I had a few ideas for what I could write about this week. Thanks to Adi, I've had Bring Me the Horizon back on my mind recently, and I've been listening to Sempiternal a lot. And then that and my general miserable and off-my-rhythm demeanour came together to the theme of, well, feeling miserable (BMTH is very much the main music I listen to when I feel awful but I don't want to think about it.). Anyway, I think this could've made a great theme and I have a number of playlists both on and tangentially related to this topic so I'm well-prepared too. However, preliminary research of my "this made me cry recently" playlist lead me to a better solution of what to write about. It seems that, around me, a lot of people are also feeling rather miserable. And given I quite like you guys (and especially my dedicated readers), I figured I could choose some songs that are really good for removing your emotions in various ways (the white noise of music), or for making you cry when you're struggling to. And, I'm sure, some day I'll get on to those, fear not. But I decided I could do you one better --- I will provide you with a sonic treat and hopefully then, rather than trying to make you feel better about your life, it will in fact be slightly better. Genius, right? And if it doesn't work, well, at least you get to carve out a little space to hang out in for a while. That's worth something too, I reckon.
Ok, so, let's get into the music itself. But first, quickly --- I'm going to crack open my heart a little bit for you on this one, so you all have to promise to hold it very gently for me, ok?
Alright, let's talk about Death Cab for Cutie. I know, I know, I always say I'm going to get into it and then I go off on another tangent. You'll just have to walk along with me. I promise, we'll get to a good place in the end.
It is 1997, and Ben Gibbard starts a solo project. It is shockingly successful. He pulls together more people, and chooses a band name --- they are called Death Cab for Cutie, after a song from The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band. He doesn't think the name matters, particularly, because he doesn't expect a lot of people to know it. Their debut album is recorded in the basement of Gibbard's house, where he lives with several roommates while at university. They will release it, shortly, in 1998.
Alright, let's talk about me. I am thirteen years old. I have only recently started listening to music, properly. There are many songs that I am fond of, but they are also songs that my Dad is fond of, mostly. Last week, my friend Sienna invited me over to her house and played me Save Rock and Roll by Fall Out Boy on the little CD player next to her bed. As 'The Phoenix' comes on, it becomes clear that I am going to be truly obsessed with an album, for the first time probably ever. All of this week, I listen to the album as much as I can. I can't get enough. Soon, I will get a reddit account for the first time (I know) so that I can find out more about the band. I will steal time out of every class I have in an IT suite to listen to the album on YouTube in the background. My completion of tasks for those classes will plummet. I will not care. Later, for my birthday, I will get the album as a gift, and I will listen to the tracks while I read the lyrics booklet, because I want to know them inside and out. Soon, I will. But now, they are new to me, and fresh, and I feel like I'm discovering something new every time I listen to the tracks. My eyes, for the first time, are open.
Alright, let's talk about the Postal Service. The band, that is.[^1] In 2001, Ben Gibbard gets to know Jimmy Tamborello, when he contributed vocals for one of Jimmy's tracks. It is so well-received that they decide to collaborate further. It is difficult though, as they have largely conflicting schedules. They are determined to make it work, so Jimmy writes and performs instrumental tracks, that he sends through the mail for Ben to edit as he sees fit, before adding his vocals. Ben sends them back, and Jimmy finishes the tracks. Through the mail, they form a thread between them, communicating through space and time. They carve out a space, in the aether, where they can collaborate together.
I am fourteen years old. Every lunchtime, my friend and I go to hide in the IT suite. She shares a lot of music with me, and I share very little with her. Not because I don't want to, but because I have very little to share. I am sure we annoy every other student in there by listening to the music on full volume, out loud. It doesn't matter though, because we are in our own perfect bubble. She shows me Death Cab for Cutie, and it is my new obsession. One of their songs will become my most-listened-to song, ever. When we watch I Will Follow You Into the Dark on the little screen, lyrics scrolling past our faces, we will both cry together, every time. This is the year that I will start to become very sick. My world will start to close in around me, and I will become governed by rules I do not understand, but am helpless to follow. I will become delirious from lack of sleep, stuck for hours in cycles that seem to have no end, just a spiral down and down and down. That's later, though, and this is now. Right now, everything is alright.
It takes a few more albums, and a few more years, but in 2003 Death Cab release Transatlanticism. This is the album that will throw them into mainstream success, for the first time. Their proven success allows them to negotiate with major labels with significant creative freedom. By 2004, they've signed with Atlantic Records. The band remain sceptical of "corporate economics", and continue to encourage their fans to download their songs from the Internet.
In 2019, I am sixteen. I have become a gigantic fan of John Green. Every time I went to the library, I would pick up another of his books, until I'd read them all. When Turtles All The Way Down came out, it made me feel seen, properly, for the first time in a very long time. Now I walk to school each day, and I listen to John Green's voice in my ear, in a podcast I will continue to listen to until the present-day. There are 411 episodes, and I will listen to all of them. In October, a miniseries is released based on Looking for Alaska, Green's first novel. It hits me harder than I expect it to. Years later, it will hit me harder again, but I don't know it yet. In one of the last episodes, a song by the Postal Service comes on, and I can't stop crying. I can't stop listening to it, either, for weeks afterwards. The imagery will stay, smeared in my head, like the black ink in the song.
In 2003, too, the Postal Service's first album is released. It is their debut album, and it will also be their only album. They call it Give Up, and upon its completion, they do exactly that. They state that they view attempts at a follow-up as unnecessary, and I am inclined to agree. They have produced the perfect album already. The songs will go on to be used in movies and TV shows, and be covered by many of their peers. Sometimes, it is about letting go.
It is 2020. My friend and I go on a walk, and she tells me she is dying. It has been obvious, to me, for a long time, but I haven't known how to tell her. How do you ask someone that question --- "Do you know that you're dying?". She cries, and I cry, and at the end of the conversation, when we hug, she is a skeleton in my arms. I am scared to hug her too hard for fear her bones will break, hollow like a bird's. For the rest of the year and the next, we go on many more walks. When we do, she clips a speaker to her belt, and we listen to the tinny music as we cross the fields. We hope that maybe, those bands we used to listen to together will reach out through the aether, folding space and time --- that they will make it all OK.
Death Cab for Cutie continue to enjoy major success, becoming a defining indie band of the 2000s and 2010s. Their album Plans, released in 2005, is especially successful. To date, they have now written 10 studio albums. They hope to release an eleventh, but note that it is also, "in our best interest to get the fuck out of people's faces". They understand that longevity comes from nostalgia, and nostalgia stems from desire.
A miracle has occurred. My friend is alive again. I watch, slowly, as flesh climbs back on to bone. I laugh as she tells me about how she's become obsessed with pickles, recently. Afterwards, we get on the Waltzer, and try not to throw up the doughnuts we've just eaten. I will never forget hugging her, again, and being able to squeeze as hard as I'd wanted to. Her heartbeat is fast, in her chest, but it beats on and on and on. I hope that it will beat on forever.
It turns out, in the end, that longevity comes from love, too.
So, my song of the week is Such Great Heights. It is one of those songs where, right from the bubbly electronic tones of the opening, I can feel the tension slowly dropping out of my shoulders. The drums are crunchy, and there is a low droning tone in the background that feels a bit like home. The whole track sounds like every one of the moments I've mentioned, and so much more. The opening of the song, "I am thinking it's a sign/ That the freckles in our eyes/ Are mirror images/ And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned" is one of the most beautiful images ever to me, although I'm horribly biased by the amount of media I'm a massive fan of that references split-aparts.[^2] The beat doubles back on itself, shuffling the drum line around, like a memory of itself. Around the 2:30 mark, when the guitar solo shows up, I am beginning to bleed from the big ol' wound in the centre of my chest. As with many a song, I actually have no fucking idea of what it's actually about, really, but I know how it makes me feel. I couldn't, like, tell you how it makes me feel but you know. It's in there. I feel it.
Let's tie everything together with a lovely little bow --- why do I tell you all of these stories? Why does it matter? Why not just cut that whole middle section out, and have a song of the week post that (finally) just cuts to be point? Because the context matters. There are two tasks I'm giving you, if you've read this far. The first is this: if you have time, please listen to this playlist, where I've collected together the Postal Service's one (1) album, along with some of my favourite Death Cab tracks. I open myself up, and you tell me what you think of them. Deal? The other is this: listen to your albums that make you feel this way. That mean as much to you, as this does to me. That feel like slipping on an old and comfortable pair of gloves; perfectly fitting and oh-so warm. While I can give you an (in my opinion) delicious musical treat, I cannot give you that vitally important ingredient of nostalgia. You'll have to provide that one for yourself. And, if you do, please let me know? I'd like a little piece of your heart, too, if you'll let me have it.
[^1]: United States Postal Service controversy - In August 2003, the United States Postal Service sent the band a cease and desist letter, citing the band's name as an infringement of its trademark on the phrase "postal service". After negotiations, the USPS relented, allowing the band use of the trademark in exchange for promotional efforts on behalf of the USPS and a performance at its annual National Executive Conference. Additionally, at one point the USPS website sold the band's CDs. (From: Wikipedia) ↵
[^2]: Which, I could go on quite a lot about, but will attempt not to right now. Let it be known, that I think it's a beautiful image, but a horrible thing for people to believe in real life most of the time. I'm especially looking at you, Plato. ↵
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