Some Songs Considered

“You Are Invited” – The Dismemberment Plan 
(Words/music: The Dismemberment Plan, available on Emergency & I, DeSoto 1999 / Barsuk 2011) 

Part 2 of 2: “No date, no place, no time, no RSVP” 

I usually think about the contrasting sections in this song. Specifically, I think of the way the live band ambushes the programmed beat during the second chorus, only to recede back to the sequencer for the next verse. Recently, I started paying closer attention to the strange sounds that creep in during the end of the second verse. They happen right around the point the narrator goes to the party held by his “ex-thing,” and they’re mixed beneath the fast clicking that runs throughout the entire second beat. Maybe it’s from knowing that the full band waits ready to bust through the chorus, or maybe it’s from the type of tension I’d feel if I went to a party at my ex’s house, but these sounds made the rest of the verse feel nervous. This leads into the cathartic blast of guitar and drums in the verse, but also the relief in the narrative when Ex-Thing repeats the welcoming advice inscribed in the invitation. 

It’s this combination of social awkwardness followed by an immediate, almost superhuman transformation that made me think of Scott Pilgrim, the comics (and movie) about a twenty-something slacker who simultaneously fights video game-style villains and the inner conflicts that plague people in their teens and early twenties. It started with this image of a party combined with an anime-like “power up” triggered by this music, but then the message of optimism and proactivity in the song’s invitation struck me as the kind of thing Scott Pilgrim needed to hear. If nothing else, it was the kind of thing I needed to hear, whether from another human being or even just a random piece of mail, when I went through the mix of heartbreak and uncertainty and parylyzing indecision that Scott Pilgrim encountered in the comics. It’s still nice to hear and even better, as the song’s narrator learns in the final verse, to pass on to those who need it more than you do. 

More on The Dismemberment Plan: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Inside of Love” – Nada Surf
(Words/music: Matthew Caws, Ira Elliot, and Daniel Lorca, available on Let Go, Barsuk Records 2002)

Subtle differences distinguish self-deprecation, self-loathing, and self-pity.  We see someone who makes a joke about himself as charming, someone who obsesses over a personal flaw as frustrating, and someone who feels sorry for himself as pathetic.  All three of these behaviors come from that similarly dark place in ourselves yet end up in different places.  It’s a bit of an oversimplification, but the difference involves ownership – being comfortable enough with one’s flaws to acknowledge them (and laugh, even), recognizing flaws and hating that part of ourselves, or painting oneself as a blameless victim who can’t change the situation.  This is the danger of self-pity, when we give up ownership and try to pass the blame to anyone else.  It leaves us in a frozen state – unable to improve our situation and unwilling to try anything to change the circumstances.  Whether it’s seeking a copout or making a series of behaviors a routine, feeling sorry for oneself does nobody any favors.

This is what makes “Inside of Love” interesting to me.  Matthew Caws’ narrator exists in the grey area between self-loathing and self-pity.  He finds himself in a rut, watching garbage on TV and rehashing his regrettable behavior night after night.  This character knows that he doesn’t like the cycle he’s in yet seems stuck in it; he knows enough to want “an aerial view” of his life, but has no plans on implementing it.  The whole song turns on one line in that verse – “I know the last page so well, I can’t read the first.” It encapsulates the feeling of recognizing a problem yet actively avoiding it – quitting before even playing, as the case may be.  So instead of finding the “inside of love,” he’s on the couch, watching mind-numbing television and deluding himself into thinking that it’s been “a bad night.”  Sure, we’re all entitled to a bad night from time to time, but when they become bad weeks and bad months, something has to give.  Caws paints this narrator with efficient detail, making his plea for substantial emotional connection real yet undercutting it with his self-pity.   It’s simultaneously beautiful, heartbreaking, and infuriating, and best (or worst, depending on your perspective) of all, it cuts close to home.  Some people might react better to a direct, “take control”-type song, but others might tune it out before it can hit home.  “Inside of Love” seduces us into listening with these beautiful harmonies and strikes when we recognize part of ourselves in this narrator.  Sometimes, seeing our pathos in someone else is enough to get us off the couch to switch off the TV and start picking up the pieces.

More on Nada Surf: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Fewer Broken Pieces” – David Bazan
(Words/music: David Bazan, available on Fewer Moving Parts, Barsuk Records 2007)

Bands break up all the time, but we still shrug our shoulders at band breakups when the band in question is essentially a single person’s creative output.  When David Bazan announced that Pedro the Lion was disbanding, it prompted a few puzzled looks since it was primarily his project.  Bazan tackles this directly on his first solo EP, turning the awkward conversations with friends about “going solo” into a song asserting his control.  Bazan makes a fair point at the center of the song – “fewer moving parts means fewer broken pieces,” namely that fewer individuals involved with a recording means fewer people to placate.  Even though he wrote nearly 90% of the Pedro the Lion songs, Bazan authored and performed all of the songs on his EP – a first in his recording career.  Even if it sounds like it could have fit in on the last Pedro the Lion album, Bazan now owns every single second of the recording – every note, every word, every stray sound. 

Aside from Bazan’s astute observation (even if it’s a bit of an oversimplification), I’m drawn in to the casual reference he makes to “David Byrne on Bob Costas.”  I can’t find the clip online, but a message on a Talking Heads board summarizes the conversation Byrne and Costas had in 2004, placing Byrne as the “focal point of the Talking Heads and the outlet from which all artistical [sic] talent flowed from.”  In this context, it’s easy to see why Bazan would look to shed his Pedro the Lion moniker – since he garnered all of the credit for his band, he may as well take it.  While Bazan surrounded himself with capable musicians, I’m not sure it’s quite the same as the Talking Heads.  Yes, like David Byrne, Bazan was the creative core of the band, but in the studio Bazan bore a greater burden than Byrne.  Byrne also had much bigger egos to contend with, sharing writing credits with his bandmates and often producer Brian Eno.  It’s a slippery slope – Byrne might have been the primary songwriter and creative influence, but he doesn’t become famous without his band (or Eno’s guidance, probably).  Bazan, on the other hand, was the natural focal point of his band.  In his case, he was taking complete ownership of what was 95% his in the first place.  Byrne went off on his own to show how he could shine independently (and, arguably, has succeeded).  If Bazan has anything to prove by going solo, it’s to himself.

More on David Bazan: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm