Overkill River: The Lie We Share
"One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection." ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, Chapter 3
Begin with the assumption that, for a musician, the moment that a new song is created is a moment of perfection. In that moment the song is genuine, a snapshot of a state of mind or emotion. But, like Tyler Durden says, a moment is the most you can ever expect for perfection. With a song, once that moment passes, it's time to play the music and sing the lyrics fifty times in order to hammer it into a perfected, ready-to-record state. Then, once you're in the studio, you'll have to do another thirty takes to make sure that you've captured the best possible version of the song. Each time you sing those words and hear that melody, you're a little further removed from the moment you once immortalized. And each time you try to find the raw nerve that inspired you to write in the first place, it's a little more numb, partially due to distance and partially due to fatigue. There's only so many times that you can allow yourself to feel the same pain, to punish yourself for the same mistakes, or to remember the red in her cheeks as you walked together on that cold winter's night.
So, what's left after perfection's moment has passed? If you believe Will Sheff and Okkervil River, the answer is "a lie". It's the lie that exists when the artist is on stage, singing for the thousandth time about a lover he wronged long ago, and the lie that exists when a lonely kid in the big city internalizes that song and decides that the singer understands the pain he feels. It's the lie that convinced Shannon Wilsey to chase the love of rock stars and the lie that tortured Savannah when she realized that her fame couldn't keep her company on her nights alone.
The question now becomes "why do we all fall for this lie?" Why do the fans who know they're being lied to continue to sing along? Why do the musicians who know that they're lying continue to do it? The answer is that there's no reason to continue the lie...unless it's kicks.
"Unless It's Kicks" - The Stage Names
The thing about musicians is that the fans tend to assume that because they're on stage, they're larger than life and therefore immune to the needs and insecurities that we all feel. "Unless It's Kicks" dismantles that conception. The song is about the catch-22 that arises from being creative and being adored. On one hand, creative individuals have the desire to express themselves, or in other terms, to continually create the moments of perfection discussed above. On the other hand, like most drugs, fame is addicting. "Unless It's Kicks" is sung from the perspective of a moderately famous musician who is also a self-described "sick man". The listener is introduced to him as he's on tour and he's "been driving too long / on a dark windless night / with the radio on / with the towns flying by". It's clear that, emotionally, the singer is in dire straits:
What pulls your body down, and that is quicksand
So, climb out quick, hand over hand
Before your mouth's all filled up
But, at the same time, things aren't hopeless. He's out on tour because it helps him stave off the pain that comes when the stage lights fade. In fact, he's out driving because he's "on a seven day high". His drug of choice?
That heavenly song
Punches right through my heart
And hums through my blood.
In case all that was too obtuse, Sheff comes right out and spells out the equation for us:
What picks you up from down unless it's tricks, man?
When I been fixed, I am convinced that I will not get so broke up again
The cure for his sickness is tricks...or, synonymously, the lie at the center of these two albums. He's going to go on stage and sing until he's cured. But, it's not as simple as that. Don't lose sight of Raina's entry about musicians and their many loves. It's no coincidence that this sick man is singing about how he does this all for kicks, and in one verse talks about "tricks" that pick him "up from down", and will do so until he's "fixed". There's a dichotomy in these two readings that's central to what Sheff is saying. On one hand he's on stage, singing about something that used to be true because he's hooked on the love he gets from his fans. On the other, it is his indulgences in the trappings of his mid-level fame that keep him broken.
It would be pathetic if the singer was unaware of what he was doing, but more importantly, it wouldn't ring true. As fans, it's easy to look at artists from our perspective, to imagine that they always love playing Akron, and think that Akron fans are the best fans in the world, and that they're really killing themselves on stage because their music really means something. In reality, every city has the best fans, because that sells. The band loves playing every city because every city loves them in return. As for the song that played the first time you tentatively pressed your lips against hers? The song that got you through a family member's illness? The singer tells us directly:
And I know it's a lie
But I'll still give my love
Hey, my heart's on the line
For your hands to pluck off
What gives this mess some grace unless it's fictions
Unless it's licks, man
Unless it's lies or it's love?
There's your confession. It's all a lie, and on the level that the fans appreciate, what he's doing is meaningless to him. It's only the lie that means something, the fiction in the earnestness of his performance and the love he receives in return that keeps him going. It's important to note that he genuinely loves the fans. They give him a rush that he can't find anywhere else, and he doesn't lose sight of what he owes them. At the same time, despite the mutual love they share, the fans will always be at a distance from him because they're not getting "him". They're getting an obsolete version of him, a version of him diminished by a dozen cities and a thousand miles and the screaming of countless crowds. They're getting the person that they've created in their head, the one that understands them, and the one with whom they'd totally be friends if only they could meet.
In a heartbreaking turn, the song ends on a lamentation. The singer knows the love his fans feel for him is false, and when he's willing to be introspective, it eats him up inside:
What breaks this heart the most is the ghost of some rock and roll fan
Exploding up from the stands
With her heart opened up
And I want to tell her, "your love isn't lost"
Say, "my heart is still crossed"
Scream, "you're so wonderful"
What a dream in the dark
About working so hard
About glowing so stoned
Trying not to turn off
Trying not to believe in that lie all on your own.
Sadly, the love of this dream of a fan is lost, because it's not for the singer. His heart can't be crossed (and hope to die), because he knows that he's lying. He'd love nothing more than to resist "turning off" and to feel the songs the way his fans do, but he can't wish away what he knows. This is the hollowness that threatens to drown him like quicksand, and it's caused by the same thrills that his creativity provides him.
"Pop Lie" - The Stand Ins
"Unless It's Kicks" is the sentiment that occurs when you have an artistic individual who is "genuine". This is the type of artist who romanticizes the lie and regrets his role in the equation. What happens when you encounter a cynical artist who was lying from the start? "Pop Lie" exists to cover the songs that never had a moment of perfection. Not every artist is Will Sheff, Win Butler, or Craig Finn. For every artist whose pen writes in blood and won't leave the stage until they collapse, there are legions of Ryan Cabreras and Jessica Simpsons. "Pop Lie" is Sheff's admonishment of the fans who adore crap and believe that Celine Dion and Rascal Flatts are spewing platitudes just for them. These are the artists who are the result of focus groups and demographic testing, the ones who produce songs that are:
All sweetly sung and succinctly stated
Words and music he calculated
To make you sing along
With your stereo on
As you stand in your shorts on your lawn
There's nothing wrong with music for good times. In fact, nothing goes better with good times than music. Where Sheff takes issue with the fans is when they diminish their own experiences by tying it to music that's unworthy of the experience. To wit:
Get completely incorporated
By some couple who consummated
Their first love by the dawn
A falling star wished upon
And flashed in the sky and was gone
To be certain, there's a smirk in Sheff's example. However, even if this couple shared their love without the celestial blessing, the point remains true. It only sullies the beauty and honesty of the moment to forever tie it to Bryan Adams' "(Everything I do) I Do It For You". There are a million other couples out there that will do the same thing, and Sheff demands that his listeners do better for themselves.
And mouths wet and long hair braided,
By the back room, the kids all waited
To meet the man in bright green
Who had dreamed up the dream that they wrecked their hearts upon
He's the liar who lied in his pop song
And you're lying when you sing along
And you're lying when you sing along
The conception of the fan here is strikingly different from that of "Unless It's Kicks". While the singer in "Kicks" does love his fans and hates the distance between them, these fans get a much less gentle treatment. Salivating and dressed up, they want a piece of the man who penned the song that mistreated their love. For their mistake, Sheff tries to shout to them and tell them about how wrong they are. While he is concerned about exposing the hypocrisy of the man in bright green, he's also partially condemning the fans for their mistake in loving the wrong way. It's probably not coincidental that the people who buy into the lie in this instance are children. There's certainly commentary on the mindstate of the fan whose heart is stirred by Gavin DeGraw to be found throughout this song.
Particularly telling in the previous verse is the distance between the artist and his fans. In "Kicks", the artist's "heart's on the line / for your hands to pluck off" during his show. In "Pop Lie", the artist is separated from his fans as they wait outside his dressing room. The immediacy of the relationship (false or not) between the genuine artist and his fans in presented not only as more visceral, but as mutual. The man in bright green is given no lines and no perspective, kept distant from his fans and from the listener, because he is ultimately more false for not even attempting to reach his fans with something honest.
So, here's the car seat, so cruelly weighted
And here's the faces already faded
At the end of the day
When they just threw away the only good thing that they owned,
And now they're pinned down and strangulated
The story of our listeners continues. The couple who consummated their relationship? The weight in that car seat is forever. The fresh faces already faded? The fans outside the dressing room were kids, after all. Both threw away the only good thing that they owned: their individuality. Now they're left in newer, uglier circumstances, and they never bothered to become anything more than generic. As a result, they're left hopeless and burdened.
Week by week, it climbs up and comes on
And we're feeling alright, though we know it's all wrong
I'm ashamed to admit that I can't help resist what I wished was the truth, but it's not
And I truly believe we're not strong
And we'll sing 'til our voices are gone
And then sink beneath that manicured lawn.
Here's the part that bothers Sheff. It's that these people are settling. They could do more, they could be more, they could look for something better, but instead they use the crap as anesthesia, numbing themselves from cradle to the grave.
Sheff leaves us on another snarky note:
This is respectfully dedicated
To the woman who concentrated
All of her love to find
That she'd wasted it on
The liar who lied in this song
Ultimately, the lie isn't a good thing or a bad thing. It's a necessary thing. It's what drives the people who can create great music to keep creating and it gives the fans something to love. But, the argument is that the "smaller" the lie, the better off we all are. One theme that runs between both of these songs is the importance of being genuine. This is because the lie isn't just a part of music, it's a part of everything. To call "the lie" a lie is probably too damning, but it serves to illustrate the point. In reality, the lie is simply what's lost in translation in the communication between artists and their fans. These gaps in understanding exist not only between artists and fans, but in every conversation and every relationship, and by permitting as few of them as possible we open the door for a more fulfilling life. This is why Sheff hates the artists who lie from the start, and to a lesser degree, the fans who love the big lie. Rather than searching for the truth, they accept a shorthand version of their emotions and their desires.
It's easy to condemn Sheff for being too demanding, too stringently "ethical", for want of a better term. There's nothing wrong with enjoying all types of music, even the junk food. But, tellingly, he never condemns the people who understand that Kelly Clarkson writes astounding pop songs while remaining aware enough to resist internalizing the lyrics. It's only the people who truly believe that "Since U Been Gone" tells the story of their recovery from a breakup with whom he takes issue. By my tolerance, he's still setting too strict a standard for his audience, because emotions work on both a micro and a macro level. More importantly, art and the appreciation thereof, while important, is only one small aspect of a life well-lived. It is possible to have generic or poor taste and live a life far less tragic than Sheff suggests. However, his overall point is still well-made and well-taken.
Sheff's points about developing one's own taste is why the "mid-level" band element of "Unless It's Kicks" (and, non-coincidentally, Okkervil River) is so pertinent to the message of these songs. In the 1950's, there were two options for music: the mass media and the local live venue. Discovery of new music was an undertaking, and one with no certainty of success. If you couldn't find a band, movie, or novel that resonated with you, that was simply the nature of the world in which you lived. But, we live in the age of limitless options, of micro-fame, and of the democratization of the means of production. Bands that would never have had the money to release an album thirty years ago now put out 15 tracks per month on MySpace. Some of the best writers in the world are accessible only through blogs. What you're looking for is out there, you just have to be willing to put in the work to find it. What you find will always be a lie. It will always serve a different need to for its creator than the need it satifies in you. But, the more options you have and the more honest expressions of intellect and emotion that are available to us, the smaller the lie becomes. Will Sheff is right: the fewer the lies, the better off we all are.
