While California might be one of the few places in the U.S. that anyone outside of said country is familiar with, many aspects of the state promote a particular brand of far-flungness. An off-the-grid feeling of being isolated while simultaneously at one with nature (sometimes resulting in death, as we’ve seen with many instances in the Sierra Nevada, including a recent one involving the disappearance and death of a hiking family).
As the lead single from Carly Rae Jepsen’s upcoming fifth album (or sixth, depending on who you ask), “Western Wind” nurtures this arcane “idealness” of California and has that “folk”-oriented quality of her first record, Tug of War, in addition to a dash of Swiftian panache on songs like “Wildest Dreams.” As an ode to “the West”—which, in most people’s minds, tends to mean California—Jepsen name-checks the Golden State right away with the opening lyric, “California, it crossed my mind.”
And, clearly, it’s been crossing her mind for a while now—or at least since she gave us “L.A. Hallucinations” and “Now I Don’t Hate California After All,” the finale to 2020’s Dedicated Side B. It seems, in retrospect, a fitting setup for this latest song. Dare one even go so far as to say that “not hating” CA has turned into… loving it? The line between the two sentiments being as fine as it is. What’s more, Jepsen has had some assistance in “learning” to appreciate the state’s finer qualities despite the rampant wildfires and increasing ramifications of a seemingly ceaseless drought. All thanks to, presumably, falling in love with someone who sees it through the rose-colored glasses that she never did.
To get across that sense of liberty the West is mythologized as imbuing people with, the Taylor Fauntleroy-directed video takes place among an expansive field, of which California has many to offer. Commencing with a font that looks more than somewhat inspired by the one from Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom, we soon see Jepsen riding through the sea of wildflowers on her scooter like she runs this modern version of a Ricola commercial. And she probably does, seeing as how there doesn’t appear to be another soul for miles (unless you count the inevitable number of creatures and critters hiding among the tall grass and the bushes).
It’s something she seems to take great pleasure in—the lack of anyone being around. A far cry from the very “on the map” single that launched her into the mainstream in 2012, “Call Me Maybe” (Jepsen then still getting away with saying something so analog before texts completely took off for millennials, and the thought of getting a call from someone felt utterly odious). And California, for as robust in population as it is (roughly forty million), has its fair share of wilderness-oriented abysses to get lost in. To reconnect with oneself in nature by disconnecting completely with others and the outside, “civilized” world they inhabit in larger cities like Los Angeles.
As a Scorpio cusping Sagittarius, one is almost surprised at Jepsen’s “Earth mother” propensities in the visual accompaniment to the song. And yet, it’s as though she’s deliberately paying homage to Taurus season by releasing the single and video in May, after having premiered it for the first time live, appropriately, at Coachella. The festival that those from California and beyond still treat as a near-religious pilgrimage. As she lulls those not yet converted to the “dark side” of the West, how can any of us ignore the siren-like call of her singing, “Comin’ in like a western wind/Do you feel home from all directions?/First bloom, you know it’s spring/Remindin’ me, love, that it’s all connected.” Ethereal mami indeed. Or maybe California just has that effect on blanca women, turning them all into witchy, hippie-dippy dreamers (see also: Lana Del Rey, who might need to up her own West Coast-revering game after this song).
One woman who has yet to be enchanted, despite adopting the overall “vibe” of the “California cult” on her last record is Lorde. With Solar Power—an album that feels far more California than “New Zealand”—Lorde even went so far as to outright damn the state altogether by declaring, “Don’t want that California love.” Translation: the state is filled with nothing but tinsel-masking horror and quacks peddling “New Age” hooey for a fast buck. Lorde instead prefers the “authenticity” of New Zealand’s remoteness and nature-oriented offerings. Yet Jepsen—dear, sweet Jepsen—doesn’t turn her nose up at CA’s charms (despite being from her own nature oasis of Canada), instead embracing all it has to offer. Particularly on an Emersonian level.
Like Haddaway before her, Jepsen asks at one point, “What is love?” Adding as an answer, “Comin’ in like a western wind.” Maybe love is simply getting in touch with oneself among the natural world, free of the burdens and distractions of modern, technology-filled life (which certain parts of California thrive on, e.g. Palo Alto). To embody that aura of self-determination, Jepsen flits about in her sheer, gauzy getups in constantly alternating hues (we won’t get into the fact that her frequent wardrobe changes in the video smack of the sort of fast fashion modus operandi that’s killing the very environment she appears to so relish).
At times echoing the tone and aesthetic of fellow Canadian Allie X’s approach on 2020’s Cape God, Jepsen drives home that similarity via the use of some “fresh laundry” (the title of the first track on said album). Yellow sheets that billow in the wind, spontaneously materializing out of nowhere like little misogyny totems indicating a woman’s place remains in the home rather than “running wild” (hashtag: WomenWhoRunWiththeWolves). Regardless, Jepsen continues to do just that in defiance of everything—including any responsibility that might await from someone with the gall to call her maybe. And yes, the Western Wind she’s referring to could easily mean those mood-altering Santa Anas that everyone is always going on about (including Joan Didion, before she turned her back on the West to sell out again and return to New York).
As our window into Jepsen’s romp among nature comes to a close, she leans against one of California’s many proverbial “giving trees” while the sun sets. It’s evident in this final moment that Jepsen is at peace in a way that one never can be when they’re worried about what’s “going on” beyond the transcendentalist Western experience. When they’re worried at all about anything that’s happening “on the grid” that exists past the select remote pockets of California.
