Julie Doiron

Of all the phases of life romanticized in the arts in the modern era—from the innocence of childhood to the indiscretions of young adulthood to the idealization of a dignified, enlightened death—it seems none has been viewed with more yawning indifference than domesticity and family life. We like our artists to be consumed by their individual passions—love, drugs, sex, self-hatred, faith—but little could be less glamorous for an indie rocker than a profound longing to wash dishes and tuck the children into bed. On Goodnight Nobody, Julie Doiron does just that, challenging the individualistic artist stereotype with a ruminative song cycle fixated on the desire for home.

“I didn’t realize that at the time—that the record was about being upset about being away [on tour]—but that’s really what was happening,” says the former Eric’s Trip bassist about her sixth solo album. The record is a startlingly honest exploration of the conflicted feelings experienced by a wife and mother of three, caught in the balance between life as an artist and life in a family. “I was traveling a lot last year and the year before, so that was definitely the emotion… that I wanted to be home,” she continues, her voice drained of feeling, as if reliving the exhaustion of taking the stage nightly while six months pregnant. “I love playing concerts, but I love being home with my family. I think that theme was definitely pretty present on the record.”

Humbly built around raw, uncluttered textures and achingly straightforward sentiments, Goodnight Nobody is the antithesis of every girl-power project or self-consciously empowered diva, projecting self-knowledge without being self-obsessed. And while longing for the warmth of hearth and home is not an unprecedented theme in art, the conflicted tone and near-tangible guilt with which Doiron regretfully apologizes for scolding her children (“Sorry Part III”) and struggles to realize the dream of uniting her two lives (“No Money Makers”) creates decidedly unusual placards in the indie-rock neighborhood. For once, the expression of guilt isn’t tied to existential angst or the frustration of individual drives but to a genuine sense of responsibility for the others in the artist’s life. By album’s end, the prolonged, unsettling honesty makes you feel like you should share her suffering.