The End of the World and After
[This is a post/apocalyptic music mix for aruna_sharat, the first of three mixes commissioned in the help_pakistan auction (these were all supposed to be done by October 1st, I know, but I just kept adding stuff!). I loved the suggested theme and was inspired to play around with presentation style, hence the stream-of-consciousness story-thing behind the first cut. I tried to incorporate the song titles into the text, and provided a legend with song and artist names at the end. You may download the songs individually or get all 33 tracks in one convenient .zip..]
Bury your dead and celebrate
the world is ending (finally)
take off your shoes and run
So you'll sleep in and show up late and the raft will leave without you. Or you'll be too many or too shy or too wicked and they won't let you board. Or you'll manage to fight or sneak your way on, but some Meanie Meanerpants will catch you & toss you over the side without so much as a by-your-leave. In any case, here you'll be. Left behind. Not wanted on the voyage, left to do your best doggy-paddle while the waters rise around you, eels and alligators getting friendly with your kicking feet as your last hope sails away without you. You'll drift for longer than you would have thought possible, flotsam, whirling in oil-slick eddies and, now and then, bumping up against other pieces of despondent discarded debris. Eventually you'll give up the fight, too exhausted to struggle against the tide, and you'll float into unconsciousness. You'll surface again into bedraggled awareness on a strange beach, washed in by the dirty surf, cold and damp and utterly alone. When your thirst surpasses your fear you will set out in search of fresh water, and discover to your amazement that the reign of Homo sapiens has ended. There are no humans left, and all their artifice, the ebullient excess of "civilization" has fallen through disrepair into ruin. At last, there is peace in the valley once again as the flora and fauna reach out tremulously to reclaim the territory they had once been forced to cede. All is quiet, calm--or is it? Your initial suspicion was wrong, it seems: some humans yet live. Cracked and determined, they have a mission and they have music, and they play as if they are (and for all you know, they may well be) the last band on earth. These stragglers creep and strike, surviving like some resistant viral strain on creativity and desperation. Their ingenuity is remarkable, as much as it feels like a smokescreen (come and get me) deployed to confuse the other predators, trick them into forgetting that you long ago outsourced your teeth and claws, and that without your tools you're effectively helpless. You can forgive these stubborn apes their arrogance; faced with such challenges, anyone who can persist is entitled to feel like Superman. So you live hard, love hard, and dance while the sky crashes down because what else are you going to do? The world is over. The apocalypse has come, and there's nothing anyone could have done to change or prevent it, so what's the use in wonderin'? But surely there must have been some warning. Some clever sot must have seen that bad moon rising. You know there were people who devoted their lives to imagining (if the world should end in fire . . .) how it might happen, how to avoid it--or how to bring it about. Yes, it's obvious in hindsight that those who stood to gain were the ones with the resources to plan for it, to set things up to their advantage ahead of time, to pack all their treasures up and head for the high ground. Of course you didn't have to be rich to think ahead, to take precautions, but few bothered to try until everyone was doing it, until the disasters were already mounting, the air thick with smoke, sirens and rumours of war. Then again, there were others who've been waiting a long time, living for generations like it's there's no point in cleaning up their messes because they fell hard for a promise, Jesus gonna be here soon, don't you worry, the rapture's coming like your mama's arms to scoop you out of harm's way. Never mind that odds are good you brought this trouble on yourself, because you presumed there'd be no consequences or because you thought you'd die before the debts came due to pay--people got a lotta nerve. However it happens--war between T-ball teams, over territory, resources or ideology; rising dead; revolting machines; a sudden upheaval in the food chain (my money's on the cephalopods, but I have reason to be biased); or just another climatic up- or down-swing (if the world should end in ice) . . . you haven't made it easy on yourselves. For most of you, it was just a party game, what if?, the emergency flares and zombie-preparedness drills, purely hypothetical--how would you spend the last night of the world? Because of course it never really touched you, couldn't reach through the screen of your television desktop laptop netbook smartphone or other glimmering gadget. For all that you might have known it was coming, it sure seemed to catch you by surprise to realize that it was actually here. You thought things were going so well, nice weather and a vibrant economy, good times coming back again, for you if not for everybody. You shut out that feeling squirming in your brain, screaming something's not right, nobody's watching out for you (god's away on business and he's not coming back), EVERYTHING WILL PROBABLY NOT BE OKAY. It takes a hell of a shock for you to face what you already saw and refused to understand: the rising waters, your dying world, your own helplessness before the fickle whims of the fox confessor. Take comfort in being right, and look happy: it's the end of the world! Yes, these are truly dark days indeed. But surely it cannot be too late already? There must be some way to put things right, some way to save this house! You tried your best to be good, how is it fair for you to be left behind scrabbling for survival in this infernal sty, sick with envy for every other monkey gone to heaven before you? But of course it's not fair. It never was. The world is a complex system, and it does not end the same for all of us, with equal grace nor all at once. It is worth remembering, when you hear the clamorous chimes of London calling, that not everybody lives by the river. In some places, the off-season sea-side towns where every day is like Sunday, you could hardly even notice a difference, for they already looked like ghost towns. It's easy to fool yourself there into thinking it's all just an illusion. Some places, the apocalypse comes with such regularity you could almost set your watch to it. Is it possible to say when the world has really ended when it's been smashed to dust, swallowed up when rivers rise and washed away a thousand times before? Some people already live, have always lived, over the edge, beyond the end of civilization--the parts you throw away, the ones you'd rather forget, an old woman with cat food under her fingernails, sleeping on a subway vent. When and where does civilization end, anyway? Where the suburbs peter? Where your phone stops working? Where the roads melt? To so many domesticated urbanites, the bulk of the planet already fails to meet their standards of habitability. The great white nothing is not of their world; its inhabitants are igloo-dwelling savages from beyond Thunderdome. What, if anything, is the difference between an end and a frontier? Wherever you live, I can promise you, at some point in history your cozy hearth lay beyond the edge of their known, off the map, here be dragons, just waiting to be conquered, penetrated, named and taken by the bold destroyers lured onward by sirens calls, gold and fame, chocolate and lust. The call is not forgotten; we have already observed that there are those among you who choose to live as if calamity has come, who turn off, opt out, and wander away from your lights to tend their own fires. How you must now envy those hermits who chose the path, where you have had it forced upon you! How much better prepared they must have been, when the apocalypse came, and how it must have cheered and tortured them to know they had the option to turn back from this weary road (oh, the endless fog!) in the days before it did. Better to have seized on the opportunities to practice while you had the chance, for even those of comfortable station in comfortable cities do get them from time to time, and make joy of the experience as did the North American East coast on 08/14/03. Not that such giddy exercises are likely to spare you from treading water when the flood comes, skimming the surface with all the other human garbage (while we occupy your submerged cities and laugh at your vertebrate vanity), but at least you'll be able to say, with your last stinging breath, that you had love in your life. Wake up now, and waste not this admonition. The end is coming. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. It's later than you think.
1. Christine Fellows, Not Wanted on the Voyage
2. Nathan, Discarded Debris
3. The Handsome Family, Peace in the Valley Once Again
4. Rock Plaza Central, The Last Band on Earth
5. Odds, Smokescreen (Come and Get Me)
6. Dan Bern, Superman
7. Jason Webley, Dance While the Sky Crashes Down
8. Thea Gilmore, Bad Moon Rising
9. The Handsome Family, If the World Should End in Fire
10. Geoff Berner, High Ground
11. Billy Bragg, Rumours of War
12. Tom Waits, Jesus Gonna Be Here
13. Neko Case, People Got a Lotta Nerve
14. The Handsome Family, If the World Should End in Ice
15. Bruce Cockburn, Last Night of the World
16. Greg MacPherson, Good Times
17. Tom Waits, God's Away on Business
18. Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
19. Matthew Good Band, Look Happy, It's the End of the World
20. Firewater, Dark Days Indeed
21. Spirit of the West, Save this House
22. The Pixies, Monkey Gone to Heaven
23. Captain Tractor, London Calling
24. 10,000 Maniacs, Every Day Is Like Sunday
25. Spirit of the West, When Rivers Rise
26. Night Sun, Old Woman
27. Kim Barlow, Great White Nothing
28. Kris Demeanor, Chocolate and Lust
29. Kim Barlow, Fires
30. Veda Hille, Oh, the Endless Fog!
31. Rock Plaza Central, 08/14/03
32. Wax Mannequin, Treading Water
33. Jolie Holland, Enjoy Yourself
ETA: Image of drowned London is a painting by Marco Bauriedel.
ALSO, if you have enjoyed this selection of post/apocalyptic music, you may enjoy
sabotabby's answering Post-Apocalypso (a spooky October mixtape) just as much or maybe more!
ETA: now with proper nifty cover art by sfslim!
Cross-posted from Dreamwidth, where there are currently
comments. Please comment there using OpenID.
Bury your dead and celebrate
the world is ending (finally)
take off your shoes and run
So you'll sleep in and show up late and the raft will leave without you. Or you'll be too many or too shy or too wicked and they won't let you board. Or you'll manage to fight or sneak your way on, but some Meanie Meanerpants will catch you & toss you over the side without so much as a by-your-leave. In any case, here you'll be. Left behind. Not wanted on the voyage, left to do your best doggy-paddle while the waters rise around you, eels and alligators getting friendly with your kicking feet as your last hope sails away without you. You'll drift for longer than you would have thought possible, flotsam, whirling in oil-slick eddies and, now and then, bumping up against other pieces of despondent discarded debris. Eventually you'll give up the fight, too exhausted to struggle against the tide, and you'll float into unconsciousness. You'll surface again into bedraggled awareness on a strange beach, washed in by the dirty surf, cold and damp and utterly alone. When your thirst surpasses your fear you will set out in search of fresh water, and discover to your amazement that the reign of Homo sapiens has ended. There are no humans left, and all their artifice, the ebullient excess of "civilization" has fallen through disrepair into ruin. At last, there is peace in the valley once again as the flora and fauna reach out tremulously to reclaim the territory they had once been forced to cede. All is quiet, calm--or is it? Your initial suspicion was wrong, it seems: some humans yet live. Cracked and determined, they have a mission and they have music, and they play as if they are (and for all you know, they may well be) the last band on earth. These stragglers creep and strike, surviving like some resistant viral strain on creativity and desperation. Their ingenuity is remarkable, as much as it feels like a smokescreen (come and get me) deployed to confuse the other predators, trick them into forgetting that you long ago outsourced your teeth and claws, and that without your tools you're effectively helpless. You can forgive these stubborn apes their arrogance; faced with such challenges, anyone who can persist is entitled to feel like Superman. So you live hard, love hard, and dance while the sky crashes down because what else are you going to do? The world is over. The apocalypse has come, and there's nothing anyone could have done to change or prevent it, so what's the use in wonderin'? But surely there must have been some warning. Some clever sot must have seen that bad moon rising. You know there were people who devoted their lives to imagining (if the world should end in fire . . .) how it might happen, how to avoid it--or how to bring it about. Yes, it's obvious in hindsight that those who stood to gain were the ones with the resources to plan for it, to set things up to their advantage ahead of time, to pack all their treasures up and head for the high ground. Of course you didn't have to be rich to think ahead, to take precautions, but few bothered to try until everyone was doing it, until the disasters were already mounting, the air thick with smoke, sirens and rumours of war. Then again, there were others who've been waiting a long time, living for generations like it's there's no point in cleaning up their messes because they fell hard for a promise, Jesus gonna be here soon, don't you worry, the rapture's coming like your mama's arms to scoop you out of harm's way. Never mind that odds are good you brought this trouble on yourself, because you presumed there'd be no consequences or because you thought you'd die before the debts came due to pay--people got a lotta nerve. However it happens--war between T-ball teams, over territory, resources or ideology; rising dead; revolting machines; a sudden upheaval in the food chain (my money's on the cephalopods, but I have reason to be biased); or just another climatic up- or down-swing (if the world should end in ice) . . . you haven't made it easy on yourselves. For most of you, it was just a party game, what if?, the emergency flares and zombie-preparedness drills, purely hypothetical--how would you spend the last night of the world? Because of course it never really touched you, couldn't reach through the screen of your television desktop laptop netbook smartphone or other glimmering gadget. For all that you might have known it was coming, it sure seemed to catch you by surprise to realize that it was actually here. You thought things were going so well, nice weather and a vibrant economy, good times coming back again, for you if not for everybody. You shut out that feeling squirming in your brain, screaming something's not right, nobody's watching out for you (god's away on business and he's not coming back), EVERYTHING WILL PROBABLY NOT BE OKAY. It takes a hell of a shock for you to face what you already saw and refused to understand: the rising waters, your dying world, your own helplessness before the fickle whims of the fox confessor. Take comfort in being right, and look happy: it's the end of the world! Yes, these are truly dark days indeed. But surely it cannot be too late already? There must be some way to put things right, some way to save this house! You tried your best to be good, how is it fair for you to be left behind scrabbling for survival in this infernal sty, sick with envy for every other monkey gone to heaven before you? But of course it's not fair. It never was. The world is a complex system, and it does not end the same for all of us, with equal grace nor all at once. It is worth remembering, when you hear the clamorous chimes of London calling, that not everybody lives by the river. In some places, the off-season sea-side towns where every day is like Sunday, you could hardly even notice a difference, for they already looked like ghost towns. It's easy to fool yourself there into thinking it's all just an illusion. Some places, the apocalypse comes with such regularity you could almost set your watch to it. Is it possible to say when the world has really ended when it's been smashed to dust, swallowed up when rivers rise and washed away a thousand times before? Some people already live, have always lived, over the edge, beyond the end of civilization--the parts you throw away, the ones you'd rather forget, an old woman with cat food under her fingernails, sleeping on a subway vent. When and where does civilization end, anyway? Where the suburbs peter? Where your phone stops working? Where the roads melt? To so many domesticated urbanites, the bulk of the planet already fails to meet their standards of habitability. The great white nothing is not of their world; its inhabitants are igloo-dwelling savages from beyond Thunderdome. What, if anything, is the difference between an end and a frontier? Wherever you live, I can promise you, at some point in history your cozy hearth lay beyond the edge of their known, off the map, here be dragons, just waiting to be conquered, penetrated, named and taken by the bold destroyers lured onward by sirens calls, gold and fame, chocolate and lust. The call is not forgotten; we have already observed that there are those among you who choose to live as if calamity has come, who turn off, opt out, and wander away from your lights to tend their own fires. How you must now envy those hermits who chose the path, where you have had it forced upon you! How much better prepared they must have been, when the apocalypse came, and how it must have cheered and tortured them to know they had the option to turn back from this weary road (oh, the endless fog!) in the days before it did. Better to have seized on the opportunities to practice while you had the chance, for even those of comfortable station in comfortable cities do get them from time to time, and make joy of the experience as did the North American East coast on 08/14/03. Not that such giddy exercises are likely to spare you from treading water when the flood comes, skimming the surface with all the other human garbage (while we occupy your submerged cities and laugh at your vertebrate vanity), but at least you'll be able to say, with your last stinging breath, that you had love in your life. Wake up now, and waste not this admonition. The end is coming. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. It's later than you think.
1. Christine Fellows, Not Wanted on the Voyage
2. Nathan, Discarded Debris
3. The Handsome Family, Peace in the Valley Once Again
4. Rock Plaza Central, The Last Band on Earth
5. Odds, Smokescreen (Come and Get Me)
6. Dan Bern, Superman
7. Jason Webley, Dance While the Sky Crashes Down
8. Thea Gilmore, Bad Moon Rising
9. The Handsome Family, If the World Should End in Fire
10. Geoff Berner, High Ground
11. Billy Bragg, Rumours of War
12. Tom Waits, Jesus Gonna Be Here
13. Neko Case, People Got a Lotta Nerve
14. The Handsome Family, If the World Should End in Ice
15. Bruce Cockburn, Last Night of the World
16. Greg MacPherson, Good Times
17. Tom Waits, God's Away on Business
18. Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
19. Matthew Good Band, Look Happy, It's the End of the World
20. Firewater, Dark Days Indeed
21. Spirit of the West, Save this House
22. The Pixies, Monkey Gone to Heaven
23. Captain Tractor, London Calling
24. 10,000 Maniacs, Every Day Is Like Sunday
25. Spirit of the West, When Rivers Rise
26. Night Sun, Old Woman
27. Kim Barlow, Great White Nothing
28. Kris Demeanor, Chocolate and Lust
29. Kim Barlow, Fires
30. Veda Hille, Oh, the Endless Fog!
31. Rock Plaza Central, 08/14/03
32. Wax Mannequin, Treading Water
33. Jolie Holland, Enjoy Yourself
ETA: Image of drowned London is a painting by Marco Bauriedel.
ALSO, if you have enjoyed this selection of post/apocalyptic music, you may enjoy
sabotabby's answering Post-Apocalypso (a spooky October mixtape) just as much or maybe more!
ETA: now with proper nifty cover art by sfslim!
Cross-posted from Dreamwidth, where there are currently
comments. Please comment there using OpenID.