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“Beds are Burning” – Midnight Oil
(Words/music: Rob Hirst, James Moginie, and Peter Garrett, available on Diesel and Dust, Columbia 1987)

Contradictions fascinate me, especially when I find them within myself.  “Beds are Burning” presents one I particularly find fascinating; I find myself completely at home in this song yet still feel like a stranger to it.  I’ll start with the familiarity.  Without fail, the first three notes of this song cause me to stop everything and exclaim “Midnight Oil.”  Depending on the context, friends and acquaintances treat this semi-involuntary response with a mix of bewilderment and reluctant respect.  I can’t play the song, I can’t identify the chords or the progression, and I don’t know a lot of the words, but those three notes immediately trigger recognition in my brain.  For whatever reason, years of sporadically hearing “Beds are Burning” seared those three notes into my brain, attaching a permanent association that earns me little more than odd looks from friends and the occasional point in a trivia competition.

Still, even if those three notes mean that I recognize the surroundings, I still feel like a stranger.  Midnight Oil wears their Australian heritage proudly, using their songs as a way to address issues they feel strongly about.  In particular, “Beds are Burning” rebukes the Australian government for their forcible displacement of Aborigine people in the 20th century.  They even used their performance of the song during the closing of the 2000 Olympics in Sydney as a soapbox, performing their best known song to their largest worldwide audience with the words “sorry” on their chests as a reference to the Australian government’s refusal to issue a formal apology.  While I can identify with the general call-to-consciousness in the chorus, the song’s finer details only highlight that I know little to nothing about the Aborigine people or the Australian government’s mistreatment.  I’ve never been to Australia, but I imagine the experience of feeling like a foreigner in a place where I speak the language might feel (granted, on an entirely different scale) somewhat like the conflicted way I feel about this song.  Regardless, it’s a reminder that I still have a lot to learn about the world.

More on Midnight Oil: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: midnight oil | 1987 | 1980s | columbia records | australia | contradictions |
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“Never Let Me Down (f/ Jay-Z and J. Ivy)” - Kanye West
(Words/music: Michael Bolton, Sean Carter, Bruce Kulick, J. Richardson, and Kanye West, available on The College Dropout, Roc-a-Fella 2004)

Kanye West’s car accident is the formative experience of his adult life.  Like many who experience a tragedy, West turned inward and started asking questions.  On a basic level, West asked the same question that survivors often asked – why me?  He doesn’t stop there, using his lyrics to try to reconcile the many contradictions that swirl around his life.  While he crystalized this paradox – specifically, why do bad things make me feel good – on Late Registration, Kanye explores these parts of his personality on The College Dropout.  These are Kanye’s most compelling moments lyrically – when he lets down his guard and shares his uncertainty with us.  In a genre of music that values certainty and confidence on the mic, Kanye holds his own with some of hip hop’s best lyricists (at least in the mainstream) by embracing his contradictions and probing deeper (and it’s this heart-on-sleeve display that makes 808s and Heartbreaks feel human beneath its icy digital finish). 

West’s verse on “Never Let Me Down,” takes a broader view on the paradoxes in his life.  He details all of the different things he comes from – activist parents, apathetic peers, everyday racism, materialism and the accompanying guilt, and the fear that he’s losing sight of the big picture.  His guest verses even pull him in different directions; Jay-Z’s verse represents the “game” of hip-hop and all of the glamor and fame associated with being at the top of your game.  Jay has a few inspired turns of phrase in his bookend verses, but poet J. Ivy steals the show with his verse.  Ivy delivers his verse as spoken word that floats over the track without reference to the beat, making him sound like a man possessed at points.  His verse talks about a higher purpose and at points he sounds like he could be speaking in tongues.  These are Kanye’s twin ideals, and like his idols he desperately wants to be both socially conscious and world famous.  Both have their pull – Kanye responds to Ivy’s verse with a “take ‘em to church” line and emphasis on the choir-like backing vocals.  Then, as soon as Jay-Z comes back, West slips back into his rapper role.  He plays both roles well, but he’s at his best when he’s true to himself.  This is what makes his lyrics compelling – he often treads on trite language and flirts with cliches, but an honesty and openess radiates from his best verses.  Here’s a man who works so hard to cultivate a persona, yet he sounds most interesting when he pulls back the curtain and reveals that he’s as self-conscious, conflicted, and neurotic as the rest of us.  I feel his pain and hope he eventually finds peace somewhere in the middle of these two poles.  Still, there’s a selfish part of me that hopes that he stays conflicted and keeps searching, if only to keep him artistically sharp.

More on Kanye West: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: kanye west | jay-z | j. ivy | roc-a-fella | 2004 | hip hop | track analysis | contradictions |
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