Madness in Song
The other week my awesome friend Kat put a call out for songs that "best speak to your experiences with mental illness" in a cathartic not-so-much wallowing way. I have found myself listening and building a list ever since.
Today I was driving down south Kedzie ave on the way to see a client and Walking in the Dark by Throwing Muses came on. Not only did it beg to be added to the aforementioned list, I found myself composing a review in my head. So here is me trying to write that down.
The song starts out stark and a little strained, like that aura of overthinking or deep lonliness that comes before a break. Just as the song fills out with only a bit of melancholy piano, the music becomes chaotic, with unframed piano and strings, uncomfortable, ungrounded, unpredictable. When the bass and beat and a bit more melody comes in it does not become quieter, and the more chaotic feeling riffs don't exactly go away, but they suddenly feel framed. The voice still modulates and at times is warbly or harsh, and the tempo continues to shift, but the feeling is dancy and melodic, grounded, it makes a kind of wild sense. At times the more beat heavy and melodic phrases phase back out, in fact the song ends with an unaccompanied burst of piano, but the moments are shorter, and we keep coming back to the fuller composition. During all of it the chaotic riffs don't go away, they aren't hidden, all of that is still going on. But there is a scaffold to hold it, and so the feeling is so different, the breathing becomes regular even as the mind races.
I like this exercise, of noticing this quality in songs, because I've never thought of anything else that better elucidates the shape of my own madness -- and I have spent countless cognitive hours on the subject. I love the reminder of this song, that that madness is always in me, and, even if it were an option, subduing or erasing it would not make me feel better. But adding some element of grounding, of structure, some extra thing which complements those wavelengths, helps me to feel more whole. And I can still vibrate with all the incredible energy that hypomania has to offer.
Yes.
Today I was driving down south Kedzie ave on the way to see a client and Walking in the Dark by Throwing Muses came on. Not only did it beg to be added to the aforementioned list, I found myself composing a review in my head. So here is me trying to write that down.
The song starts out stark and a little strained, like that aura of overthinking or deep lonliness that comes before a break. Just as the song fills out with only a bit of melancholy piano, the music becomes chaotic, with unframed piano and strings, uncomfortable, ungrounded, unpredictable. When the bass and beat and a bit more melody comes in it does not become quieter, and the more chaotic feeling riffs don't exactly go away, but they suddenly feel framed. The voice still modulates and at times is warbly or harsh, and the tempo continues to shift, but the feeling is dancy and melodic, grounded, it makes a kind of wild sense. At times the more beat heavy and melodic phrases phase back out, in fact the song ends with an unaccompanied burst of piano, but the moments are shorter, and we keep coming back to the fuller composition. During all of it the chaotic riffs don't go away, they aren't hidden, all of that is still going on. But there is a scaffold to hold it, and so the feeling is so different, the breathing becomes regular even as the mind races.
I like this exercise, of noticing this quality in songs, because I've never thought of anything else that better elucidates the shape of my own madness -- and I have spent countless cognitive hours on the subject. I love the reminder of this song, that that madness is always in me, and, even if it were an option, subduing or erasing it would not make me feel better. But adding some element of grounding, of structure, some extra thing which complements those wavelengths, helps me to feel more whole. And I can still vibrate with all the incredible energy that hypomania has to offer.
Yes.