My Acolyte Journey: 2014.19

Come With Me Now
Kongos. Stephen informed me that the next few were thumping party-pop tunes with no substance, so any textual analysis will be brief.
The refrain has little meaning by itself.

Woah, come with me now/I'm gonna take you down./Woah, come with me now/I'm gonna show you how.

It's mostly a call for followers (which is innocent enough). The singer doesn't want to feel alone, in the way of humans. I think it's understandable. When I people-watched at the Chattanooga art museum, I noticed that people stand in clumps near the edges of rooms and especially in doorways. The atrium was ringed, but internally empty. I don't think there's anything inherently wrong in wanting company. (Side note: best paper about people grouping in empty rooms) However, I am disturbed by the singer's lack of direction. If the song demands followers to instruct, how are we to take the second stanza?

Confused what I thought with something I felt./Confuse what I feel with something that's real:/I tried to sell my soul last night;/Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite.

Pre-video sentiment: at best, the song is a good thump when you're out in the club. At worst, it's lost and getting loster. The sound, from when I listened to it, is great, and I'd listen to it willingly if it came on the radio (maybe sing along, even if I don't know the words).
Post-video sentiment: Kongos is the whitest band in the entire world. The video had stark brilliance to it: the looping, pointless actions of the characters contrasted with the bleak underwater scenes (I especially loved the underwater scenes, even though an underwater metaphor is done better in Under the Skin and that one Christian song where the water fills the room). But the problem is that this band is whiter than white. Whiter than Noah and the Whale. Whiter than Vampire Weekend. Whiter than Mumford and Sons. So white I can't deal. I mean: I am a man who was able to un-ironically sit through (if not enjoy) a concert by Reformisté, a band that I assumed had reached peak whiteness. At least they had a woman (she graduated). But I was wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. Kongos has got the stupid long hair, awful fashion sense, utter lack of motion, terribly lack-luster performance, and skin tone of an arch-typical White group. I cannot.
That being said: is there anything wrong with being a white person, or even a White person? Not inherently, no. But when I can tell that you have no passion for your music video when you should be the most polished you can be, all I can think is how much better it can be. Your voices don't match your demeanor, and I guess that's really what I'm driving at. I can feel how utterly uncomfortable you are in your skin, and it's that same discomfort that I feel. I'm practically an expert in really uncomfortable-looking stances and a disconnect between voice and physical expression.

I watched a video of myself teaching. I stand ram-rod straight and with dead-doll eyes speak with the most enthusiastic tone. I am the whitest band on earth.

This song makes me feel a w e s o m e. The video makes me feel itchy and angry, like I want to reach out and punch everybody but the accordion player, who is just doing his best to draw his fellows up to his level and get as hype as he can. He actually spits, which is what I do when I'm garbling the words to this song when Delight cranks the radio. The accordion player gets it.

I wouldn't buy this yet? I'm reconsidering Extraordinary by Clean Bandit and Hideaway by Kiesza, so I'm beginning to doubt myself anyway. I'm over halfway through and all I want to talk about is Hozier, because these kids do not get it.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.20

Battle Cry
Imagine Dragons. This song reads awfully familiar. I think I've seen it somewhere before? I must be confused. But then again, I don't think angels scream in the middle of the night, so what do I know?

No, this is a different song that bases its entire identity on the same song as before. But it's different! It has anthemic rock themes and the repeated phrase "do or die" and a message to not waste my life. So I'll come at it from a different perspective.

Here.

The Charge of the Light Brigade was written by Lord Tennyson.
Battle Cry was written by Daniel Reynolds, Daniel Sermon, Benjamin McKee, and Daniel Platzman.
LB was a dramatized recounting of a real occurrence in which hundreds of men were willfully driven to their deaths by a pillock who didn't think about human lives.
BC is a song.
LB uses its repetition to drive the narrative, and uses subtle and overt changes in the repeated lines to drive home the point of the poem.
BC repeats stuff in order to build the structure of the song, to rise and fall with the cadence of the music, and to stick in your head.
LB makes me cry in quiet moments. Let's find out what BC does.

[I can see the smoke drifting through the trees toward us. It brings the acrid smell of sulphur, brimstone, and men's cramped sweat. I'm revolted by my own hand as it lifts my sabre high above my head, pushing a final thrust toward the enemy line.
I can feel more than hear the hoofbeats crescendo behind me, thundrous and loud. We're making the only sound in the valley, now filling up with the thick staccato, choking me with the smoke and tears. I can barely breathe.
The level plain, full of ruts, holes, and blood.
The upward incline is suddenly full of shot and cannon. Lead laces the air. There's no more smoke, no more sound, no more fear. I've been built for this moment, I think.
I then notice I'm on the ground. I've been knocked, thrown, spewed from my horse and I'm pushing the last of my life's blood into the sodden soil. I hear the line break and my men gallop back past me, back to our hill, but this time the air is not filled. The stillness is instead punctuated by solitary men, the last of a proud formation.]

The song is suitably epic. I do feel like the music tells a better story than the words though. Right near the crescendo of the crashing rock, I feel like my place is in a thunderstorm, yelling and posing like the wind and rain have the power to knock me down and I need to fight for my right to scream into the uncaring crash.

I wouldn't buy this. I would look for it when I was in a bad mood and spoiling for war, and I would reach out my hand and I would not find it.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.21

Hideaway
Kiesza. The lyrics make me think of a kid with his older brother climbing a tree. This poor child trusts the brother implicitly and thinks that the higher they travel, the closer they'll be to God, to enlightenment, and further away from the pain of the lower world. There's a problem with my view of this song:

Uh, you send me the shiver and the spine might overflow/You're bringing me closer to the edge, I'm letting go

So.
This is a simple song about physical comfort or ecstasy ("You're just a hideaway, you're just a feeling") being an escape for the emotional or religious vacancy ("You let my heart escape beyond the meaning") left by not having the sort of connections that seem to bless other people ("Baby, I love the way that there's nothing sure"). Here's what I want to know: why do people assume that the emotional and physical high they feel will actually block out the yawning depths of their instability? Or at least, why do they act so? I can testify. When I was dating, there were times when I thought "If only I could get physically close to this person, perhaps the intoxicating feeling of seduction that runs electric between us can somehow . . . start the generator? Illuminate my dark interior? Pump the bilge. Short the starter. Charge the battery. Turn the engine. Fire the furnace.
Songs like this don't do anything to change the reputation of romantic love. We need a serious paradigm shift in the Western world. Sex isn't God. Love isn't God. Nothing on this earth will fix your holes.

But let's watch this video.
Holy wow. Second best video of the 40 so far. Stephen sent me a text earlier saying it was a "beautifully choreographed" video. Sure, yes. But it's more than that, frankly. This video doesn't quite match the feel of the music in places (when she gets atmospheric and says "ooh" and "ahh," the starkness of the video doesn't match the production of the music). This video doesn't quite live up to the impressiveness of some other notable one-take music videos. This video doesn't quite feel like the video I want to see from this song. But I ignore all that. I laughed a couple times. I couldn't tear my eyes away. The colors, distressed as they are, pull me in. The moves, though they don't quite climax with the song, are engaging, not distracting. And Kiesza holds my attention unless I drag myself away (I don't know if they only hired PoC dancers because they could only get them, or) because (at least partially) she's such a contrast.
I feel pumped about the song and happy for Kiesza. I can't explain both of those: this is not a "get turnt" song. It feels like I should already be turnt. And why should I care about Kiesza? But that's what I get from this song. I'm bumpin' and I like Kiesza. But as much as I like the song, I'm not compelled to buy it. I would have to listen to the rest of the album, and she doesn't promise me the sort of music I love.
I wouldn't buy this, and I hope Kiesza doesn't read that. (Why do I want to be friends with her?)

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.22

Stranger
Skrillex. It's time for a few personal revelations, none of which I think have anything to do with this song or this artist. Sometimes, I get an enormous craving for french fries. These are impossible to control or predict. The last one lasted for a week and a half and only stopped when I dragged Delight to a Five Guys at nine on our way to a Shakespeare's pizza place. This may seem out-of-context, but I assure you: any time you find a tee-totaller in a bar at eleven, there's got to be an explanation. Mine is part restlessness, part salt, oil, and starch. In case you're wondering, Billiard's guest wifi password is 1burgers.
So now that I've scraped the last fry from the tray like Alfrid scraping gold into his bustle, I'm clearly ready to deal with this song. Now, there are two ways I can see this song's story. First, as a break up song. He (Skrillex is probably writing his perspective?) thinks that life without his significant other is hell. That's boring, and everybody sings about that. The second, more interesting idea hinges upon the religious terminology and the probable religious reasoning for its placement in the 40. I hope I'm not giving anything away when I say that I'm a Christian. I won't speak for you. Maybe you, like the narrator, are in the dark, looking at the picture of God you found in the dark. You think it's the truth; you're having a religious experience. Your heart is arrhythmatic. You suddenly can't feel the pain. You see a two-dimensional God and you're suddenly free from responsibility. God doesn't exist. He's a picture drawn by a devil to trap mankind. You're not stupid. You know you're in hell, but if God is an outline on a wall, he can't get you here. You'll forget his name and he'll become a stranger.
Or maybe it's just a good-sounding song about a breakup. You decide.

["I'm trusting you on this, Tyler." "I know. Take my hand. That's it. Descent." "I don't think I can fit in there." "It's worth it. Just -- go!" "It hurts." "It will, until you're through, and then it won't. Look, are you through yet?" A scream rips the chamber apart. "I think my arm is stuck! Tyler, pull me up!" "Najra, you'll just have to get through. Now shut up. You're not even hurt." "You shut up. I'm turning this way. I think I can -- oh!" "You fell through. Are you okay?" "Oh, wow." "I asked are you okay?" "Tyler, you have to see this." "I have. Did you forget? That's why I brought you here." "It's like I can't even breathe, looking at all of them. Where did they come from? Did they grow here, or, really, how?" "Look out, I'm dropping in." "It's so beautiful." "Yeah." Their breathing falls into sync.]
I really don't think I like all conversation stories. I'm better with metaphor and picture construction, and it's impossible with dialogue unless you're in a play. I think I'm okay with this one, though.

My mood: The scream in my story is when the music blew up. The Oh, wow is when the music turns and slows down. I matched the music with my writing, but I don't and can't match the mood of the music or the way it makes me feel. It's biting and aggressive, like it doesn't really think music is for enjoying or uplifting, but for pushing instead. This song shoves me roughly. If I were already unhappy, this song would wash over me and I would dance, sweaty, ugly thoughts, afraid. Instead, I tilt back like a creepy clown toy.

I wouldn't buy this.