ROADMAP FOR THE SOUL
Call me a masochist, but I relish my times of distress and despair. I’ve grown an appreciation for the natural pains of life, recognizing that they, perhaps even more than joyful moments, give life meaning. Below, I list songs I find effective at drawing out my innermost fears and/or hangups. With the recognition that my worldview is harebrained and not reflective of the prevailing mindset, I advise you to listen to these songs and wallow at your own risk.
Bring it on Home to Me – Sam Cooke
Pairs well with moods and humors of all stripes.
I’m an avowed fan of songs that put me in a romantic mood. This song and the one that follows it on this list are two prime examples of what Frank Zappa liked to call “greasy” songs, or songs that ooze sentimentality to the point of disgust. He might have felt that way, but for me, sometimes it hits the spot in spite of not being musically challenging, in the same way that a bag of chips can curb hunger in spite of its unimpressive nutritional profile.
Lady Stardust – David Bowie
Remove wrapping and unravel into a fine paste.
Sometimes when you’re really down and out, you’re not looking for anything gussied up. You just want a sappy, mawkish crooner to tug at the ol’ heartstrings, and who better than Mr. Plastic Soul himself. It’s nothing too cagey or introspective – just desperate, panting love. If ever you find yourself in the throes of heartbreak, as I have on many an occasion, you may find that Lady Stardust suffices in place of, Idunno, a Coldplay song.
Runaway – Kanye West
Blend with a cool autumn night and get lost. Serves one.
The song many consider to be the crown jewel of Dark Fantasy teeters between self-loathing and self-pity. While I didn’t exactly consider myself a “jerk-off” last semester, and certainly didn’t feel worthy of a “toast for the douchebags,” Kanye helped me navigate what was then a complex tangle of emotions. In spite of the title, the song made me want not to run away from my problems but rather sit in them and find my humanity in my struggles.
Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues – Bob Dylan
Mixes well with one foot squarely on the gas pedal.
Bob Dylan – Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues (Audio)
When read on a page, the song is a desultory account of a trip to Mexico gone awry, but ingested aurally, it’s a boisterous anthem of triumph, the perfect blend of youth and maturity. Mike Bloomfield’s guitar tone is rivaled only by that of Jimi Hendrix among contemporaries in its hugeness. I can’t help but think of everyone who’s counted me out for the last 5 years as I roar (safely!) down the highway and blast this sonic middle finger right out the open driver-side window, letting it catch in the wind for all to hear.
Hey Hey, What Can I Do – Led Zeppelin
Leave her where the guitars play. Doctor’s orders.
Hey, Hey, What Can I Do (Remaster)
Another song in which the lyrical content and the music are at odds with each other. The conflict doesn’t seem forced or intentional, inasmuch as it is even felt at all. Robert Plant sings of an age-old lover-left-me quandary over a progression of mostly (if not entirely) major modality. Rather than lingering on the angst of loneliness, high school Johnny instead basked in the feelings of liberation that solitude can provide.
Madame George – Van Morrison
Distill until the very crystals of beauty are obtained. Store away from any worldly corruptors.
It’s mind-blowing how far a simple I-IV-V progression can be taken in the right hands. It can be hard to tell that this song follows so conventional a formula, so remote and enigmatic is its sound. Writers the likes of Lester Bangs have spoken glowingly of its singular ability to capture human suffering, and I have spent many a night lying on my couch, not upset about any one thing, probing Van Morrison’s transcendent vocal for the mysteries of life.
She Said She Said – The Beatles
Let age. Ready to consume when the walls have crumbled.
She Said She Said (Remastered 2009)
I can actually justify this song’s inclusion with a particular incident in my life in which it appeared. I had a huge blowout fight with someone I used to know, and I blasted this song while driving (safely!) home. Before that, it was just a cool song off of my favorite Beatles album. Now, hearing the tin-tone guitars try and fail to fit into a swirling mixed-meter rhythm fills me with dread. Not the redemptive kind, either. I’m sorry to say that Revolver has mostly stayed in the jewel case since that day. Maybe one day I’ll be able to clear the cobwebs and play it again. Until then, it’ll be a piece of plastic with a cool enough looking picture sitting in a case in my car.
So it’s true, even for me, that sometimes pain unequivocally sucks. Nothing is learned, or gained, or forgiven. There’s no maturation, no fulfillment. I can’t prescribe music for these situations, which, now that I think about it, probably says something about the way I think of music. As long as there is a sliver of hope in whatever befalls, I know I can turn to music, not as a distraction or a salve, but as a signpost to find the new version of myself, or as Bob Dylan says, “a roadmap for the soul.”
