A couple of days ago I was bobbing along in the subway listening to this album and reading a book about death. Well, death's expression in music, and how most songs today fail to capture the appreciation and acceptance of it, anyway. I must say, the combination of these was rather humbling. There was something about the simple and comforting lull of the guitar paired with a heart-aching folk undertone that did the trick. It stirred me to a level of calm and heavy contemplation I needed to feel the kind of emotion Graeme Thompson was talking about.
(If you're wondering...)
Usually, my love of music derives from it's ability to lift me up, it's capacity to enliven me beyond any other form of expression. I usually just scour tracks for the spark of a new high. Oh, Piss off, you do it too. Some have alcohol, and others have heroin. I, however, have a spanked-new 120 BPM pulse laid over banjos and key-tars. Okay. That's possible OD (and, I guess that'd be fitting for this post?)...But you get the picture. I've never taken music much further than a high. Oh, believe me. Its been a deep and soulful high. But it always has a lofty objective.
I've never really explored the feeling beyond that. You know...the feeling once the music fades. The feeling when your heart stops beating. The very moment when you feel the light leaving your eyes. When is the last time you heard something that accepted and described death in human terms?
Well - I'm not sure if it was the words of the book, or the hushed, stirring rhythm of Blind Pilot's fortitude that got me. But something did. And I considered it for a moment. It's a simple emotion, really, how we feel about death. So why does it seem like the artistic expression of it got lost in 'Trying to get to Heaven' by Bob Dylan? (...by the way, I think I like reading about him more than listening to him, sorry.) Why is it that most artists today stand around twiddling their thumbs when asked about Katrina or Iraq? Why is it that every song we listen to about the most shallow levels of sex or love or anger or complacency or apathy or protest? At least, that's basically what I catch in the lyrics of my favorite songs. And even more-so, why is it easier to write and talk extensively about death now than it is to feel it? I know I've ignored it. Probably because I'm 23 and stupid and scared of it and I have enough modern technology to forget it exists even though it will probably happen to me when I'm 400, maybe.
It doesn't have to be all that bad or unapproachable, now does it? I listened to a few tracks, swallowed hard, and I thought about how I would feel and what it might mean if I thought about death in a real way. Not fist fighting a silver back gorilla, and not flying off of a cliff in a 1966 Thunderbird Convertible holding Louise's hand (yes, I'm Thelma in this scenario). I mean death in the understanding that it will happen, and I should probably make sense of the whole fuss.
I guess I would treat it like any other life promenade. I'd get ready, quibble around for something to wear - give up - and wear something comfortable like I always do. I'd make sure the people I wanted were there, you know, the friends that laugh from the gut and ask more questions than favors. Then I'd find some music everyone could live with, okay, maybe just me. Then, I think I could welcome the warm, dark, numbing wave of the waters of Lethe. I think if I was hoary and decaying I would be at peace with it all. A little tired, a little humbled, and so grateful. Not unlike a really, really fun, long night out? You're exhausted, but so glad you did it. It'd be a rest well deserved, I think. And, anyway, it'd be the first time I shut my mouth and quit ranting. I think that'd make death a little more pleasant for anyone, really.
So if you want to think about it... here's how a few taxpayers take a stab at death (Hah! Get it? The only things certain are taxes & de-? ...Stab at dea-?... oh well.) And Yes, I've purposely dodged the more notable ballads that Thompson mentioned in 'I Shot A Man'...savoir-faire, dudes.
8. Today - Smashing Pumpkins (had to do it, sorry.)
Cheers,
Merman
