I remember a time when I was in awe of certain musicians. If they released a record, I would wait outside for the store to open so I could buy it, take it home, and let the musical genius wash over me. The music had such a profound effect on me that I would dissect it, listening from every angle, trying to figure out how it was making me feel this way. I honestly felt like my life was being shaped by what these musicians were creating. I hooked my identity to them, waiting for the next release to discover how my personality was going to develop further.
In thinking about this, three quotes came to mind that deal with this idea:
The passing of time leaves empty lives waiting to be filled
The passing of time leaves empty lives waiting to be filled
I’m here with the cause, I’m holding the torch
In the corner of your room can you hear me ?
And when youre dancing, and laughing, and finally living
You’ll hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly.
– The Smiths, Rubber Ring
“Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?“
– Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
“There’s people that love me and that’s really nice, and I feel that… and I respect it, but… people misunderstand that relationship quite a bit. They don’t necessarily… believe in me. They believe in themselves.
Y’know, Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth once said, ‘people pay to see people believe in themselves,’ and I think that that’s a very true statement, and I think that one of the things that’s going on there is that, um… well, it’s just like with people claiming that a piece of music makes them feel this way. I think that the opposite is probably true – that they have that feeling, and the piece of music allows them to recognize that.
So when people, uh… I feel very flattered that people put me at the center of it. I certainly enjoy that, that’s nice. But I think I have to be really rational about it and remember that it’s coming from them.”
–Jeff Tweedy, Sunken Treasure Live
Morrisey’s lyrics in Rubber Ring capture the myth – it’s music that sets you free, gives you an identity, and sets you on the path to wholeness. The song and its singer are your saviors. The name of the song tells you as much. Hornby’s quote recognizes that perhaps there is a dual relationship at work between the aficionado and the music, like a strange symbiosis. Tweedy, I think, gets closest to the truth. We bring our own feelings and issues to music, subconsciously seeking out something that will articulate, or help us recognize what’s inside.
At worst, we’re looking for an idol to validate our feelings or desires, to be the symbol to pin our hearts on. Pop music is great at doing just that. We scramble for concert tickets, put up posters in our rooms, wear t-shirts, and wait outside the store for the newest CD. We quote nonsensical or cheesy lyrics as if they are profound statements. We use coherent and insightful lyrics as holy scripture. We have found gods that amplify our feelings and won’t ask us to change. We crown them our Messiah, and pledge our eternal worship. This is why, when a group breaks up, or an artist dies, you can often find people weeping like the women at the tomb of Jesus. If they reform, the faithful let out a hallelujah, and evangelize about the resurrection.
It’s unusually humble for an artist like Tweedy to say the whole thing is not true. The idea of the tortured, illuminated, or gnostic artist sent to save you from your daily life is a falsehood. The idea that songs can save your soul is a stretch too far. It’s just music, man. Some of it’s real good. Some is even inspiring. But let’s save the adoration for a real God. Let’s look for salvation in a real Savior.
