Everyone hits rough patches. It's all part of life's rich pageant. One of the most miraculous things that music can do for a person is provide an outlet for all of those negative emotions. Sometimes it may take a while to find the right outlet, that one song that just does it for you, but rest assured when that happens that the song will immediately become part of you and never leave.
Such is the way of these three songs, each of which has stood the test of time (my history with all of these dates back to middle school, and I haven't lost an ounce of love for any of them) and have snugly found their place among my favorite songs ever. In other words, yeah, this is probably the most "legit" Sunday Superlative post in a long time, in that it really is showcasing what I believe is some of the most exemplary, powerful music I have heard. Of course, everyone is different and I can't guarantee that anyone else will find these as deeply cathartic as I do. I could never stop you from trying, though.
The Cure - "Disintegration" (mp3|7.63MB)
For those of you who may not have gotten the memo, The Cure's Disintegration is far and away, without question, my favorite album of all-time. There's no competition. What they accomplish with those 72 minutes is gorgeous, shattering, and utterly perfect. And yet, as tremendous as every song is, not a single one has ever been as viscerally powerful for me as the title track. Extremely few songs can lay claim to having brought me to tears. Even fewer can boast of having that effect on me pretty much every single time (in fact, we may have just narrowed it down to this song). The secret ingredient is a mystery even to me: it's eight solid minutes of swirling, drone-dance hell with Robert Smith wailing some of his most painfully personal lyrics ever, and somehow it just works (the closest analogy I can think of is Of Montreal's similarly wonderful "The Past Is a Grotesque Animal," on which this must've been a huge influence). More than that: it transcends. It becomes by some force of nature a receptacle for all of the misery and depression and suffering in the world, and in the process emerges as one of the most powerful pieces of music ever set to tape.
(from the 1989 album Disintegration)
Nine Inch Nails - "Mr. Self Destruct" (mp3|4.12MB)
Trent Reznor has always been very hit-or-miss with me. Some of his songs are great, while others just seem to miss the mark entirely. When he hits, though, he has the power to hit hard. "Mr. Self Destruct" is an exceedingly abrasive song, and I have no doubt that's what gives it such an overpowering force. When I am inhumanly, furiously mad, there is no greater song in the universe. It strikes all the perfect nerves: Reznor's bitterly antagonistic lyrics, the frenetic, chugging rhythm that gets punctuated with bursts of vicious screaming and noise, the eerie and murderously calm eye of the hurricane wherein you're still pissed as fuck and want to kill something but are disturbingly relaxed about it. By all accounts, it is an anger spell in musical form. It is the only song I can think of that has ever managed to capture every nuance of that particular emotion, and for that I cannot give it enough credit. No, this isn't the sort of thing I can freely listen to at any time (or even often), but when I can it's nothing short of sublime.
(from the 1994 album The Downward Spiral)
Tears for Fears - "Shout" (mp3|5.96MB)
Tears for Fears' place in the grand scheme of rock music is not something that should ever be underestimated. No, they never made a great album, and yes, their output worthy of "required listening" can pretty easily be consolidated into a list of about a half-dozen songs, but ... have you heard those songs?! They're better than not only the majority of 80s pop music, but the majority of music in general. "Shout" is a fine example. Of their myriad hits, this is probably the most famous and recognizable, but it possesses a startling power that is conspicuously absent from almost all other mainstream music. It's an angry song, but it doesn't express that anger with screaming and waves of corrosive noise like plenty of others -- Mr. Reznor included -- would. Instead, it opts for a steady, gradual crescendo that begins as relatively composed and ends almost like some great war cry. When that searing guitar comes in at around 4:30, I just want to raise my fists to the sky and do exactly what the song tells me to. Maximum volume required.
(from the 1985 album Songs from the Big Chair)
The end! I'll try my hardest to be back next week, possibly with something a little cheerier. We'll see. Take care, folks.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment