My Acolyte Journey: 2014.14

The Hymn of Acxiom
Vienna Teng. I liked her before. She's a killer vocalist with a unique approach to songwriting. I love it. She's so mellow, though, that she'll never gain the fame of an Adele or Noah and the Whale or The Hush Sound (those are just songs I like, not good examples of mellow). I "found" her when Stephen gave me Inland Territory. I love that album.

But this song gained depth as I listened to it, as I did about seven times in a row, I think. It was twice while I did things and then twice where I tried to listen, then the video she recorded live, then I listened again a few times. Let me tell you: after a few times through this song, my initial euphoria broke into smaller pieces and in those cracks I could hear the synthesized matter of her faux voice leaking through. I still love the sound of the song and I could listen to it as large as life and loud, too, but . . . I need a choir to sing it, or else it's now mildly off-putting.
Without reading the lyrics, I knew the point. What. Now that I have read them, I'm terrified of Teng for the monstrosity of her genius. With the sound alone, she communicates the message of her piece. At first, the song feels utterly comforting. "Somebody hears you; you know that" is reassuring, certainly. How often have I posted on this blog to find no comments? Lonely. But that's okay, because "here, [I'm] known." There is so much to remind us that we'll leave the world alone and naked, but now you can "leave your life open; you don't have to hide." Oh, it's so nice to think that I'm important to somebody.
Turn: "now we possess you." Stop. Hold up. This crept up without me knowing or asking, and that's exactly the point. Insidious: her vocals finally break down my loving adoration and I become creeped out by the synthetic nature of them. Insidious: the lyrics have been building an unnatural cage and I didn't even know.

Let our formulas find your soul. . . . (our machines will) to design you a perfect love. Now we possess you.

I have a confession to make. I have had Google location data tracking me since the first iPhone I ever owned. I went to Austria. I uploaded photographs from New York and Norway. I recorded my commute to and from school and work every day for eight years. I never take the location data off my pictures before I upload them. I have five passwords, each with three variations, but my email and my bank's passwords aren't different enough. I actually got coupons on my phone because it knew I was in a particular store and offered them to me. In short, I am a terrible netizen.
I rely on the technology I use to make my life easier and to anticipate my needs. I beg the websites I love to pick up my breadcrumbs and to hold onto them forever, slowly building a perfect world. It's terrifying that I don't seem to care.

(reach in your pocket) embrace you for all you're worth.

Thanks, Teng. You've really outdone yourself.

I have read and watched a lot of articles and books and videos about the use of data by companies and the government. It's all terrifying. Did you know that the government put off reviewing the practices in the NSA for a decade? Did you know that it's such a non-issue for most people that I can't even find an article corroborating that fact? I just don't know the search terms I would even need. Did you know that Google can track influenza outbreaks by using algorithms to sort people's aggregate searches? Did you know that I can tell you exactly where I was on July 4, 2011? Did you know that Google knows I haven't closed this tab for six weeks? I've just been refreshing it every two days.

I love this song, though. Man, is it good. I would buy it, then forget that it's about something totally wack that I should be freaking out about every day, then just go about my life as normal.

Sidebar: I'm really proud of my research. This is the best link in the post.
Sidebar 2.0: I found this while trying to find out how far I had gone towards the moon. It's irrelevant but weird.
Sidebar 3.0: It took me two and a half hours to write this post. That's why I don't do this as often; they're becoming monstrous. I share good company: WaitButWhy and CGP Grey.

3.25

In the old days, when magic was used for curses and hate, there was a man known only as Manure Mouth. His name was well-earned because he spattered manure from his mouth with each word. His life was lonely. His world stank. The only hope he held out was for a kiss from true love, which would--as he believed--revert the curse and save him. The woman, though. His Lady Love, a woman of surpassing grace and empathy. She saw his heart through the curse and stayed with him as he talked. In his heart, the seed of love grew. He thought there was maybe a chance that this woman could be the first and only who would look past his affliction and release him from his curse. He was devoted to her. She didn't feel the same.

For years, he lived in her orbit, a secondary character in a would-be lover's life. He watched her grow old, and she invited him in as often as she could. Their conversations were always scarred by the manure that fell from his mouth every time he talked. She was close to him, but she kept a distance. For years, he held out hope, until: she passed away. The moment he heard of it, he rushed to her side and wept. When he clutched at her hand, he realized that he had truly come to love her for who she was, not for the chance she represented of his salvation. The seed he had so long nourished was now seared by the bitter cold frost of death. He clung to her corpse as his strength ebbed, until he, too, died. His body itself fell into manure.

There, on the spot where their corpses intermingled, a flower grew. It was fed by the manure of his curse and it grew to an enormous size and an inordinate beauty. People who never knew the couple of the flower came to see it. It became a point of pride for the city where they lived and the plant remained long after even the memory of Manure Mouth was lost into myth.

Even those who fail in life can have victory in death.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.15

Eternal Sunshine
Jhene Aiko. I have put this off, obviously, but now I put it off with the page actually open to it. I don't know why I seem to loathe this so much, but really I've just wasted eight of the last sixty hours. Maybe more like twenty. It feels like that, anyway. And that whole time, I've been teaching kids who don't act grateful and don't have an intellectual life and can't verbalize their thoughts: awful. So is it strange for me to say that if I were to die today, there's not a thing I would change? I've lived well. Maybe I have made mistakes and been through my fair share of pain, but all in all, it's been okay.
I've lived well.
And maybe that's why this song works so well for me: it fits into my narrative. Yesterday, I saw a picture of somebody sitting down doing largely nothing, but doing it outside. It looked amazing, and I realized I had nostalgia for summer. I hate summer. But, as the song points out, there's a strangely human tendency to focus on the good parts of life and the moments that we want to remember. We place these things into our personal narrative and create our own past (In case that link is confusing, it might help to know that Boswell was a total fawner and wrote pretty much just good stuff that Johnson told him).

The song's focus on "only the good things" hearkens to its namesake, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I have seen this film. Disclaimer: I hate Jim Carrey's face because of some early childhood memories and I don't have any nostalgia for his insipid humor. I liked this movie but I wouldn't recommend it. If I recall correctly, it was incredibly pretentious without being incredibly enjoyable, and it beat the audience upside the head with a subtlety stick. Go for the Truman Show, or better yet read a book.

Listening to the song, I feel contemplative. It feels like the meaning of the words is lost on the enchanting slowness of the song. I'm loving the sound of it, and after listening to it, I feel Dear Esther. I feel Perks of Being a Wallflower. I feel slow and important. I feel like sleeping in and holding somebody I love.

I'm having trouble with this metric of "I would buy this." I've bought Mika and Pharrell and The Neighborhood, but I don't think I've bought anything else. I've at least thought about Roar? I really like this song, and Elton John from last year, and OctaHate, Extraordinary, and Hideaway. Never Catch Me is growing on me, but I just don't feel like buying them. That's wrong.

If I wanted a good song, I would buy this. I would put it with When September Ends and I Will Follow You into the Dark for rainy days when I want to feel some type of way. I'm not sure. I'm just not sure.

update
There's a video now. It's got Aiko floating very slowly up from an asphalt surface to reveal, beneath her and very far below now, herself: being dragged from a van that has crashed. In flashes, we see her family and the moments proceeding the crash.
Do I think the video helps the song? A little. There isn't much to the song (we only remember the good things because otherwise we find pain in our past), and there isn't much to the video. The video matches beautifully to the song and doesn't get in the way. I would say that as far as pairings go, it's nearly the best on the list so far, but . . . there's something about watching the video to a Jhene Aiko song that distracts me more than I'd like.
I think closing my eyes in a dark room and hitting play is better.

3.4

[A brief interlude for a sentence-building exercise of my own design.]

There once was a man. The man lived alone. His house was on the mountain. He owned very little. He owned a chicken. The chicken was his pride and joy. He loved the chicken. The chicken loved him. He would never eat his chicken. The chicken was like his daughter. The chicken sang. It sang every morning. The sun caused it to sing. Its song was beautiful. The song was loud. People could hear it. They could hear it in the valley. They could hear it on the mountain. People heard it in their homes. It woke people up. It was the first thing they heard. They heard it every morning. They liked the song. They thought it was beautiful. It was beautiful. Everyone loved it. The song was popular. People wanted to hear the song.

There was a woman. The woman lived alone. Her house was in the valley. She owned a lot. She was rich. She had gold. She had diamonds. She had a big house. She was mayor. She was mayor of the town. The town was small. She thought it could grow. She thought it could be rich. She thought it could be famous. She wanted to be famous. She had heard the chicken. The chicken was the man’s. She heard its song. The woman thought it was beautiful. She wanted the song. She had money. She walked up. She went to the mountain. She took money. She found the man. He would not sell. He loved his chicken. She was angry. She grabbed the chicken. She ran.

The man cried. The chicken cried. The woman laughed. She sent letters. She invited people. Rich people got her letters. Rich people came. They came to hear the chicken. The morning came. Everyone slept in. No one heard it. The chicken was silent. She ran to it. It was crying. It would not sing. She yelled. She screamed. She kicked. She wailed. The chicken would not sing. She ran. Up she went. She went to the man. She took the chicken. The chicken saw the man. The man saw the chicken. The woman let go. The chicken sang. People heard. They were rich. They thought it was beautiful. They built homes. They moved in. They listened to the chicken. The town became famous. The town became rich. The man owned very little. He owned a chicken.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.16

Elastic Heart

Sia. I've actually engaged with this song before now, which is just fine. It just means that my month-long hiatus wasn't because I hate the song. On the contrary! I think it's decent. The first Sia I remember hearing was Chandelier, but I know I've heard a few others. Titanium, for one. I've liked them, I suppose, but they weren't explosive enough to kill me and make me pay attention. She's not an artist like Lana Del Rey, who draws me in and makes me search for articles about her.
[Sorry for the break in posts and all. Life is rough. I originally broke the post up so that I wouldn't feel so pressured by it, but I guess I went the opposite direction for a while.]

So, let's look at Sia. I've heard from a billion places (read: three) that this song is about warring Sia-Self States trying to gain mastery over the external Sia. But I read the song lyrics and I think otherwise. Due largely to "Then another one bites the dust" being a repetition and "I might have thought that we were one" obviously referring to an external person, I don't buy it. I look at this song and I see loneliness and depression. I see what a close friend experienced when the guy who was into her/she was into turned out to have been dating a girl in another city the whole time. To her at the time, it was a moment of clarity and dread: I lost another relationship. I really thought that we could make it work, but I just can't hold on to anyone. That's what I read here. I mean, look how obvious the second, separate party is.

And another one bites the dust
Oh why can I not conquer love
And I might have thought that we were one
Wanted to fight this war without weapons
And I wanted it, I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags
Now another one bites the dust
Yeah let's be clear, I'll trust no one

The bold words appear talk about external forces. There's nothing explicit here, and the video is pretty obviously Sia-Self States (SSS).
So let's talk meaning. I can't understand Sia. Ever. When she sings, her words turn into mealy vowels and only choice sharp consonants. The song, therefore, benefits from the Weeknd, because I can actually understand the words without reading the lyrics. Seriously once I thought the line was: "I've got thick skin, and an eclectic heart." I just can't hear the words out of Sia.
Because I can't understand her, the video is the extreme meaning dominator for me. No matter what I read in the lyrics, I still think Maddie vs Shia is the true meaning. I think that two halves, battling for dominance in a contrived cage is the message Sia was hoping to deliver. I think that the inequality of the halves true abilities but their perception as equal is important. I think that Maddie as a powerhouse and innovator has a lot to say about the way Sia sees herself and her aggressive/dominant masculine side. I think there's nothing intentionally sexual at all about this video. I think most people are idiots.
Exhibit one: people think this video is sexual. I give you a direct quote from an article that someone was paid to spew out:

One Facebook user wrote: 'I understand that everyone thinks this is a piece of art, but I find it a little too sexual because why is a full grown man in a cage with a 12 year old and both wearing nude suits and making funny faces at each other.

Foolish children. If you're willing to NSFW it up, allow me to learn you a thing or two. David is not sexual. Olympia is. Leibovitz is not sexual. Mestes is. I could go on. Sex is not desire, and desire is not dirty. Nothing in the Elastic Heart video has to do with sex other than your confusing lust for a twelve-year old and a washed-out crackpot. If I stretch for it, I see him crawl over her as she lies down: a sexual posture that the dancers slide from within two seconds. There are some genuine emotions, yes. They are male and female, yes. They are wearing nondescript nude tights, yes. But the camera does not linger on their skin. Heck, it doesn't even flatter. The dance is not tight or provocative. The story is not of desire. No. A thousand times, no. This video is not sexual. If you think a grown man making funny faces at a twelve year old is sexual, I invite you to meet literally any twelve year old on the planet and somehow not make funny faces. It's practically a reflex.

I think this song is great, and I like it. But I've had enough of it for a long time. Delight plays the radio when I'm in the car and I've had too much Elastic Shake it Black Off Widow Heart. I'm done.

Sidebar: this is legitimately the best, most realistic, most passionate expression I've seen on an actor in months. Who knew Shia LaBeouf could act? Nobody. Sidebarbarside: Who knew Shia LaBeouf was dirty? Well . . . she is twelve. Which is awful.

2.9

[Interlude]

Her social signifiers are intentionally mixed. To us, she needs to be professional. She must be more knowledgeable than we, more intelligent. Glasses. Suit. For herself, she needs to be easy. She must not struggle against herself. She must be functional. Rubber watch. Cotton socks. For others, she wants to be attractive. She would love to be beautiful. She desires your eye. Jewelled pendant. Coordination.

So: tell me why she has destroyed these three obvious pillars of her practice by accidentally or intentionally forcing, demanding, requiring us to view her as young. She has a voice that nicely evokes youth. There's an adolescent whine-moan in her vowels. There's a childish amble to her sentences. She has an non-threatening manner. She's approachable and yet I know she has a doctoral degree and enough departmental weight to drag two doctoral candidates and a graduate student forty miles with her so they can sit and hand out papers.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.17

Feel the Love
Rudimental. This song is sung in the middle of a passionate moment. That's the start and end of the lyrics: a word picture of someone's brain when everything is hype. This isn't the sort of song where the words are important.

The music video looks like Pittsburgh or Chicago or Saint Louis or Philadelphia--some sprawling city slowly ruining itself by misuse and disuse. It's certainly far enough north for people and horses to be used to snow, so I know it's not Atlanta or New Orleans. However, the video is full of people riding horses. I'm constantly reminded of the West, where horses are still useful for more than just pets. So I'm guessing Denver.
I'm wrong. I should have known; Denver isn't flat enough. I wanted to believe.
Now let's talk about the main premise of the video: black people riding horses. I worked at a summer camp in the Midwest and in the North. The camp in Missouri had very few African American campers until the Central States conference showed up to rent the camp for a week or two. Then that's all it had: black kids. It was strange and wonderful, but I would have preferred what we had in Massachusetts. There, we had a mix of kids representative of the demographics of the church in the area, because there wasn't a separation of white and black congregations. But at both camps, there weren't many black riders. If you look at the rotating photo reel on the top of the Winnekeag site, there's a picture of a riding class. Based on the demographics of the camp, I would expect 1/2 to 2/3 ethnic minorities on those horses.
So let's unpack the causes, shall we? I don't think it has anything to do with money, although privileged people will think that, especially if they're aware of their privilege. The problem with that hypothesis is that I have students who have horses in Moberly, Missouri, a town so poor that they nearly sunk themselves on a sucrose factory. If these kids can be on free and reduced lunch and simultaneously own a horse, money isn't the issue. I'm guessing that education and exposure have nothing to do with it. Unlike the heinous claims on Yahoo! Answers, I don't think any human of average intelligence has thought that milk "came from the store, instead of the farm." Kids know about horses because of films, if nothing else, where they are portrayed as machines to produce awesome chase scenes. And if you think a lack of exposure is what causes the disinterest, you don't know the first thing about shock. Horses are incredible on first exposure. I thought so when I was seven; I signed up for horsemanship every year (until I realized I really don't like horses, as a person). I was about ready to give up on debunking this Yahoo! Answer, until I scrolled down and saw the reason I had been ready to make myself.

Someone mentioned economics. I think that can play a role, however that's not the entire story. 

I think a part of the issue is stereotyping. Some people think of horseback riding as something "rich white people do". It's so sad. I am neither rich nor white. I have been mocked for, supposedly, trying to act white just because I ride horses. I've also been told, "You ride horses? Black people don't ride horses!". The sad thing is, both of those came from other black people. If people fear they are going to be mocked or fear they won't fit in, they are less likely to participate. 

Horses are not for white people. They aren't for blacks, Asians, or Hispanics either. Horses are for people who love horses. 

But, I think the main issue the lack of diversity itself. Which makes this a circular issue. Anyone can observe that the horse world is not diverse- at all. It is true that there is a clear white majority. One can go further and get into politics and history, but the bottom line is it's not diverse. The lack of diversity can be offputting to some people. If they don't feel welcome, they will not get involved. If they do not get involved, the issue of a lack of diversity continues and the cycle starts over. 

Thanks, Dreamer.

I really like this song. I wouldn't buy it. I know without thinking about it because it's not substantial enough. I would bump to it in the club and I would pump it when I wanted to get crazy, but I wouldn't buy it because it's a rental car: fun, fast, and ultimately not for me.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.18

Be My Forever
Christina Perri. I'm looking for a word, and it isn't mantra, but it's like that. I want to have the word for (insistent) repetition to prove something to myself, as if by saying it I can make it true (if even for that one moment), so I'll extend that time again and again and again and again and . . .

That's how I feel Be My Forever takes care of this relationship. The phrase "be my forever" appears 16 times in the text. Maybe if the singer gives the command enough times, it has to have some effect (hopefully permanent). This, however, is a terrible plan.
Let me expostulate, using my own experience as a basic premise. I dated L for almost no time at all, in the grand scheme of things, but I was fully convinced we were perfect for each other. Our long-distance relationship was super spice and we never ran out of things to say or talk about or be interested in. Hindsight: I was a fool if I thought it would last forever. She had issues she wasn't ready or willing to abandon, and I wasn't able to honor that. I had and have a lot of growing left to do, but I still said stupid things and I wrote her name on my skin with permanent marker and we promised each other a multitude of ignorant long-term things.
This singer says "can I call you mine" because she's not even dating this guy (and I guess ownership is sexy). So just because of the euphoric high of first-blush relationship, she demands eternity.

And oh we got love, yeah/Darling just swear you'll stand right by my side

I guess he stands in abeyance, because he says forever right back. Again, I'll open up my past to (hopefully) expose this buffoonery. When I was in high school (Lord save us), I liked M. A lot. We were in the same grade, and every once in a while, we would work together on projects or sit together at lunch. But math--we sat in a pod together, in facing desks. Our knees might brush under the desk. That briefest touch was more than enough to match anything I have ever felt since. It was desire so pure and without direction that I felt ready to actually seize and die, my heart pounding an arrhythmic song of percussion only. I was not in love. I was not ready to say or even think the word "forever." I was not right for her. I would have destroyed the uncertain dinghy of my confidence on the rocks of her past long before I made my way past the breakers. But that is exactly what this song is advocating.

[I flip my hair back over my shoulder and when I do, I see him there in the desk up and up in the top row of the auditorium. He's not looking at me today. Crap. Well, I can't change, now. I'm on time and in sweats. Sandra tells me that he'll look if he wants to, whatever I wear, but I would feel a lot better about myself if I just wore something better. Okay, so I just want to be invisible today. That's my strategy for getting noticed.]
[Get out of your head, Nadia. I pull the long hair back over my ear and walk straight through the rows up and up in the top of the class and throw my books down next to him. He smiles. Oh, God.]

I didn't get much written because this isn't Stairway to Heaven, so it's fairly short. I don't think it needs to be longer, though. It's the right length to make me want to listen to it again soon.
This made me feel: satisfied? I have to be honest, surrounded by knockouts like Come with me Now and Elastic Heart, this song didn't stand out in my original listen-through of the top40. It's just too wonderful and not enough gut shot. And yet I love it. If I went back in time, I would play it at my wedding.

A word to regulars: the measure of whether I would buy a thing is tempered by a few things. First: I only buy albums, not songs. To stretch out and buy a single song means it is great or wonderful. Examples of this include Mika's Origin of Love and Toto's Africa, which I bought one day when I just needed to listen to it. Second: I haven't bought any music in a really long time, not even the latest OkGO album, which I already know to be incredible and right up my alley, because I guess I am a failure and a fool? But it's possible that I already consume so much media (that's what I'm listening to a lot lately?) that music just isn't so gut-wrenchingly important.

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.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.23

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
The Proclaimers. Let's look past the weird collection of Benny and Joon clips running in the background, past the weird twins (?), past the physical toll of walking a thousand miles, to address a very pressing concern: wasn't this the top 40 of 2014? Did I miss something, or wasn't this song released in 1988? --a full 26 years ago!
Hold up a second, I'm getting a phone call. I'll be right back.

Oh.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.24

From Time

Drake. Rap Genius says the album theme is Drake "flexing his ego." He doesn't need to. Isn't he on top? Doesn't he feel secure yet?

His song seems to show an innate insecurity. Jhene Aiko wrote the intro and the hook for it, and it's fawning. She loves herself enough for both people; he needs to stop giving and start taking love. Drake, you're worth it! And he tends to agree. He's always tried so hard with his dad and mom: he's done the work of mending their relationships. By the second verse, when he's listing women he's been with (real women's names in real places in Houston, mind you), it's to the point of bragging. Drake's always put his heart on the line and these women run away. Why is he such a good guy? Why is he so good at love but bad at choosing!? It's okay. Jhene will love herself so he can go back to loving Drake. Baka will show up and let people know they should leave Drake alone/start acting like him.

You know, if this were from Not Drake, I could see it working. If the lead singer from Guster wants to talk about how so many girls have broken his heart, he can. But from Drake, it seems like bragging. "Look at all the hot chicks I've had!" It's not just Drake, either. Taylor Swift is dangerously into Stop Talking About Breakups territory. Lots of these artists feel loss like I do, but their heartbreak is foreign. They've had too many and too much for me to pity them anymore. I don't know why, but sometimes a millionaire with ten thousand adoring fans can't make me empathetic. I can feel for Katy Perry's divorce with Russell Brand, but I can't care about TSwift's latest boy toy abomination (though the songs are just as good). I'll figure out the difference there later.

[Hey, bae. Don't feel like you have to stay; I'm just getting your eyes on me. I'll dance like it's sex if that's what it takes to get you glued to me, sweaty in the pounding music. Slow now--the beat and my heart race ahead.

Hey, let's go. I'm not that girl. I know you aren't just interested in flesh and fresh. Let's go. We'll stagger out, the music still in our blood, jumping with us. You can throw your arms around me and I'll finally feel safe in this evening. I caught you; your eyes are only on me. I'm enough for you. We're caught, bubbles in the still air, waiting to catch against each other: Surface Tension.

But. I feel the thinning of gravity and time and I burst. You're not here with me; you're stuck in your own head, looking at the things you think are important, dusting your trophies and listing your conquests, readying the shelf for my memory.]

I like the last bit of that. It took a long time to get to a point where it was worth writing. I don't know if it's the mood of the song, but I don't feel like it helped. It's too atmospheric to bite, too melancholy to excite, too insistent to fade into my background and become the story I want to write.

I wouldn't buy this, but then: you knew that.

My Acolyte Journey: 2014.25

Extraordinary
Clean Bandit. This is probably about love, but there really isn't much proof for that. The only real love clichés I could spot were here:

Have you seen her, the grass is greener/ To let me pass you by would be a shame/ If she's your only then why are you lonely? [Italics supplied]

And that's not much to go on. Dissatisfaction and loss in context of a woman does not equal love. Instead, the surface text is clear: the singer feels intensely about this person, but knows that he or she has chosen a different path, possibly forever. It's a song yelled into someone's back as they walk away. There's no response and no submission from this mysterious other person, and the lyricist becomes increasingly desperate and overwhelmingly stark.

Something extraordinary/ Something real/ To fill my days and nights with something/ That I can feel (I can feel)

Nobody's talking back when we cry in desperation. Everything we want walks away. All our hard work slips through our fingers and even the little things seem extraordinary when they're finally real. Percy Shelley knows about this.

More important (perhaps) is the method of delivery. I haven't even listened to the song yet, but I can tell you this: as reckless as love is, this song is safe.

"something in the way" she moves "my door is open" "I don't know how much more I can take" "drift away" as metaphor for breakup "running out of time" "two wrongs can['t] make it right" "grass is greener" on the other side "she's your [one and] only" "in your arms tonight"

And those are just the biggest cultural verbal touchstones. I don't know how I feel about such lazy (seeming) use of language. I much prefer "in the bag (like groceries)," a style of cliché that abuses your expectation in a new way to make a point. So, honestly: perhaps that's why the other person left. That other person was also looking for "something extraordinary/something real," and found instead this faker trying to say all the right things and play safe. Sadly, by the time the other person left, the lyricist was writing smashing stuff without clichés in the refrain/chorus/bridge. Too bad.
The video, now that I've seen it, doesn't play to the story. It's foreign countries and destroying instruments and Sharna Bass + Grace Chatto in swimsuits. It's beautiful--perhaps the most aesthetically pleasing combination of video and song yet. But it lacks the interest of 3005 and the story of Never Catch Me.
Because it's so (. . . nice?) watching/listening to the song puts me in a light mood, like I don't mind being in this place. I like the steel drum and the strings/piano. I like the way it makes me absent-minded, even though I don't parse the words.
I think I would have to like the whole album to buy this.