It’s easy to acknowledge there’s no crying in baseball because there are better ways to redeem regrettable plays and re-assert dominance, but most importantly, there’s no crying in baseball because it’s just a game, whether or not fans choose to admit it or not. Mothers’ song can also be interpreted as play-by-play of a different kind of game, one with much higher stakes. Kristine Leschper has a voice that unfurls like a flag at half-mast wavering, and more than easily likened to Angel Olsen’s. But unlike Olsen, Leschper delivers her distinctly Southern inflection in short and spastic post-hardcore knots. Leschper’s narrator admits to falling prey to fantasy, ashamed of her desire for a different kind of relationship to the “other” that she describes, introducing us to the feeling of alienation.
Leschper speculates: “I guess my tongue was softer then, but no one’s trying and I’m sick of it!/ There’s no crying in baseball! Try and understand/ Their chapped lips begging me over and over again.” Leschper isn’t acting tough, and she’s not playing it cool. She’s asserting her right to be both vulnerable and angry at the same time without letting any of the upset leak out of her tear-ducts.
The Fat Angel Sings 