way of building and repairing the relationship they have with themselves and their own physical being, finding comfort where they were once uncertain, scared, or harmed.
When I was younger, I found myself in relationships with people who were bad for me. I got involved with men who fetishized my queerness and transness and didn’t treat me like a whole person, or involved myself with people who were too absorbed in their own lives to give me what I needed as a human being. As I got older and began to heal from past interpersonal trauma, I was shown that I didn’t have to tolerate that kind of treatment, and I didn’t have to resign myself to those behaviors being inevitabilities in relationships. If you’re chronically ill or disabled (not to mention doubly so when trans), it’s hard to find someone to trust with your physical body. In some ways, I find that I’m physically more fragile and that it’s easier to be injured or harmed than if I were an able-bodied person. Sometimes, if I have a day of feeling particularly ill or dependent on others, my internalized ableism gets to me and I feel betrayed by my own body, thinking, “How could anyone want to be with me when my body doesn’t do what I want, and my body doesn’t look and act the way others want it to?” I’ve heard stories of people leaving their partners when they become disabled and, while this isn’t something I have to consider, it takes a lot to trust in someone else and know they’ll stay with you unconditionally. I’m lucky to have that sort of trust in my current romantic life, especially after what I’d been through before. My romantic life is now a safe space, rather than a storm to weather.
When it comes to having a trans body, there’s more to take into consideration for one’s safety when being with someone else. Your body might come off as shocking or a novelty (or worse) to another, which is often why some trans people only get involved with and date other trans people. Even when it comes to trans people being involved with each other, though, there’s a different sort of vulnerability and intimacy — most of the time, everyone involved has some sort of baggage with their bodies. People have body issues, hangups with their physical forms, or trauma — all things that can be encompassed by the feelings dysphoria evokes. With every relationship I’ve been in with another trans person, I’ve gone into it knowing that both people involved likely have complicated relationships with their bodies. Trust and open communication about our bodies is essential, even moreso than in most relationships with cisgender people.
“Without You” evokes a similar sense of this dysmorphia and bodily discontent that disproportionately affects the queer community. Initially, I had thought this song was about a breakup after a toxic relationship and realizing that you’re better off without the person you had been involved with. But when I had looked further into the song, I found that it was about having a moment of clarity after years of body dysmorphia. The lyrics highlight the strangeness and discomfort often felt with that process of having a break from dysmorphia, starting with the lines “It’s the strangest feeling / Unknown even / Almost good.” Though it is ultimately a positive shift in someone’s relationship with their body, it can start as an alien feeling that one has to adjust to over time before it can feel more natural. That initial feeling of healing, of not hating yourself and not being controlled by your own trauma or negative self-image for even a moment, can be very jarring after having struggled with those things for so long. The song never becomes a full-on self-love anthem, but it’s a realistic portrayal of the beginning of that healing process. It captures the moment of starting to feel like you can love yourself, which is something that many people who have experienced body image issues can identify with.
However, the healing process is not always linear. There’s often progress and difficulty, depending on a variety of factors. As Hadreas had mentioned, he could only do The Sun Still Burns Here due to being in remission and his body feeling well enough for that kind of physical endeavor. For any particular healing process, whether based in the mind or the body, you can’t always guarantee that things will improve, or even stay the same. The dark tone on the track “Describe” sets this contrast from the brighter mood of the healing process on “Without You” immediately. Hadreas notes how “Describe” is about “feeling on edge physically and emotionally, where you know that there’s more available to you, but you can’t access it in that void of depression.” In the case of this song, Hadreas seems to be recalling a time when he was shown affection and love that “felt like ribbons” from someone else. For me, this evokes an image of being wrapped up and held, and implies that this was a time that he felt his body was safe with another. But the depression that hangs over the song has him feeling out of touch with that moment, needing it described to him while feeling distant from this memory. This sort of depression and depersonalization is a frequent trauma response and a large part of the healing process, where one feels numb because feeling anything is overwhelming. Depersonalization acts as an adaptive response to mentally escape from one’s own body and to get through something the body and brain aren’t ready to handle. It becomes a maladaptive response, however, when it continues past a traumatic period or event and significantly interferes with someone’s life and mental state. The dark, heavy guitars on the track capture this depressive atmosphere, while Hadreas’ soft, breathy voice feels like barely a whisper — as if he remembers something beautiful, but he feels just as distant as this memory. In a way, “Describe” is itself a representation of the complexities of the healing process, where memories and the feelings they evoke aren’t necessarily clear or linear, and drift in and out with the various states one goes through in this process.
Within this album, there is one line that I feel encapsulates much of how Set My Heart On Fire Immediately deals with relationships and issues with the body. In “Nothing At All,” Hadreas sings, “You can say what you want but I already know / Our body is breaking down to a single beat.” These words make me think about how aging is ultimately a process of deterioration, and ties into my previous statements about considering mortality when chronically ill or disabled. As time goes on, the past cannot be re-lived. Every moment in life and in your body quickly falls out of your grasp. Every moment you live is a moment your body breaks down a little more. This point stretches all the way back to the opening line of “Whole Life,” where the finality of time looms over the album from the very first second. It’s a terrifying existential thought to have, but similar to Hadreas’ own ambiguity with that line in “Whole Life,” accepting the deterioration of our bodies and the temporary nature of everything can be freeing in its own right. Our bodies all have a shared fate in breaking down, just as all our bodies reach a point where half our whole lives are gone. The body is a difficult thing to contend with, but the body gives you no other choice. The body is inescapable, so we learn to live with it, however we can manage. I’ve learned this in the most rapid and brutal way as my disability has become more present in the past couple years. Seeing this process reflected throughout Set My Heart On Fire Immediately has helped me connect to the album more than anything else, and has reminded me that no one is alone in struggling to heal from trauma and their relationship with their own body.
As I reach the end of this year and think back to the dance performance I saw Mike Hadreas put on all the way back in January, I am incredibly thankful for having been able to see The Sun Still Burns Here and for getting to witness Mike talking about how it influenced his relationship with his body in person. I will forever think about that moment during the Q&A and have carried it with me throughout this year, through all the ways this year has made me reflect on my relationship with my body. Set My Heart On Fire Immediately has only helped the significance of that moment grow, and helped me find resonance where I often find myself alone.
