2014.35 Again

Anberlin, Reliant K, Deas Vail, Switchfoot, and any others: Christian band members, unspoken band. I don't mind it.
I write things on my blog that aren't Christian--things that aren't actively for Christ. They write songs that aren't actively for Christ, either. Neither of those things feels wrong. I live a life that contains other people than God, and I deal with them every day, too. I feel strong emotions that aren't directly related to religion, and I need to process them. I get hurt and I bleed, and I need to examine my wounds to understand them.
But am I doing myself a disservice? Jesus said that no man can serve two masters: choose one. I choose Christ, but I don't act like it sometimes. I'm stupid sometimes, but other times I actually choose to act like he isn't my lighthouse. My question remains: am I doing myself a disservice? Am I actually serving the devil when I slip? Am I moving against God when I choose the other?

I fear so. What am I doing?

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.32

Octahate.
Ryn Weaver. This song (finally) has a clear message and central, carrying idea. The first line clearly communicate powerlessness in the face of overwhelming, titanic forces coupled with the explanation: She's not thinking clearly because of the way her ex left her.

Lost in the cracks of the landslide . . . Deep in the haze of your love high/ I used to soar on the livewire/ I'm coming down from your supply

 This theme develops through the song. Whoever her lover was has gone, taking a lot of her emotional security and self-worth. She's not blaming this unspoken other, because despite the confusing nature of the end of their relationship, she "should have known." I find it hard not to feel for her. She's had an emotionally devastating experience, and she's equating it to the destruction of earth. I get that. I've been melodramatic in a breakup before (this is not news) and I've written really over-wrought dripping prose while feeling sorry for myself.

But.
I (me, Robby) am not totally on-board for this. There's no good reason to share this song with the world, Weaver. Yes: I appreciate that you're feeling sad. But good breakup songs have something to say. This one's just "I'm sad, I'm sad, I'm so so sad." I get that she's being an adult about it (no blame), and I do love that. I appreciate that sometimes you've just got to feel sad without meaning. But I ache for more depth since I'm not sharing the emotion right now.

So now for the music video. It has some kind of classy clown thing going on, and it's wildly distracting from the music itself. I mean, this is a legitimately good-sounding song: I like the sound (it's fresh and beautiful, along the same emotional lines as what Katy Perry tries to do) and it's I think as good as This is Gospel. But the video!
Let's talk. When you have a harlequin aesthetic combined with a classy chic thing combined with the uncanny (white bodysuit?) combined with a younger version of the singer, what you pull out of the pot is only confusion. This is not helped by the editing, which gives me five frames to see what is legitimately the best part of the whole video: a moment in which Weaver and young Weaver alternate with paint tears being streaked down their faces. Find it here. Refresh a few times; it's worth seeing. But everything else is a mess of jump cuts and throw-away moments. "Look, we smashed things! But we never give you a wide shot for emotional pay-off. And seriously: Invincible has an incredible payoff. There's this long, slow pan up towards what you KNOW is going to explode, and then . . . catharsis.

Essentially, I would listen to Octahate readily, but I wouldn't buy it. Yet.
(P.S. two things: what's her mascara doing? And really I just googled "classy clown" to try to find Harlequin. It didn't work.)

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.33

Pills and Potions.

Nicki Minaj. I don't like rap. Not only do I have a problem relating to many rappers' lives, I also dislike their method of delivery. Rap can be extreme. Because it's so raw, it can blow up. But that vulnerability also allows rap to be awful. It can be confused (too many metaphors/tricks/clever lines spoil the story), monotonous (the main and consistent problem with Eminem is that he only yells), and offensive (rack city, b****). But the real trap for this art form is

Weezy Wayne, Hot Boy, I.. be.. thug-gin'/Got.. them.. things.. ten up, keep.. hustlin'

The words don't need to have anything to do with the ones on either side as long as they sound good together. (I googled "Lil Wayne lyrics" and clicked on whatever. This is a selection from the first stanza) At the risk of making Stephen groan, I have been thinking for a few days about what the words to Pills and Potions could mean, and I have to be honest: I got nothing.

I don't think I'm missing anything. She's in love with a guy, there are drugs involved, and superficial friends exhaust her. The chorus isn't linked with the stanzas, and the stanzas don't have internal structure. The only line that brings drugs to the stanzas is

So I pop pills for them

(them being the superficial friends) and it doesn't help me understand why pills and potions mean she still loves she still loves she still loves she still lo-o-oves. The lyrics are meaningless where they try so hard to say something powerful. They don't move me and I can't understand the order. That is--unless the entire song is merely about making music sound good. In that case, congratulations, because this song gets stuck in my head.

The music video is sparse (like the beat), and it's sexual (like Ms. Minaj herself [holy crap Ménage à trois am I brilliant or stupid?]). The visual effects are weird and the 4:3 aspect ratio doesn't do anything for me. In short, the video does nothing to detract from the song, but it certainly doesn't add anything at all. I wish it were a help to me in liking this song, but at the end of it, I have nothing to say. I guess . . . keep your lady bits away? Maybe think about one thing your song can be about, instead of this mix of disparate parts? Possibly . . . take a writing class? Anyway, Minaj, the beat is solid, the sound is good, the mix of sweet and surly song to rap is wonderful, the heart is there, and everything falls apart when I take a second look.
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.34

World Peace is None of your Business.
Morrissey. I'm going to be honest; I don't know what's happening in Bahrain and I'm not going to look it up. I do know about the unrest in Brazil, Egypt, and Ukraine, so I count myself pretty knowledgeable. I am knowledgeable enough that I don't understand the market for this song. I can see that it is appealing to a leftist mindset (there's an inflammatory statement about wealth)

The rich must profit and get richer And the poor must stay poor

The song talks about government reactions to political movements in terms of tasers, not gas and guns, so I know it's marketed to a stable country/strong government combination. And it references four countries (at least two) whose struggles are not common knowledge. So the target is a well-educated left-of-center political activist in a top-wealth/developed country.
So why is it asking me not to vote? It's contradictory in the extreme; there have been times when the United States has changed because of the will of the people. There was a 75% turnover rate one election in Congress (admittedly in the early 1800s) because the representatives passed an unpopular bill. Almost everyone got sent home. I admit we don't have a true democracy, our first past the post system is utterly stupid, and voting sometimes accomplishes nothing. But go ahead. Tell me my vote for John Wright didn't matter.
It is because I am educated enough to know about Brazil and Egypt that I know that voting is often pointless and often incredibly powerful. It is because I am educated enough to care about Ukraine and Crimea that I also care to remember why and how the Civil Rights Acts of 1964 and 1968 were passed. It is despite my frustration with the government that I do not find Morrissey's civic dirge moving or empathetic in any way. Now I listen to it again.

[The old man walked down the street. He could hear hooting in the distance, but he didn't turn around. It was just then that a young woman came flying past him, laughing and dancing with her friends. She was beautiful in the light of the flame she carried. In that split second, his grizzled older heart warmed to her cause, just to close again on the other side. He looked at her--nice clothing, careful appearance. She's a tourist. She'll never have the nerve to throw that torch into someone else's house. He shook his head, remembering when he was young. They were organized, then. Someone's voice mattered then. This chaos of disparate voices (the outraged, the energized, the aggressors, the young and flighted along for the ride) would never accomplish what it wanted. He fingered the automatic hidden in his coat and considered spraying the sky with lead, hooping and running with the young idiots. Instead, he turned his collar up and trudged on.]

Now that I've listened to it, the references to other countries sounds entirely throw-away. Like: "What countries have had unrest recently? I want to reference them to sound cooooool. They're not an important part of the song. In fact, it's just a list without explanation that happens to rhyme. We've come a long way downhill.
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.35

Dissinter
Anberlin. So, just to clear up some confusion right at the start; Anberlin is not a Christian rock group, in the same way that any object or loosely-collected metaphor cannot conform itself to and accept Christ's death. They sometimes sing about the things they believe, but they're like Switchfoot, I guess, which doesn't help if you don't know about Switchfoot, but lots of people do. I hope that helps you understand what I'm about to say.
If you're not choosing a master, you're serving the devil. Don't be offended. It's truth. But I want to know if it's important to let people know which master you've chosen. It's a personal choice. It should show in your life. But by actively avoiding a "Christian" label, have these bands shot themselves in the foot? I would have to ask a lot more people, because currently I only know about Robby. And Robby knows that Anberlin and Switchfoot have chosen God, but only because I looked it up. Does that mean that they're trying to fudge the rules of choosing? Should we make our choice super obvious, or rely on the fruits we create?
Regardless, this fruit is weird and confusing. The only religious imagery it uses is

You are children in a land of men

and also in addition & plus

I'll be known at the gates

which are two lines in a song that also references the ideas of carpe diem and socialism. Is the tone of the song overwhelmingly Christian? No. Is it enough that I can tell it's supposed to be? No. Is the voice calling my soul God's or Satan's? No. I just don't grammar the answer. And I don't even like the song enough to listen to it until I figure it out.

[She shakes the hair out of her bun and throws the helmet at the wall. The visor pops and flies; the plastic shatters, skitters. She kicks the bike down into the shelf. Cans of paint fall, open. The tools tinkle and rain. The bike lies, ruined. She turns to the door in, and kicks it, booted and yelling. He can hear her outside and he yells through the door too.
She can't hide the tears in her voice. Why can't she hide the tears? She's soft, and she hates it.
He flings the door open, prepared to be sad, and he sees the bike. She's prepared to be sorry, and he blows up. The quiet of the garage erupts.]

There's a soft moment in the song. It's the middle paragraph. I tried to let you know with the writing. I'm not sure how I feel about this creative connection thing I'm doing.
The song is screams and heavy guitar. The drums are incessant. It's not my style. I'm not going to listen to it again, but I can see why it's better if you don't listen to it and you do something else. From a purely aesthetic perspective, it's not my cup of tea. From a modified intellectual perspective, it's shallow. From a religious perspective, it's confusing.
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.36

Shades of Cool.
Lana Del Rey. I actually really like Lana Del Rey and the Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys, but this song does nothing for me. At least, the music, as I heard it as part of the top forty. I marked it as "do not approve."
But why? I read the words and they're just as strong as Lana's other works. The art of metaphorical language is strong with this one. The song starts strong with the word paint:

My baby lives in shades of blue; Blue eyes and jazz and attitude.

 There's obviously a lover worth having, and he is just exactly perfect as a status symbol, even though he's riddled with flaws. And I love that Lana (yeah, I hate it when authors use the artist's first name like they're friends, but seriously: Del Rey) uses "invincible" to let us know she can't break through his walls.  It's such a powerful, positive word to describe what is obviously (to her) a negative thing. Even if she's sad about it, he's just too important to decry. And then, I'm not sure.

My baby lives in shades of cool, Blue heart and hands and aptitude. He lives for love, for women, too: I'm one of many, one is blue.

 Things get complicated, and maybe the video will help. I suspect not. Obviously, whoever wrote this story will understand why there seems to be a different "baby," why love and women are separate concepts, and if the "blue" baby from the first verse is the blue lover from this verse. And why does the songwriter begin singing to "you?" Am I the baby, blue or otherwise? I would love to think that I have it figured out, but all I can share is my questions.
The music video is mostly Lana: an older man (only one baby, I guess?) drives around looking invincible, and Lana wiggles around looking as sensual as possible. (I wonder) There's an awful, heartbreaking moment in which Lana Del Rey comes up out of a pool, trying to look as lascivious as possible, and the blue-eyed baby just looks nonplussed. But by and large, the triple overlays of visuals, the rich, meaningless sounds, and the megavamping just don't work this time. I love Lana Del Rey. I think her music is incredibly potent, but usually she uses something jaw-dropping and wonderful to megavamp. This time, I can feel the twitch in the music where it would take off, but it just . . . doesn't.
That guitar solo, tho.
I wouldn't buy this. (Caveat: I might buy Ultraviolence.)

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.37

Never Catch Me
Flying Lotus. A song in the good old tradition of "trying to find the biggest words I know and stringing them together in the vain hopes of sounding intellectual." Now, I'm no poet. Trust me; the closest I get to poetry are awful half-attempts with lilting meter and no rhyme or pattern. But when you include lines like

Curiosity, animosity, high philosophy like the prophesied meditation

 and gems like

no coincidence you been died

I'm not inclined to believe your dedication to your art. AND THEN on the other hand, there is a theme running through this piece. (Hopefully, Stephen didn't rage quit before this line) I'm feeling the ideas, rather than seeing them outright. The author is either awful or coy, because I think he's talking about an environment in his head, but the imagery isn't specific. I do like

Step inside my mind and you'll find--

as a prelude. It does introduce me to the idea that this is an internal monologue. If that's the case, and the song deals with the author's headspace, the line

I've got mind control when I'm here; you're gonna hate me when I'm gone

is much, much more ominous in tone. Is he preparing to live beyond his consciousness? Is there some disease or degeneration that will leave him physically functional, but mentally absent? Or am I trying to find meaning where there is none, desperately hoping to give the author more credit then he's due? I hope not. Seriously.

Vandalizing these walls only if they could talk

is too beautiful to be wasting on a random pseudocombination of words. Plus, since I poo-pooed the music the first time through, I think the words must have something to offer, right?
But the music video.
It's just the right amount of joyous and frenetic and somber. It's just the right mix of sir-reverence and true humility in the face of death. I can't believe I would ever listen to this song again, but I would watch the music video. I would show it to a friend. I would talk about why the director chose children (extreme sadness) and (extreme joy) why fill a video about death with energetic dance. I would want to push the metaphors around my head to see how they roll. I would re-examine the characters to categorize them. I would have to wonder why the "choir" in the balcony seems to exist in some half-state between the children and the mourners. I would watch the music video again, but . . .
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.38

Dreams

John Legend. Lyrics by Kanye West, yet! As I unpack them, there's actually enough meaning there to sustain me. The whole conceit rotates around the first four lines:

Every time I close my eyes Visions of you come to life, And I see What we could be

 While the character is asleep, he's with the girl. The song doesn't bother to explain why they can't be together. That's either to keep things simple and easy or because the writer wanted to appeal to a broad audience. Either way, it's not got the depth of Baby's In Black, if I'm honest. Unattainable, chaste women are a thing. But there's a wonderful beauty in the simplicity and the waiting. The singer won't chase her unless she wants to be chased. He's torn up about it, but he's not going to make her miserable. So, I guess based on his actions during the wait, he'll either be creepy or commendable.
Next step: listen to the music and free-write during.

[He burns the candles in his window every night. The neighbors shake their heads as they walk past, pull their collars and turn from his sadness. They all know through whispers what happened those years ago. He hasn't been out much since (his lawn has gone trash) and they certainly aren't dropping by during Halloween.] I couldn't finish my metaphor with the nightly candles he lights for her because the song is actually mercifully short. I dislike my effort.

The first time I listened to this song, I decided I would mark my least favorites as a one-star so I could avoid them in the future. There were only six, and they're the next four and Fancy. This song prompted a method to keep track of the awful songs. This song. I'm not sure if it's the production or the interminable repetition of the word "dream," but I really just do not like this song. The sound is atmospheric and what most hacks would describe as "dream-like" (as if no one in the world has ever had a sharp, cutting dream-not-nightmare). The manipulation of the vocals takes John Legend's defining quality and throws it repeatedly into a blender. And, as discussed before, the lyrics aren't enough to save it.
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.39

3005
Childish Gambino. I've seen other productions from Donald Glover that I didn't like. And to be honest, this one didn't strike me as utterly banal or self-centered. In fact, despite lines like

"My God, you pay for your friends?" I'll take that as a compliment.

the song still feels generally like Glover is trying desperately to find a reason to be happy. The lyricist is so focused keeping one person (despite what appears to be a fulfilling life and plenty of support) that I'm guessing it's not a healthy relationship. That person leaves.
The music video (understandably) doesn't fill anything out for me. It's a brilliant video; it's meant to feel like one take, even though there are some opportunities for cuts when the camera points at utter black. But Glover just kind of passionlessly mouths his lyrics, and the bear disintegrates, and the video continues being brilliant and sweeping, and the music tries very hard not to get in the way. I'm not impressed. I'm just not moved to the kind of place he seemed to want me in. Perhaps it's because I've not felt that loss for such a long time, but the story of this song does nothing. It's just as passionless as Glover's face as he mouths words he wrote before he realized he would have to sing them.
I wouldn't buy this.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.40

[So this year I'm going to break my post into forty parts. You can follow along by subscribing via RSS or by placing both hemispheres of your brain in an oven set to broil.]
[My methodology probably also needs explaining. I'm doing these Top40 responses by building on my pattern, hoping to gain something more. For 2011, I listened and responded to the songs I liked or hated. For 2012, I wrote notes in a text document while I worked on homework. For 2013, I moved to this blog. And for 2014, I'm going to change again.

• Step 1: Listen to the top forty as if I were a human being who listened to music. (while doing other things)
• Step 2: Create a playlist of the music videos available at time of writing.
• Step 3: Find my good headphones at Sunnydale (oops)
• Step 4: Absorb.
• 4.1 Read the lyrics.
• 4.2 Watch the music video if available.
• 4.3 Free-write while listening if no video is available.
• Step 5: Respond.

That's it. Let's get on with it, then.]

This is Gospel

Panic! At the Disco. The words are religious, but the tone feels selfish and depressing. I'm not sure there is a message. As poetry goes, it's awful trash, and as songs go, it's repetitive. Let's watch the music video. Okay, so the song is really quite good. I found myself wanting to move with it, and that's a good sign. I can remember thinking "If this is 40, this might be a great year." But having read the words, it's not a consummate experience now. The music is engaging enough (isn't Panic! quite good, generally?), but the words are pointless. They could have sung about grass and bees and working in a coal mine and it would have hit me the same way. I'm all for good music being available on the Top40 lists (looking at you, Bonobo), but Panic! writes the sort of music I listen to, and I can't ever understand what's going on in my Pandora station. Still, if the music is this good and the video + music combination are good enough to distract me from the pointless words, I'm down. I like it. Only problem: It's forgettable enough that I can't remember if I would buy it.

I wouldn't buy this.

Edit
I re-read the lyrics to find something stupid and non sequitur to vindicate my previous opinion and instead found a connection between two lines I hadn't seen before. I read the lyrics twice, closely, before. I guess speed of ideas is important here? It's essentially all free association anyway.
So this is what I've discovered: one line repeats itself outside the refrain.

If you love me let me go/If you love me let me go/'Cause these words are knives that often leave scars.

Now, those two lines actually have nothing to do with each other in the way that they're presented verbally or lyrically. When he sings them, they sound unconnected. But if we assume that these words are actually "If you love me let me go," then the song starts to make sense. Someone said that to the subject, once, and now he's focused on it (and on staying in a relationship). That's why he says

Oh, this is the beat of my heart, this is the beat of my heart

He's tricked himself into feeling the same emotions time after time and now he's obsessed with this one loss. Essentially, what I'm saying is Sorry I was so mean before, but your song isn't obvious and I'm not even sure if I found this meaning or inserted it. That's not good form on the author's part, anyhow.
I still wouldn't buy this.

11.16

The quick way she broke over other people's suffering was really what shot that electric spark across his mind. She was so kind, and not to better herself but to really help the people she met. Well, now that they had found each other forever, this defining trait was the most grating. He hated the way she jumped to it, like she wanted to forget being her, being good, being his.

11.11

The veteran spoke loudly, but the gymnasium is impossible. I couldn't hear in the reverberation. Three hundred middle-schoolers sat in awful silence, and I still couldn't hear half of the poor man's words. What I could hear was less reverence and more advertisement anyway. The focus couldn't be to honor those who serve or to explain what duty looks like—oh, no. You, too, should join the armed forces and throw your life into the grist mill of rich famous men who will fund a memorial once enough of your friends are dead.

11.7

The fat man clasps the railing, his professional dignity entirely gone. He suddenly struck with a memory: the last time he was so out of breath. He can't remember it exactly, but it haunts him. Where was he? Was it? But it doesn't matter. All he can remember is the stricken panic. All of the fear in his body coming to a point behind his eyes and drilling out. His chest held together by crypt of iron. He'd been promised his doctor to cut back, to exercise. But fate is hateful, as it turns out.
Now, here he was again. Same situation, different circumstance. He had a morbid thought: grave humor. What if this was his last chance to breathe badly? What if this was the last time he would gasp in agony and terrify the people watching him? What if this was his last chance to screw everything up?
Stricken with agony and shaking with mirth, he met his maker.

11.2

The artificial stillness of the town crept its way, at last, into the full-packed bar. Charlie, brother of the deceased, climbed up on top of the pool table and took his hat off.
"Now, you all know I ain't one for makin' big speeches or dwellin' on the past. Lord knows we've had enough sadness for one day." At this, the crowd rustled around him, a sea of bare, bowed heads. "Y'all know my brother. He was kindly to all of you in his way, and he didn't deserve to die, not yet."
One out-of-place old woman called feebly from the corner "None of us expect that grim hand!"
The man shook his head. "I suppose you're right, Widda Toulaine. Ain't one of us can say we're fit to meet the Lord. But that's why we're all here, I warrant. Chuck--" at this, the big man paused.
"Best to honor his mem'ry," growled the doctor's son.
The man on the table resettled his weight. "Old habits," was all he said to that. "We're here to find Maubern Mithen's wife and kids a new home. Now, I said wife and children, am I clear? Cain't nobody take half a handshake."
The crowd around him lost its reverence.
Charlie looked down at the folks and grasped his gun belt. "If y'all don't like the terms, you can git out."
The crowd erupted. The butcher waved his hat in the air and whistled so as to make the air split. The big man cried "And the more fools you. Won't nobody tell me there's a raw deal in it!" There was some nervous chuckling, but things remained still. "Sorry 'bout them, Charlie. Keep going."
"Thanks, Herriot," Charlie said. He turned to the crowd. "Now, who will take these of the departed?" His eyes swept the chamber.
That's when she stood up. Dressed in a clean white apron, dark hair wild and fighting to be free, she was contrast personified. Pale skin glowed out at her neck and wrist to fight the black she wore. The people who has been pressing near now stepped back a pace.
"You have all been forgetting me. Forgetting my family. Mauburn never was around; he was always fighting your crusades." Oh, how men looked at her through hurt eyes. "Never here in life! He won't be missed in death. All I ask is that when you next visit my farm, you don't come alone and you don't come together. I'll tell you that if a man walks up the way I'll know it's myself he wants and if it's all, then you're after my boy."
Charlie on the table speaks as if it's tearing him. "If such is your fear, you've not spoken without cause. Who, Bella?"
"You always were more man and less animal than Maubern," she said. If I were ten years older ten years ago, our stories might read different. But of course all I need is for you to put a pack of fouls in the dirt." He shook under it like she meant to break him. "Think next time, Charlie. That won't fix the past." She turned back to the crowd, which all but shuddered back. She yelled, hurt-torn, "I know you think I'm the Devil's Dame, and my son his messenger. Well, I'll have to take that weight off your shoulders. Nobody around here knows how to talk to the devil, let alone God. So just you all resist that curiosity to come visit. Next time that itch hits you, ask if curiosity burns brighter than a funeral pyre." Her tone changed, and she leaned down to see under the pool table. There in the darkness lay a two-year old shape. She took its hand and walked to the door, slow and agonizing slow because of the figure's gait. When she got there, she paused to look back. "Burn your Christian charity, and yourselves with it. If it weren't there when it could do some good, it's unwelcome now." The black of her dress joined that blackness of night, and she was gone.