Music Journal: Kate Bush and the Horror of Having Dreams

Despite (or maybe because of) having more freedom now (in theory) than at any other time in my life, I have been feeling suffocated. San Diego has a population of 1 million, yet I still panic whenever I see a car with my high school's logo as a bumper sticker. I don't want to see anyone I know, except for the limited few I'm still close friends with. (And even with them, there's a mutual understanding that we'd all prefer to live on parallel tracks, rarely intersecting, even though we text almost daily.)

Seeing people from high school would make this time feel like what it is---being an aimless 20-something hiding out at home---instead of the chimera I've created in my head, where baby squirrels overtake the park for my entertainment alone, the Pacific Ocean sways and folds in on itself just to calm my nerves, and clouds stretch themselves into bizarre shapes because they've seen me beg for a distraction from the other side of the window at my desk.

Of course, this is not how the world---natural or human---works. That's a good thing. I'm glad I'm not the only person to exist; that would be so horrifically lonely (I'm currently re-reading Frankenstein, can you tell?!) Also, so much harm can come from viewing the natural world as something that exists for one's own benefit. The bluffs overlooking the beach near me are collapsing because people like me walk over them to watch the sunset (and probably also because the Amtrak runs across them several times an hour).

I don't know what I want to be different in this moment. When I'm alone in my childhood bedroom, I feel restless, like I am wasting my life by not experiencing the world, whatever that means. When I'm outside, I have a nonsensical fear of being surveilled, coupled with a fear that I am not experiencing the world in the right way, that I'm not making the most of it. Usually, I'm able to overcome both of these varieties of anxiety by gently reminding myself that I am being ridiculous.

Sometimes, though, logic and gratitude are not enough to overcome the feeling that your skin is a cage keeping your consciousness from running to reach its imagined utopia. (“There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand.” - Frankenstein) As usual, my favorite method of dealing with strange feelings that I don't understand is by spending an ungodly amount of time crawling deeper and deeper into Spotify rabbit holes.

Nothing brings me joy like writing or talking about the music I've been into lately, so I'm going to spare my group chats by doing it here:

1. Song: "I Shall Be Released" by Bob Dylan

Like with any Bob Dylan classic, there are countless, countless recordings of this song. The versions I have had on repeat lately have been Nina Simone's, a warm and soulful rendition that feels like a hug, and Joan Baez's, which feels both light and slightly haunting. (Fun fact: Joan Baez went to BU!)

Favorite Lyric: Any day now, Any day now / I shall be released

Bad feelings won't last forever; good ones won't either. That's the beauty of being a living, breathing person, not a caricature of one. This song reminds me that the biggest things bothering me today will be specks in the rearview mirror later on. In a year, I'll have new things to worry about, and a year after that, even more.

At our worst moments, we feel like our day-to-day lives are comprised of us waiting for bad feelings to pass. This song reassures us that they will, but it also points to the absurdity of always focusing on the next chapter. The lyrics, "Every distance is not near / So I remember every face / Of every man who put me here" bring me down to earth when I get too caught up in thinking about what could be, but isn't. 

"Every distance is not near" feels almost like a taunt -- you have no way of knowing when you'll finally achieve the things you've been hoping for yourself, or if you ever will. But rather than that being a wholly depressing thought, why not look back on what you've accomplished thus far? Not everything in our lives can possibly be measured.It's foolish to get down on ourselves for not living out some fantasy version of our life.

2. Song: "Human Behaviour" by Björk

I'm not sure whether it's Björk's raw vocals, the commanding drum beat, or any of the other musical elements (none of which I am anywhere near qualified to accurately describe) that makes this song as intoxicating as it is. It's one of those rare songs that you listen to for the first time and immediately feel like you've struck gold. I know I'm about 20 years late to this party, but it makes total sense why this was the first single from her debut album.

Some other Björk songs I've been enjoying lately are "Hidden Place" and "Unison." I don't know too much about Björk or her artistic process, but I would certainly love to learn more about her, because her art just feels so masterful. From my limited POV,  her music feels like refinement of Yoko Ono's absurdity blended with folksy lyricism and newer electronic sounds. (Apparently Björk is credited with inventing at least four instruments?!) And somehow, she still appeals to a mass market.

P.S. if you want a laugh, google "Björk's house" and look at the images. That's where I would love to be right about now.

Favorite Lyric: There's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic.

So true, Björk.

3. Song: "Suspended in Gaffa" by Kate Bush

This song, from Bush's 1982 album The Dreaming, captures the feeling of knowing what you're supposed to be doing, having a clear vision of what you want, yet neglecting to leave the safe bubble of your imagination. Knowing Kate Bush's repertoire, though, I'm sure it has a much deeper meaning than this.

According to Genius, "The chorus expresses the feeling of entering timelessness...as you become ready for the experience of what you desire. The slow-motion feeling of entrapment simultaneously evokes a sense of defeat." I can't possibly put it better than that. There is something so heavy about being in a place in your life where you can, theoretically, do just about anything, while knowing you won't ever do 99 percent of those things.

Favorite Lyric: I can't have it all / Suddenly my feet are feet of mud / It all goes slow-mo

When you're thinking about all the wonderful things you might do in the future, there's nothing more grounding than realizing you're just a small human piece extending from the earth you stand on. "Suddenly my feet are feet of mud" reminds me of the juvenile fear we all seemed to have of quicksand (is it because watched Night at the Museum at a formative age?). 

The lyric takes the feeling of "groundedness" to an extreme. If your feet are made of mud, you're being swallowed by the earth. Everything is in slow motion, because you are powerless. You see your life from a zoomed-out, macro point of view, where nothing you do will ever have much meaning, and you'll never have enough time to accomplish some of the things you wanted to do with your insignificant little human life.

Anyways, I am taking the LSAT next Friday, so I suppose I should get back to studying for that. But this felt like a worthy and necessary diversion :)