A Commentary On Society:The Song That Changed, And Why I Can't Listen To It Anymore
March 21st 2011 21:02
I have a confession to make: I'm a musical polygamist. Rock, pop, metal or hip-hop, it doesn't matter; if I like a song, I put it on my iPod, genre be damned. Once they're in there, I'll listen to them over and over again.
Music, for me, is not some throwaway gag; every song I own meant something to me when I heard it. Do I get tired of them? Occasionally. But these songs, motley as they are, have been invested with so much emotion that I'd never dream of deleting them- at least, not until today.
The song in question is a lovely thrash-metal piece entitled "Save Me." I liked it for its crunchy power chords, simple drums, and, of course, the lyrics, which I felt reflected my own sense of being consumed by my bland and wholesome surroundings. School was trying to turn me into a middle-manager, a government stooge; I wanted to be more than that, but it seemed as though I was trapped in college, almost as if I couldn't get anywhere in life without it. I needed someone to "Save me/from this disease/ that's feeding on the better part of me." That song fed the spark of defiance burning in my heart, stoking it to a flame. I loved it for that... but it betrayed me.
Today, I was listening to my iPod while writing an essay for class- thirty pages, due that day. I was exhausted, and needed a break. My mind was just about melted from all the work I'd done, so, as usual, I flipped through the menu looking for my favorite song.
I was in a bit of a stupor at that point, I'll admit. Sitting in my uncomfortable chair, slouching a bit, I stared at my Grand Prix poster wishing I could be somewhere else. My eyes wandered aimlessly across the detritus of my life: a glass Coke bottle from Mexico, the globe-shaped Indonesian bookends in their cherrywood stands, stained textbooks and dirty plates, symbols of the man I was, and the man I longed to be.
My head was empty. All the thoughts, all the emotions these images conjured, had been used up. The pain had drained away; all that was left was the desire for escape, echoed in the singer's cry. That man, at least, was a kindred spirit; yet I felt as distant from him as from anyone else. The symbol of his band was a mystery to me, as was its name. Why "Burn Halo"? I didn't know. The answer could have easily been found, but what was the fun in that? I took more pleasure in the contemplation of mysterious things- speculation and guesswork were the spice of life. I wanted the answer enough to seek it, but not enough to surrender the journey, the intellectual stimulation that I loved, and that college lacked. And so I sat there, turning the problem idly in my mind, eyes closed, resting. Burn Halo. Save Me. Longhorn Skull. Guns. Burn. Halo. Save.
At last, something clicked. The answer had been there all along, staring me in the face: religion. That's what the song was about. That's all it was about.
I felt violated. All along, I had thought I was in the presence of a superior mind, a fellow seeker-after-truth. The song had come to represent something universal, something I cared about more deeply than anything else. But it had all been a lie.
Don't get me wrong- I don't hate Christianity. In fact, I like it in the way that most Americans do, as a place to socialize and, occasionally, attain a kind of peace. Traditional church music is restful; it has been around for thousands of years, and I love the way it sounds. But contemporary church music makes me want to hurl. It's cheap, corny, and fake, a dishonest way to get unsuspecting bystanders through the door and past the Pearly Gates. I hate it with all my heart and soul.
In today's America, religion is mass-marketed like anything else. Something which used to be unique and personal has become a commodity good, with all the compromises that implies. My ancestors, the Germans, built massive cathedrals out of stone, chiseled by ill-paid craftsmen over decades until they were fit for use, than filled with beautiful Latin music. Nowadays, new churches are built from metal. It's cheap and durable, which means that more churches can be built, and thus, more people "saved." This new music is exactly the same; it's a cheap emotional high, perfect for getting pleasure-seeking teenagers addicted to faith. Justifiable? Maybe. But I refuse to be part of it. That's why, as soon as I've finished writing this, I'm going to delete Burn Halo from my iPod forever. They deserve no less.
Music, for me, is not some throwaway gag; every song I own meant something to me when I heard it. Do I get tired of them? Occasionally. But these songs, motley as they are, have been invested with so much emotion that I'd never dream of deleting them- at least, not until today.
The song in question is a lovely thrash-metal piece entitled "Save Me." I liked it for its crunchy power chords, simple drums, and, of course, the lyrics, which I felt reflected my own sense of being consumed by my bland and wholesome surroundings. School was trying to turn me into a middle-manager, a government stooge; I wanted to be more than that, but it seemed as though I was trapped in college, almost as if I couldn't get anywhere in life without it. I needed someone to "Save me/from this disease/ that's feeding on the better part of me." That song fed the spark of defiance burning in my heart, stoking it to a flame. I loved it for that... but it betrayed me.
Today, I was listening to my iPod while writing an essay for class- thirty pages, due that day. I was exhausted, and needed a break. My mind was just about melted from all the work I'd done, so, as usual, I flipped through the menu looking for my favorite song.
I was in a bit of a stupor at that point, I'll admit. Sitting in my uncomfortable chair, slouching a bit, I stared at my Grand Prix poster wishing I could be somewhere else. My eyes wandered aimlessly across the detritus of my life: a glass Coke bottle from Mexico, the globe-shaped Indonesian bookends in their cherrywood stands, stained textbooks and dirty plates, symbols of the man I was, and the man I longed to be.
My head was empty. All the thoughts, all the emotions these images conjured, had been used up. The pain had drained away; all that was left was the desire for escape, echoed in the singer's cry. That man, at least, was a kindred spirit; yet I felt as distant from him as from anyone else. The symbol of his band was a mystery to me, as was its name. Why "Burn Halo"? I didn't know. The answer could have easily been found, but what was the fun in that? I took more pleasure in the contemplation of mysterious things- speculation and guesswork were the spice of life. I wanted the answer enough to seek it, but not enough to surrender the journey, the intellectual stimulation that I loved, and that college lacked. And so I sat there, turning the problem idly in my mind, eyes closed, resting. Burn Halo. Save Me. Longhorn Skull. Guns. Burn. Halo. Save.
At last, something clicked. The answer had been there all along, staring me in the face: religion. That's what the song was about. That's all it was about.
I felt violated. All along, I had thought I was in the presence of a superior mind, a fellow seeker-after-truth. The song had come to represent something universal, something I cared about more deeply than anything else. But it had all been a lie.
Don't get me wrong- I don't hate Christianity. In fact, I like it in the way that most Americans do, as a place to socialize and, occasionally, attain a kind of peace. Traditional church music is restful; it has been around for thousands of years, and I love the way it sounds. But contemporary church music makes me want to hurl. It's cheap, corny, and fake, a dishonest way to get unsuspecting bystanders through the door and past the Pearly Gates. I hate it with all my heart and soul.
In today's America, religion is mass-marketed like anything else. Something which used to be unique and personal has become a commodity good, with all the compromises that implies. My ancestors, the Germans, built massive cathedrals out of stone, chiseled by ill-paid craftsmen over decades until they were fit for use, than filled with beautiful Latin music. Nowadays, new churches are built from metal. It's cheap and durable, which means that more churches can be built, and thus, more people "saved." This new music is exactly the same; it's a cheap emotional high, perfect for getting pleasure-seeking teenagers addicted to faith. Justifiable? Maybe. But I refuse to be part of it. That's why, as soon as I've finished writing this, I'm going to delete Burn Halo from my iPod forever. They deserve no less.
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