The guitar strums for only a measure before the vocals enter. No exposition. The story begins in medias res. We see pixels flickering. We hear dishes jittering. If you type out the lyrics to Seth Howard’s “The Understudy Caught the Cold,” it looks suspiciously on the page like a piece of micro-fiction. Or maybe it’s an imagist poem with a narrative arc. The language is spare, stripped down, but it’s not devoid of ornament. It’s descriptive, evocative. The action rises on a cast of characters—artists, musicians, and actors—whose optimism and ambition are matched only by their resignation and helplessness. The story ends with a sad climax (everyone is sick and defeated, even the audience) and a quick denouement (“It was quite a sight to behold”) before the guitar simply stops strumming. No falling action.
Howard’s rich voice provides the song’s liquid center. He projects a daunting melancholy without ever being maudlin. The melody is captivating and serpentine—an accumulation of distinct verses, a series of new musical moments, one after another, which thankfully never arrive at a chorus. A low synthesizer, an electric guitar, and a vocal harmony gradually join in, populating the song like characters. The song feels friendly and intimate, even though its mood is fatalistic and stoic. It’s a mood that resonates, especially these days. And so maybe that’s why it feels, even upon the first listening, like such a familiar and comfortable tune.