In the vein of my Weetzie Bat playlist post, I give to you, the one person who reads my blog (thanks Mom!), my Witch Baby playlist.
Months passed, and the Jayne Mansfield witches were only a movie, and everything was happy in Fifi’s cottage. Until the witch baby appeared on the front step.
Duck came into the house one day, carrying a basket. ”Look what I found on the front step,” he said.
Inside the basket was a newborn baby with purple, tilty eyes and pouty lips. There were a Ken doll and a Barbie doll with chopped-off hair in the basket, too, and Weetzie took one look at the baby and knew who it was.
“It is the witch baby,” she said.
I am fascinated with Witch Baby, the kind of anti-Weetzie Bat, much darker, full of hurt. I am absolutely convinced that if she met me (yes, Witch Baby is real), she’d hate me to pieces. I can accept this. In lieu of her liking me, I give her this playlist.
You know Witch Baby loved early Courtney Love, back when she was chilling with Kat Bjelland, wearing baby dresses and ripped stockings, right before she was throwing make-up compacts at Madonna.
I think Weetzie probably listens to Cocorosie too, but the dreamier, rainbowier stuff. Witch Baby sticks to tracks like Gallows. Hey y’all, this vid is not kiddo-friendly (unless your kiddo happens to be a Witch Baby):
Nina Simone singing Gian Carlo Menotti. “Torn and tattered is my bridal gown and my lamp is lost and my lamp is lost. With silver needles and with silver thread, The stars stitch a shroud for the dying sun, O Black Swan, where oh where has my lover gone?”
The Joni version is good enough for me, but Witch Baby is more inclined to listen to Mx. Justin Vivian Bond. “I couldn’t let go of L.A., city of the fallen angels”:
When I need to be left alone, I listen to Automatic for the People on repeat:
This entire album is probably good for cutting out tragic newspaper articles:
Only Rasputina could make CCR Witch Baby-appropriate:
Sometimes you just need a heavy dose of Morphine. I love listening to this song walking down 74th St. in Jackson Heights, for whatever reason, I couldn’t tell you. “She ripped the wings right off my back. She whispered deep, keep it on the track. She said you’re no angel, no angel anymore.”:
She watches American Horror Story, under the covers, all alone, clutching an anthology of Grimm’s fairy tales. Witchcore for Witch Baby:
Maybe something Witch Baby can listen to with Cherokee? Something slightly boppy to listen to while washing dishes in the faerie cottage:
Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But that’s how witch babies are.
So, what do we think, kiddos? Did I make Witch Baby too gothy? What would you add to this playlist?
~Love and Libraries, Ingrid