I’ll admit it — I’m tired. Not of Japan, not of writing, nothing that particular. Rather, my wearisome tendencies derive from the deep seed of ennui — the feeling of a sauntering life caught between its beauty and boredom, the feral and the fallow.
It’s this district of life that I find is best comforted by music, and just in time for a spring rejuvenation two albums were released, hastily becoming instant favorites. Both acknowledge and muse on these feelings in different ways, and through their universal language give a hearty catharsis to the weight of life.
With my first pick, I offer another confession that shocked even me — I like MGMT.
MGMT - Loss of Life
MGMT were indie-crossover stars in my most stubborn and crass Jr. High days, and as such I passed down their judgement swiftly and sharply. "Those who garner millions of fans off a handful of singles are not worthy of my attention,” I thought with youthful ignorance. “I listen to early Modest Mouse, Beck, and Ella Fitzgerald. I have taste.” As if pop songs couldn’t be both catchy and widely praised as well as immaculately produced and creative, as I eventually admitted the group’s chart-toppers “Kids” and “Electric Feel” indeed were. (Even if the latter’s remix by Justice has long outshined its source material in my book.)
I’d like to think I’ve rid myself of most of this pop prejudice. This month saw this feeling come full circle with MGMT’s newest release, a meditation on life’s questions and experiences. On the album’s opener, a recording recites an old Welsh poem from The Book of Teliesin, “I know why there is an echo in a hollow/Why silver gleams, why breath is black, why liver is bloody.” Throughout the poem we follow this being through its many reincarnations of tools, rocks, and animals both alive and perished. As the thematic appetizer closes, acoustic guitars welcome the sunrise on “Mother Nature.”
The following song, “Dancing in Babylon” tells the story of a love spurred by music. “Saw you move to the beat and I was blown away/That's all you need to know/Maybe I mistook pure distraction/For a flash of love.” Those last two lines are sung in melody, hinting that both parties are feeling love’s potential, and its foolishness. And god, is there anything better than locking eyes with someone across the room with the mutual feeling that the other could be someone special? The song wraps its perfect slow dance with the refrain “I wanna tell everyone I know/I love you” fading into forever.
Yet again, the next track “People in the Streets” presents a change in atmosphere and sound. Steel guitar and a synth copping the sound of a stand up bass start a slow, thoughtful march that eventually builds up into a fireworks show of drum fills. Nowhere on the album is the sense of doubt more present than on this track’s line “The inside's still glowing/Telling the heart what it wants to hear/But what if it's only lies/Twisted apart by fear?”
Elsewhere on the album, we have lyrics about relatable quandaries like the desire to break free from one’s jaded tendencies “I felt hate toward the earthly world/But hate is a very strong word/And it’s finally catching up with me” and the struggle to find meaning “The world's my Fine de Claire/The waters beckon me to dive/I can tell the pearl's in there/And still, there's nothing I can find.”
The album’s all delivered on a warm bed of acoustic guitars, soft synths, and wide drums (notice how much the tambourine can shake up the groove — an essential piece of percussion right there!). For the middle section, it feels as if the stars themselves are singing your reassurance on a moonlit night, culminating on the dead-of-night lullaby “Phradie’s Song.”
The closer and title track give a glitchy resolution juxtaposed with cutting horn and harp tracks, implying a staunch resolution of recognizing what we have. “Even if your color fades away/When the world is born and life is ending/Then you lеarn to love your loss of life.” An old but gold lesson that experiences are precious because we only have so much time to live them.
Soft Kill - Escape Forever
As its title suggests, Escape Forever is in search of a way out. It speaks to a yearning to ascend; to break through the surface, like a bird through the clouds, and to expand throughout the vastness of the newfound space. That sense of space is felt in the album’s sonic texture. The domination of toms throughout most drum tracks, the embrace of warm sibling guitars, and a raid on the reverb factory make what should be too much feel like just enough of too much. It’s music that stirs the heart and gives life.
As the music propels us into the atmosphere, Tobias Sinclair’s lyrics remain woefully focused on the tiny beings below. “Another boring day, I'm not feeling fine/Stuck in a body while I lost my mind/Nothing's gonna change, no matter what you say,” he laments on “Joy is a Crime.” Yet he continues self-effacingly; “Joy is a crime when you act that way.” Whether this is a complaint of his masochistic mental malaise or a word of advice to give in to the radical idea of hope, I’m still unsure. In the song’s bridge, he finds clarity in his pursuit “To feel the joy of life/It's not a thing that stays/I feel the rush and the rush and the rush then it fades away/To feel the joy of life/I feel the joy, I pray.”
On personal favorite*, “My Section,” Sinclair speaks to the comfort of familiarity. “Everybody wants to go home/To some it’s all we’ve got.” He repeats this mutual source of comfort over the chorus along with guitars that could power my heart for days. Before the final chorus he reiterates “A home is just a street/But to some, oh, it’s all we got.”
*For now, at least. With albums as solid as these, favorite tracks often change.
The atmosphere in the lyrics and music are often at odds, with lines like “Now we’re just idle in the breakdown lane” delivered with power-pop flare. Yet the alchemy is just right, and when I hear these lines I feel more comforted in their sappy relatability than put off by their doomy demeanor. Like a good therapy session, these songs help to propel me forward, taking out the proverbial trash on their ascent.
Again this album closes on its title track, and on it the band drives us directly forward with straight quarter notes and crash cymbals aplenty, toward new discoveries. “Don’t know another one who feels the same way/All I know is that a little trust, little trust, it goes a long way//Let go of everything, and I feel so free/Of the burden that’s become of me/And I don’t know anyone else who has figured it out/But it doesn’t really matter, no/We don’t know what we will find.”
My Grama* once said to a young Gabe, “music is how we paint time.” After remarking on how beautiful and emotive it can be, we took a moment to savor its existence. There have been times that I feel musically immobile, discontented with anything but my favorite tracks and unable to find anything new truly profound. When albums like these come along, ones that resonate my entire nervous system, I’m reminded of that time, and I’m thankful for the blessing of music and the connections it allows us to make.
*A misspelling I made as a child that has stuck around for sentimental reasons. <3
I may be off next week due to a trip with a family friend. Please excuse the potential post-box postponement; I offer this as a symbol of gratitude and good tidings.
愛を持って、
With love,
gb
You write so well about music! Thanks for these recs - I'm loving both of them! And I love the wonderful quote from your sweet Grama!