Note from Haley: Today, in a momentous blog-swap with John, the ridiculously talented writer of SUPER HUMAN and NEON NOIR, we bring you his Tonight’s Track! You can find my addition to his Sequential Moments series, which highlights hard-hitting moments/characters in comics, HERE. Happy reading!
Note from John: And check out Haley’s fucking phenomenal music blog, Sounds After Sundown, right HERE!!
I’ve been thinking a lot about pure happiness lately. Or lack thereof. Or, I guess, lack there-mostly-of. Ugh, yeah, I don’t really know what I mean. But whatever the fuck I do mean, its musical embodiment is Spoon’s Inside Out.
(Note from John: Today, Haley – from the phenomenal music review blog Sounds After Sundown – and I are blog-swapping. Not permanently. Just for, like, literally one post. Check out my review of Spoon’s track “Inside Out” right HERE.
The post below is part of Sequential Moments – a series where the writer talks about specific moments/characters/issues in comics that affected them. So, spoilers. Specifically for issues #1-5 of THE WICKED + THE DIVINE by Keiron Gillen, Jamie McKelvie, and Matt Wilson. You = warned.)
Jesus answered them, “Did I not choose you, the Twelve? And yet one of you is a devil.” -John 6:70
I love Luci.
She’s beautiful. Slick. Fierce. Unabashed in her androgyny and sexual fluidity. Irresistible, magnetic, and she knows it. Witty as all fuck, unfiltered. Unapologetic.
And she is exactly what I know I’d become if I had her power.
I see so much of my potential self in her that I’m actually a little afraid of the thought.
Sometimes, I can be a loud, attention-seeking, prideful ham. The only thing that prevents me from being those things all the time is the fear of rejection — seeing the inevitable disgust on people’s faces, knowing they’re thinking the worst of me. But Luci doesn’t have to worry about any of that. She will be worshipped regardless, and she knows it. She has no reason to be modest, quiet, or restrained. After all, what’s the point of giving any number of fucks when you’ll be dead within two years?
But for all the elegance and effortless power, Luci can also be kind of a dick.
She says whatever comes to mind and takes whomever she desires (single or not). She does what she wants, without much regard for others or the destruction she may wreak. A substantial and ultimately fatal flaw.
And then, it ends.
Just when we're allowed a peek behind her walls, the moment her vulnerability and remorse are revealed, she’s gone. For, by all accounts, ever. Way too soon, I had to mourn one of the most intriguing, dynamic comic book characters I’ve ever come across. I’d wanted so bad to see the next step in her journey; the next snarky quip, the next graceful kill.
Fuck if I don’t miss her to death.
But just as Luci will always be a hugely significant part of my journey as a comic reader, her importance to the overarching story of The Wicked + The Divine hasn’t wavered. Even in death, Luci's impact on the lives of those she knew has been reiterated again and again in issues since. She became an unshakable symbol of righteous defiance, and her death a symbol of injustice that will not soon be forgotten.
Second in a series of the most significant musicians in my life thus far.
From the time I discovered the gripping, magical world of Barney the Dinosaur at four years old, it was clear I had a penchant for obsessive behaviour. My adolescence and young adulthood has been characterized by more than a few passions, from movies to music to people. Some destructive, some inspirative; all life-changing.
My experience with M83 started as it did for so many others: “Midnight City”.
By all logic, the song’s high-pitched keyboard riff should be the most annoying thing in existence. But M83 singer/mastermind Anthony Gonzalez has this uncanny ability to make repetitive, otherwise grating noises magical. And once the song breaks into its noisiest bit, it explodes into what sounds like the score of an astro-dream.
My heart always seems to race when the song builds in its second verse, with Gonzalez belting out, “the city is my church”. My chest swells when it hits, like the line just knows me. The city I grew up in (Toronto) has always been a true home. It makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself; a collective entity. It makes me feel connected to the rest of the world and to each individual around me, on a spiritual level. The city is my church.
I quickly discovered that “Midnight City” was just one part of the spacey epic that is double-album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming.
As I listened to the album, it became clear there was something there, something larger than each song itself. While the lyrics themselves are ambiguous and sometimes hard to decipher, an overarching narrative quickly makes itself known. But the melodies are all so engaging, I found myself unconcerned with figuring out the details of that narrative; I was more than happy to sit and enjoy the ride.
To me, one of the main things that sets M83 apart from others in the genre is Gonzalez’s vocals. Through the dreamy, ethereal tone, his voice turns up at the end of each line with a high-pitched, almost desperate cry. It’s like his words are too filled with emotion, desperate to escape his chest. You can’t help but believe what he sings. While the vocals have obviously been tweaked and blanketed with effects on the album, they still shine when the band plays live.
Something seems off in simply calling Gonzalez a singer/songwriter; he’s a true artist in the weight he’s able to attach to his work. I can honestly say that Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is one of the most inspirational albums I’ve become attached to. While others acted as friends that stuck by me when things were shitty, ones who understood my pain, this album showed me how to listen to my heart and follow my dreams. “New Map” comes to mind, which encouraged my “shifting desires” and filling the “hole in your heart, begging for adventure”.
I’m still exploring the vastness that is M83′s discography, which dates back to 2001. And with their latest album since 2011, Junk, coming out just last week, it looks like I’ll have enough M83 to last a long, long while.
First in a series of the most significant musicians in my life thus far.
From the time I discovered the gripping, magical world of Barney the Dinosaur at four years old, it was clear I had a penchant for obsessive behaviour. My adolescence and young adulthood has been characterized by more than a few passions, from movies to music to people. Some destructive, some inspirative; all life-changing.
It was December 2013, and I was going through some shit.
It was cold outside, dark inside, and I’d decided to give The Weeknd’s sophomore album Kiss Land a shot. Not expecting much more than the delicate vocals he’d lent to “Crew Love” on Drake’s Take Care, I pressed play.
It always starts with one song. This time around, it was The Town.
A silvery vocal intro led into a litany of clanging, discordant sounds; distant, indulgent guitar; and eccentric song structure. It was completely strange. It seduced me immediately.
When I’d hungrily consumed all of dusky, self-indulgent Kiss Land, I was wild for more. I was ecstatic to find out that the Weeknd’s first album is a compilation of three 10-song mixtapes, appropriately titled Trilogy. This was when the obsession really took off.
When I was up, I could grind to the dark-and-sexy “House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls” or sway along with dreamy, tropical “The Morning”. When I was down, I could wallow in “Montreal” or “Coming Down”. And when I was really low, I could silently sob along to “The Zone”.
Now that was a rough one. It was the track that dragged me into the stark reality I didn’t want to admit about my relationship at the time. But I still loved it. The way it seemed to stab at my insides every time I put it on made me feel more alive. Even if I was feeling the shittiest I’ve ever felt, at least I was feeling something. That kind of intensity fucks me up in the best way. Even now, being in a great place in my life, I like to go back to “The Zone” every once in a while and relive how I felt during that time. Also helps to put the little blips into perspective.
The thing that always struck me about the Weeknd’s music, and part of what kept me coming back for more, is his unapologetic honesty. Among all the melancholy love songs and doped-up party jams, there’s always that edge of desperation he's not even trying to hide. A comedown from the high. For all the assertions of love and devotion, there’s equal parts possessiveness, resentment, adultery, destruction — all out in the open. The Weeknd doesn’t pretend to be a nice guy. He doesn’t try to make a statement nor make amends. His songs are simply snapshots of a wild, hedonistic, defiantly dysfunctional life. This is how he does things. Take it or leave it.
For everything his music’s offered me, I have nothing but well wishes for the Weeknd as he grows as an artist. It seems like everyone’s talking about him now; the third album that struck it big. But I’ve given Beauty Behind the Madness a listen, and I’ve gotta say that the genre-bending, fearless force of nature that was the Weeknd just doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Then again, it might just be me. Maybe the part of me that was lured in before has since been put to rest.
One thing I know for sure, though, is that the Weeknd’s work is permanently seared into the darkest, most dangerous part of my mind. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
White Lies pull you into their world, carrying you along the distorted, undulating bassline like a queasy magic carpet ride.
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. It seems to have burrowed its way into the walls of my mind. It’s not exactly the most comfortable thing to think about, but we all need to face both its uncertainty and inevitability at some point. It’s during times like this that I turn to White Lies.
This track begins immediately, no introductory pretense, demanding attention. The opening verse sounds almost monophonic, the bass drum pounding like a rapid heartbeat and the relentless snap of the snare keeping you alert. Then the chorus bursts into a wall of sound -- a perfect payoff.
Singer Harry McVeigh’s authoritative baritone is an ethereal presence that echoes throughout the track. From the first line, he poses the song’s impossible question: which is worse, the fear of your own demise or the fear of your lover’s?
That despair is made ever clear in the chorus. The first part bears a sweet, ageless sentiment: “Let’s grow old together...” -- which warps near-instantly into a desperate wail in the next line: “...and die at the same time.” This line is repeated over and over, ringing out as the song comes to a close. To me, it sounds like a frantic plea. Maybe to his lover, maybe to God, or maybe to death itself -- but whatever McVeigh meant, I have my own interpretation -- and this song gives me solace.
“There’s a part of me that still believes my soul will soar above the trees.”
A good old-fashioned love song – and so much more.
Montreal alt-dance supergroup Bran Van 3000 is just about as eclectic as a band can be. Their genre-defying, experimental approach never brought them much celebrity, but their first single “Drinking in L.A.” has held a permanent spot in my music library since childhood. A few weeks ago, their other staple single, “Astounded”, found its way back to me, too. After hosting a one-person nostalgia dance party, I read up on the band – and as it turns out, there’s quite a story behind the track.
In 1999, Bran Van founding member James Di Salvio approached soul-funk legend Curtis Mayfield with the hope of a collaboration. Mayfield had fallen ill and couldn't contribute any new material, but invited Di Salvio to take a look at his archive of unfinished material. With Mayfield’s permission, a dulcet vocal melody he recorded sometime in the ‘80s became the core of “Astounded” – the last song Mayfield was ever featured on. He succumbed to his illness a few months before the track was completed, and was never able to hear it.
Knowing the backstory, it’s no wonder “Astounded” has so much heart. While it’s easy to lose the soul of a song when you lay it over a dance beat, Bran Van manages to nurture Mayfield’s vocals, raising them up instead of drowning them in a cacophony of electronic bleep-bloops. The swooning falsetto chorus triumphantly proclaiming “All I wanna do is love you,” could make the most frigid of hearts swell. And topped off with a killer violin riff that makes its mark from the moment you hear it, this isn’t a track you’ll soon forget.
“Too Much” Drake knows my mind. “Practice” Drake knows my groin. But “You & The 6” Drake knows my heart.
I’ve been in love with Drake since last winter (okay, not love love -- you know what I mean, johnathonolyon).
Nothing Was The Same was my lifeblood. The boy could write rhymes about the struggle of a deflated soccer ball and make it relatable. So when he’s at his most honest, his most real, rapping about his mother and what gives him strength and what tears him down -- you can’t help but feel him. “You & The 6” may just be Drake spitting the truth over a simple beat and a low-key melody, but it’s the truth nonetheless. It’s still catchy and groovy as hell, and hits me right in the chest.
My mother raised me for most of the formative years of my life, from when I was about eight to fourteen years old. She did everything she could for me, but she was battling her own demons, too. She was a functioning alcoholic for a lot of that time. Even now, despite years of sobriety, she still feels guilty that she ruined my childhood with her drinking. But I never, ever saw it that way, or blamed her in any sense. I never felt unloved. I never went hungry. I never wanted for anything.
I moved out to my dad’s place in a suburb outside Toronto for high school. It was a fantastic school, but I always felt a little out of place. Weekend trips to the city were the only times I really felt free. Toronto is a part of me, and always will be. No matter where I go, or where I might live in my lifetime, the 6 will always be home.
My mother and my city shaped who I am today. You and the 6 raised me right.
That’s how I’d describe alt-J’s entire sound. Their music is always like a mix of something innocuous and dangerous. Something sweet and savage.
I was sitting in a cafe a few days ago when An Awesome Wave started filtering through the overhead speakers -- I had never heard the album in its entirety before. It didn’t take long for it to dawn on me: This shit is speaking right to my soul. That doesn’t happen every day; but when it does, I can always feel that full-body satisfaction down through the tips of my fingers.
By all logic, alt-J frontman Joe Newman’s tentative, under-articulate vocals should be unbearably annoying; but they’re defiantly addictive instead. These boys know exactly how to make powerfully catchy hooks out of the simplest melodies. And their methodical use of repetition tickles me right pink.
I know I’m a little late to the alt-J party, but better late than never, right?
I am utterly and unequivocally under Sam Smith's spell.
Some might consider it a guilty pleasure to be enamoured with a chart-topping artist -- but Smith is unquestionably the exception. His technical vocal prowess aside, Smith's voice is warm, honest, and vulnerable. He might be a superstar, but he's still just an eager, rosy-cheeked youngster who's in it for the love.
Smith's melancholic croon is simply irresistible -- he has a way of settling right into the depths of your chest and serenading your soul. I wouldn't describe the lyrics of "Money On My Mind" as terribly poignant, sophisticated or even very relatable; but all of a sudden, although you might not ever know the complications and expectations that come with signing a record deal, you feel that pressure vicariously through Smith. Whatever the song, whatever the topic, Smith is able to evoke a remarkable sense of empathy.
Combine all that with a killer hook and mesmerizing vocal melodies, and you've got this gem. Have a good listen.
Yesterday, my friend and I trekked out to Peterborough, Ontario (about two and a half hours on transit) to see Death From Above 1979. While on the bus, we found out that the power was out at the venue, so the the show was being relocated to a little tavern down the street. Super effing cool, because these dudes have played for crowds of thousands -- and we were getting to see them play a tiny garage set.
Minutes after the second opening band finished their set, at the most comical timing, we were all plunged into darkness. The backup venue had lost power. We gritted our teeth and prayed profusely to the rock gods for their mercy. After what felt like hours (but was probably more like 10 minutes), they finally answered. The lights went up, the show went on, and our boys blew everyone's fucking mind.
My friend and I ended up so close to the stage that we went home drenched in Sebastien Grainger's sweat. It was glorious.
Anyway, I listened to this track over and over on the way home, still riding the high. The updated bassline is pure sex, and MSTRKRFT adds new sound after new sound as the song progresses, amounting to a white-hot orgy of dance-punk noise. Half of MSTRKRFT is DFA 1979 bassist Jesse F. Keeler, so it's no surprise he knew exactly what to do to yield even sexier results.
When I first heard this track, I thought it was a catchy, pleasant tune -- but not a particularly moving one. And yet, the line "you have proved to be a real human being" stuck with me. And when I heard the song again recently, it resonated with me on a much more personal, literal level.
There's something magical about this song; if you just read the chorus's lyrics on their own, they seem more like the ending of a speech rather than a work of poetry: "and you have proved to be / a real human being and a real hero". But Bronwyn Griffin, half of Toronto-based Electric Youth, provides dreamy, ethereal vocals that transform the simplicity of the words into something inexplicably complex and beautifully poignant.
For years, I've seen posts on Tumblr about how difficult it can be to have a long-distance friend from the Internet. But only recently have I discovered what that really feels like -- and how much more incapacitating it can be when that friend is someone you end up falling in love with.
"A Real Hero" allowed me to realize that despite the frustration, and despite the pain, he and I stumbled upon something amazing. We could have easily never met. During those first few messages, he just seemed like someone fun to talk to. Someone far, far away who would never have any significant impact on my life. It didn't sink in like a real human interaction -- he didn't seem real. But as things progressed, it became clearer and clearer that yeah, he is a real human being. Flesh and blood, fascinating and beautiful. And now he's my hero, too.
Yesterday, I was waiting on some possibly not-so-great news. I put on this track, and suddenly I couldn't listen to anything else. It makes me feel like maybe things aren't the worst -- even when they are. While the bittersweet original "3005" is self-deprecation, self-revelation -- this track represents the next step: self-acceptance.
This one also holds a special place in my heart because the fans had to work to discover it. Buried deep within the code of becausetheinter.net (the site that housed a brilliant interactive screenplay before Gambino's internet blackout) sat a track, just short vocal verses interspersed with silence. When mixtape/EP STN MTN / Kauai came out in October, a mostly instrumental "Beach Picnic" version of "3005" showed up on it. Then, reddit put two and two together (as they often do) and discovered that the two tracks played at the same time become one magnificent song.
This version also feels like growth. Maybe even a reflection of Gambino and what he's been through. A year and a half ago I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of him in Toronto's Trinity-Bellwoods Park -- and the first thing I thought when I laid eyes on the guy was that he looked so, so tired. Like he hadn't slept in weeks. Since then, he's been looking just a little less haggard in pictures and videos. I'm taking that as a good sign.
STN MTN / Kauai is lighter as a whole, both in content and mood. Although the secret vocal track existed when Because the Internet came out in 2013, it still feels significant that it wasn't discovered until its counterpart was released with STN MTN / Kauai. Like Gambino didn't feel ready to release this more optimistic, buoyant version of "3005" until recently. I mean hey, I don't know the guy. But I like to think he's doing better.
