And you know there's something more, but tonight, tonight, tonight....
(A/N: I have no explanation or excuse for this, really. It was originally going to be a meta on the whole Pop album, as per betareject ’s request, but I think I needed to get this out of the way first. This song, as it’s done on several occasions in the past, has taken over. Massive multimedia spam lies under the cut. You’ve been warned. *grins*)
We’ve all got one of them -- that song on our iPod that makes other people tug their headphones down and go, “dude, what the heck is this?” At that point, you’re forced to go into an ineffective, slightly embarrassed justification of what this particularly tasteless compilation of chords is doing in your possession.
For me, that song is U2’s Discotheque. Consider this my explanation.
This song is one of those WTF tracks for several very good reasons. This is not your typical heart-filled anthemic U2. No, it’s the band gone day-glo, full of processed guitars and synths and Bono caterwauling all over the place and an intense injection of pure weirdness. There are the infamous BOOM-CHAs to contend with. And then there’s the music video, which, quite frankly, is absurd. It is neon, tacky and gay in every sense of the word.
See what I mean?
Oh dear lord.
…And yet, because this is the sort of nonsensical thing I do, I fell in love with this song. It wasn’t immediate, and took several rounds of listening to produce genuine affection, but there ya go. Discotheque is now one of my favorite songs in the world. Hang around with me for an extended period of time, and exposure to it is unavoidable. It comes up in heavy rotation on my iPod, and I’m liable to sing it quietly while working. I have multiple remixes of it. I am even figuring out a (rather terrible) piano arrangement. The tune has become a kind of inside joke among my friends - we’ve been known to blast it loudly at odd hours of the morning or attempt earsplitting karaoke versions on road trips. It never fails to bring the lulz, and for that I adore it. Sometimes you just need a healthy dose of crazy to brighten up your day.
There’s a somewhat deeper reason for my level of devotion, though. About two years ago, I was going through a profound creative slump - my first real encounter with writer’s block. You might know the feeling - it’s like walking into your own head to discover that your muse has packed up and vanished with everything you valued, and hadn’t even left a Dear John letter on the countertop. For a while, the only thing I’d been writing was bad Star Wars fanfiction - not bad because it was fanfic, you know, but because it was profoundly uninspired. And soon even that dried up. I’d open a word document or my journal and just sit and stare, maybe write a sentence, but cross it out or backspace as soon as I did. I had absolutely nothing. I was certain I’d never post fic again, and had completely given up hope of writing anything original in the future. And for a kid who wanted to be an author, well….let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
A few weeks into this vacuum, I was listening to Pandora (that internet radio station site) when this certain song came on. I decided that it was bizarre but not entirely bad. I looked it up on iTunes, on a whim, then decided to get it because what the heck, I’d just gotten a new music card the other day and the money was burning a metaphorical hole in my metaphorical pocket, 99 cents at a time.
…I never expected to like the song enough to essentially play it on a loop for an entire week. I never expected to fall asleep one night with it echoing through my headphones. And I never expected to get up later and reach for my notebook straight away, because I’d woken with something precious in my head: a story.
And quite the story it was: a second-person stream of consciousness in a setting I knew next to nothing about, starring someone who had no name and no backstory. And it didn’t have a happy ending. I broke every single literary rule I’d ever set for myself, and what came out was raw and strange but also oddly beautiful.
The story in question is now two years old, and full of flaws that I’m two years more aware of. But looking back on it, I realize just how pivotal this little tale was. Not only did it prove to me that writer’s block, no matter how crippling, could be overcome, it made me realize that I could write after all. Somewhere down the line I’d gotten the idea that I was limited to fanfiction or a certain set of places or emotions - happy things, stuff I’d really seen, fluffy tales with a smile but no teeth. I don't know why I was under this impression, but it certainly wasn't doing me any good. No. I wasn’t some sort of pre-programmed literary robot. I was a writer, damnit, and being a writer means recording anything you can dream up. No restrictions, no boundaries. If you want to write about something -- anything - go ahead! It’s a simple concept, I know, but it took me a stupidly long time with the addition of a stupid song to realize this.
I haven’t looked back since. I still write fanfiction, but I write original fiction, too, and poetry, and ridiculous meta-essays like this. I don’t worry about whether or not I can write about a certain something - I just do. And I’m that much happier for it.
Well, after this madness, I realized that I didn’t have any other tracks from the CD Discotheque was from. Perhaps a few of them would be half as awesome as this song. So when I found a battered silver jewelcase labeled “Pop” in the music store’s used bin, I snapped it up, completely unaware that I’d just purchased an album that would change my life -
But that’s a ramble for another time. *grins*
We’ve all got one of them -- that song on our iPod that makes other people tug their headphones down and go, “dude, what the heck is this?” At that point, you’re forced to go into an ineffective, slightly embarrassed justification of what this particularly tasteless compilation of chords is doing in your possession.
For me, that song is U2’s Discotheque. Consider this my explanation.
This song is one of those WTF tracks for several very good reasons. This is not your typical heart-filled anthemic U2. No, it’s the band gone day-glo, full of processed guitars and synths and Bono caterwauling all over the place and an intense injection of pure weirdness. There are the infamous BOOM-CHAs to contend with. And then there’s the music video, which, quite frankly, is absurd. It is neon, tacky and gay in every sense of the word.
Click to viewSee what I mean?
Oh dear lord.
…And yet, because this is the sort of nonsensical thing I do, I fell in love with this song. It wasn’t immediate, and took several rounds of listening to produce genuine affection, but there ya go. Discotheque is now one of my favorite songs in the world. Hang around with me for an extended period of time, and exposure to it is unavoidable. It comes up in heavy rotation on my iPod, and I’m liable to sing it quietly while working. I have multiple remixes of it. I am even figuring out a (rather terrible) piano arrangement. The tune has become a kind of inside joke among my friends - we’ve been known to blast it loudly at odd hours of the morning or attempt earsplitting karaoke versions on road trips. It never fails to bring the lulz, and for that I adore it. Sometimes you just need a healthy dose of crazy to brighten up your day.
There’s a somewhat deeper reason for my level of devotion, though. About two years ago, I was going through a profound creative slump - my first real encounter with writer’s block. You might know the feeling - it’s like walking into your own head to discover that your muse has packed up and vanished with everything you valued, and hadn’t even left a Dear John letter on the countertop. For a while, the only thing I’d been writing was bad Star Wars fanfiction - not bad because it was fanfic, you know, but because it was profoundly uninspired. And soon even that dried up. I’d open a word document or my journal and just sit and stare, maybe write a sentence, but cross it out or backspace as soon as I did. I had absolutely nothing. I was certain I’d never post fic again, and had completely given up hope of writing anything original in the future. And for a kid who wanted to be an author, well….let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
A few weeks into this vacuum, I was listening to Pandora (that internet radio station site) when this certain song came on. I decided that it was bizarre but not entirely bad. I looked it up on iTunes, on a whim, then decided to get it because what the heck, I’d just gotten a new music card the other day and the money was burning a metaphorical hole in my metaphorical pocket, 99 cents at a time.
…I never expected to like the song enough to essentially play it on a loop for an entire week. I never expected to fall asleep one night with it echoing through my headphones. And I never expected to get up later and reach for my notebook straight away, because I’d woken with something precious in my head: a story.
And quite the story it was: a second-person stream of consciousness in a setting I knew next to nothing about, starring someone who had no name and no backstory. And it didn’t have a happy ending. I broke every single literary rule I’d ever set for myself, and what came out was raw and strange but also oddly beautiful.
The story in question is now two years old, and full of flaws that I’m two years more aware of. But looking back on it, I realize just how pivotal this little tale was. Not only did it prove to me that writer’s block, no matter how crippling, could be overcome, it made me realize that I could write after all. Somewhere down the line I’d gotten the idea that I was limited to fanfiction or a certain set of places or emotions - happy things, stuff I’d really seen, fluffy tales with a smile but no teeth. I don't know why I was under this impression, but it certainly wasn't doing me any good. No. I wasn’t some sort of pre-programmed literary robot. I was a writer, damnit, and being a writer means recording anything you can dream up. No restrictions, no boundaries. If you want to write about something -- anything - go ahead! It’s a simple concept, I know, but it took me a stupidly long time with the addition of a stupid song to realize this.
I haven’t looked back since. I still write fanfiction, but I write original fiction, too, and poetry, and ridiculous meta-essays like this. I don’t worry about whether or not I can write about a certain something - I just do. And I’m that much happier for it.
Well, after this madness, I realized that I didn’t have any other tracks from the CD Discotheque was from. Perhaps a few of them would be half as awesome as this song. So when I found a battered silver jewelcase labeled “Pop” in the music store’s used bin, I snapped it up, completely unaware that I’d just purchased an album that would change my life -
But that’s a ramble for another time. *grins*