Beyond his experimental work alongside a couple of other Kinsellas in Joan of Arc (and, more prominently, as bassist of the Midwest-emo definers American Football) dating back to the late-’90s, Nate Kinsella has long used the Birthmark moniker as a solo exploration of more personal themes. Between 2008 and 2015, Kinsella released four records balancing the art-pop proclivities his cousins’ band gave into by the mid-2000s with tales from his own life. Which made 2018—the year his first daughter was born—the perfect time to revisit the project while the endless news cycle largely tied (directly or not) to the sitting US President understandably led to a sense of creative restlessness.
Over five years later, Birth of Omni has entered the world, and it’s precisely the type of funhouse pop music we’ve come to expect from the outlet. Ranging from a wholesome take on a blindingly-horny-to-the-point-of-misogyny early-’90s R&B jam (brought to life by a nude couple’s roller skating video, as you, uh, might expect), to a reconsideration of lustful thoughts as the parent of two kids, to the predominant presence of the kids themselves as subject matter shaping these compositions, Omni serves as an honest dissertation on the confusing early years of middle age and child-rearing aptly soundtracked by an artist who’s been channeling this exact emotion for decades.
With the record out now via Polyvinyl, Kinsella took us a little deeper into the stories behind each track from a lyrical perspective. Stream along and find his words below.
1. “Snowflake in My Palm (Not For Long)”
On this album, I’m in a new role: Protector-in-Chief. It’s a full-time position, 24/7, actually. And there’s no paid time off. Also no sick days, and I have to bring work with me even when I go on “vacation.” There aren’t any insurance benefits, and actually there’s no salary either (it’s a volunteer position). But if you put in enough effort, there may be fleeting rewards of a vague, yet extremely powerful, emotional-based currency. Unfortunately, these “payments” may lean net negative, but that’s more of something that’s left for the eye-of-the-beholder to decide. Finally, it requires a skill set far beyond what anyone is truly capable of. The job is: Dad.
This song was written as the opening song of the album alongside a sonogram recording of my unborn daughter’s heartbeat. I was feeling worried and conflicted about my new role. The first line states an important underlying duality to weave the album together: “Is your life my suicide? Is your life what keeps me alive?” Dark? Hopeful? Yes. Sorry, I have a lot of feelings.
2. “Butterfly”
In between the glee and giggles while chasing my daughter around the apartment, it dawns on me: our playtime together is (innocently) a form of combat training. I’m training her to run from predators. I, the adult male, am the predator. Fitting? Yes.
3. “Birthday”
As a result of lifelong cultural indoctrination (The Simpsons, Family Guy, Married… with Children), I’ve come to equate childbirth with (figurative) auto-castration. I can only assume that eventually I’ll become as frustrated, impotent, and infantile as Archie Bunker, Al Bundy, Homer Simpson, Peter Griffin, etc. And this is disappointing.
I wrote this song to test if the intrinsically linked, yet lawfully enforced separation between the topics of children and sex is appropriate. Is there not room to even speak about the challenges of maintaining a sex life while raising children? Why is nobody talking about this?
4. “Rodney”
Rodney is super cute. It’s funny, I’ve always wanted to s*ck Rodney’s c*ck, but I am a father now and that just doesn’t seem like a very fatherly thing to do. Again, Why is nobody talking about this?
5. “Baby Woncha Come on Home” (Joan Armatrading cover)
I saw Joan Armatrading play three nights in a row at a venue that I used to work at. I was so moved by this song that I embarrassingly cried at work…three times. My old friend since teenagerhood, Arone Dyer, sings this song like a lullaby against a backdrop of broken pianos.
6. “Boyfriend”
This is basically my feminist take on “I Wanna Sex You Up” where instead of enticing my mate to sleep with me by reciting a list of sexy scenarios and peacock-tailin’ around, I just do the dishes.
7. “Green Skies”
This is a voicemail my wife left me when she was concerned about me during a particularly troubling bout of depression. I put it on the album to etch it in stone. A reminder that I am loved.
8. “Red Meadow”
My wife and I were overwhelmed with tending to our new child, and our romantic relationship dwindled to the point where it felt like the pilot light had gone out. This wasn’t a huge surprise given the circumstances, but the gap between us began to manifest in ways I hadn’t foreseen. This song is about lamenting that loss and feeling conflicted by what our new lives as parents had brought us and the need to rebalance the emotional ecosystem of our lives.
9. “I’m Awake”
A rainbow only exists to the living thing that is looking at it. If nobody is looking, it simply doesn’t exist. As the days of stay-at-home fatherhood blur into one another, I return to this thought: I don’t want my daughter’s childhood to be the rainbow that no one saw. Writing this song was a reminder to focus on the brief time we have together while she’s young. Had I thought of this metaphor when she was born, I probably would have named her Rainbow. I recorded a choir enthusiastically spelling the word rainbow incorrectly, like a child would. “Raynbo,” “rainbo,” “raenbo,” “reynbo.”
10. “Pretty Flowers”
Who has time for themselves when you must remain on-duty and fully alert at all times? You’re the Protector-in-Chief, after all! What if there’s a stampede at the playground? Or a mass shooting (trigger warning, there is audio of a stampede and a mass shooting in this song)? Pay attention! Wake up!
I edited an audio time-lapse memorandum of my daughter’s language development over the first few years of her life. It sounds pretty similar to any other child’s speech development, it’s cute and sweet. It makes me cry every time I hear it, but it may not elicit emotion from you, and that’s OK. We’ve all been through this phase of life. We learned to speak and play and dance and smile while the grownups around us stressed out like crazy to keep us safe and healthy. From one big baby to another, I hope we can find some room in our lives for compassion. We’re fragile. Take care.
