A few weeks ago at the end of a dispiriting workday, I dragged my husband to an outdoor show headlined by The Breeders. I nearly talked us out of going, but the effort was worth it for the communal experience. It was, in a word, healing. And that gave me plenty to contemplate.
The Breeders’ catalog is full of singalong possibilities thanks to their fondness for lyrics that aren’t words. For example, you might not know every line to “Cannonball,” but you can probably vocalize with Kim Deal’s track-topping soundcheck ( “Ah-OOO-uh, ah-OOO-uh”), or the ethereal “ahs” forming the spine of “Safari,” or the syncopated “ba-ba-ba-ba” of “Fortunately Gone.”
