A very shallow answer to “why I stopped listening to lyrics” is – I grew up. Or maybe I should say: I got older. That’s not really the full answer, but it is a big part of it. In order to get at the core of this, I was trying to reflect on the times in my life when lyrics held great importance, when they didn’t just float by as an extension of the rhythm and melody. Having teenagers in my life, I’ve been fascinated to observe 1) how they have scads of lyrics memorized and can sing them at the drop of mental trigger, and 2) how they FEEL these lyrics. I can TELL they mean something to them. It causes a physical, emotional and psychic radiance from them. When seeing this I think, “Sh*t! What happened? Where did I lose that?”
Well, of course teendom and twentydom is when we are all most emotionally charged and open. We’re on the verge of falling in love, out of love, falling into the pit of despair or having the most amazing experience in our lives. Words and music can plug right into us, like a prong in socket. We’re ready-made to connect to what musicians and poets are saying. The “That’s exactly what I’m feeling!” or “That’s my life, man!” reaction comes more readily.
Then, like molten magma cooling into rock, our emotional high revving begins to cool. Some people would call it real life setting in. We have less time for our emotions, our psyches; we have less time to actually listen. Is this an intentional numbing on our part or just a subconscious progression? Does this cooling occur because of an onslaught of boring repetition and tedious tasks in our lives? Or does it occur because we need to protect ourselves from the constant slings of fear, panic, bafflement and frustration that “grown up” life heaps upon us? If we open ourselves up to listening to lyrics or poetry, it just might break that protective armor we’ve forged to keep us from realizing how far away we’ve gotten from our Selves. Of course, it’s a bit both.
So, that’s where I’m at. Just on the verge of actually letting myself listen to the words again. What started this? Actually it thunked me brainpan when I was reading an article on Damon Albarn’s latest incarnation in Under the Radar magazine. Damon and Paul Simonon were talking about the lyrics of their album being firmly rooted in Britain. “'It’s the blessed routine of the good, the bad and the Queen.’ Albarn says, quoting himself.” “It’s like saying grace, isn’t it? The album’s about England and what lies beyond.” The interviewer asks "Beyond where? Geographically? Philosophically? Spiritually?” “Yeah, everything, absolutely.” Albarn responds. After reading that, I wrote down “Why I might start listening to lyrics again.” And here I am.
After that inspiration, I’ve been allowing whatever music grabs my attention to suck me in. Of Montreal’s “Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?” pulled my ears to its lips by Kevin Barnes twistingly clever and flatly sublime honest lyrics. In “A Sentence of Sorts In Kongsinger,” which is a bouncy and psyche-disco peon to watching one’s sanity degrade, several lines jumped out and slapped me upside the head. It feels like a journal entry of someone pushed beyond their limits into being a Zen, impartial observer of their own life, and that things are so weird you just have to laugh or look at how ridiculous they are.
Here are two stanzas that stood out when I listened to “Kongsinger.”
“I spent the winter on the verge of a total breakdown while living in Norway. I felt the darkness of the black metal bands.”
“I spent the winter with my nose buried in a book, while trying to restructure my character. Because it had become vile to its creator."
They’re brutally honest, but also quite funny.
Ok, let the armor drop a bit and break out the soul-sonic q-tips. I’ll be listening.
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