004: Music and the City

As an immigrant boy growing up under reluctant guardians who’ve encouraged me to take up as less space as possible and essentially to disappear, I’ve conditioned my tongue to be held and my face to be blank. And every night I’d escape into my small room - with the lights still turned off, I’d lay on my bed squeezing a pillow, squeezing it to exorcise this devil of a load that got heavier each passing day, this soul’s burden that later became known to me as loneliness.

But it was a small clock radio resting over my head on a windowsill that I turned on and turned to, finding respite from solitude. From whatever turmoil that raged within me, music, like a friend, in its simple melodic construction infused with sublime harmony held together by steadfast rhythm, lifted me up, elevated my spirit.

Music was my comfort, my savior. At times, it complemented my moods, becoming a conduit to perpetuate the current state, giving justification to the uncontrollable desire, for example, to hold up both my middle fingers and to say, “FUCK YOU, WORLD!” And at times, it supplanted my emotions, being a gentle advisor, leading me away, for example, from looking down at the deep gorge below and from wondering, “What if…?”

Now, for the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling as though the rut is becoming a bottomless pit, impossible to climb out of, futile to escape it, and with a hopeless sigh I say simply, “I’m not in a good place.” (Here I must beg your pardon because I did not want my blog to showcase this…pathetic, I’m-so-sad voice so early on and….) Well, whatever.

I badly needed an escape. By chance or providence, I discovered through flavorpill that at Rothko, a band by the name Pixeltan was performing. Having downloaded their “Get Up / Say What,” a psychedelic, electronic groove that rides on sick, sick, SICK drum beats, I wanted to check them out. I wanted to experience the modern day version of an ancient shamanistic ritual: intoned by a high priestess to “get up,” I let myself be engulfed by the sound, possessed by the rhythm, and I swayed, bounced, up and up, transcending.

Next came Kid606 with his acid-house set. Because his mix embodied my acerbic view of the world, I knew I could face the world and exclaim, “World, you can weigh me down, but I’m fucking okay!” In my music induced euphoria, I felt the common thread of human experience pulling my spirit up—he feels what I feel, she feels what I feel, they all feel what I feel; I’m not alone.

Perhaps I’m deluding myself. Whatever. I’ll take my current high.