Let's Face the Music and Dance:
or, The Trouble with "Rolling in the Deep", and my personal philosophy of music
or, The Trouble with "Rolling in the Deep", and my personal philosophy of music
I am a Daydreamer with a capital D. According to the Adele fan page I spend copious amounts of time on instead of completing homework or acquiring female companionship, "Daydreamers are fans who enjoy no benefits, material or similar, (from their fandom) and their sole goal is to share and spread the love and admiration for the vocal and poetic talent of Miss Adele Laurie Blue Adkins." In other words, we're Adele's Trekkies, and in a battle with ManLady Gaga's Little Monsters, we'd totes win. But now to the point; what I'm about to say may prove rather offensive to fellow Daydreamers. I hope you will not shun me from your cloistered community of chronically weepy "21" listeners after perusing the contents of this post. Please know that I am a true blue fan; "Hometown Glory" is my homesickness theme song, "Someone Like You" will be my break-up cure if I ever lose a lady, and I get so into singing "Rumour Has It" that I gender-switch the lyrics so I don't feel like I'm doing a one-man sassy drag show. I love Adele with all my heart, but it must be said...
TAKE "ROLLING IN THE DEEP" OFF THE RADIO. NOW, DAMMIT. If it's on, stop listening to it.
I know I'm not alone here. Casual listeners and even Lite Daydreamers have shared similar feelings. They're sick of it, and what's worse, they're numb to it--they don't feel it anymore. This is a matter of paramount concern to me, and not just because Adele's my favorite thing since they invented Nutella. Before discussing "Rolling in the Deep" any more, I have some deeply weird opinions regarding musical philosophy, and now feels like the appropriate time to share 'em.
MASON'S THREE PART THEORY OF POPULAR MUSIC
1) Pop music is the music of identification. Defining pop music in terms of specific aural qualities is difficult. We could say it's whatever type of music achieves mainstream success--that certainly makes it popular in the song-from-Wicked sense. We could, I suppose, profess that it's music made up of material that's part of a uniquely modern vernacular; music that encompasses popular slang, popular sounds, popular styles. But ultimately, I think it comes down to this; popular music reflects popular sentiments. Good pop music makes it its business to encapsulate widely felt emotions and beliefs. It's the difference between Beethoven and the Beatles. All Beethoven music makes us feel one way; transcendent. It exists on a plain above our everyday woes and wants and places us on that plain. By contrast, each Beatles song, however trivial, comes down to our level and speaks to us there. Take "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", yes, at first glance just an expertly tailored piece of 60's school-dance pop, but listen to the chorus, and you'll notice something more. There's a reason this song is effective when slowed down, as in Across the Universe. It's got a lot of depth. Using simple terminology, McCartney and Co are saying "I know how it feels to want to connect to someone; I'll prove it by singing about it." Perhaps that is the clearest possible thematic definition of pop music: pop music says "I know how you feel; I'll prove it by singing about it." You have an irresistible urge to go crazy on the dance floor, maybe do a little light bumping and grinding? Pitbull gets it, and his lyrics prove it. All mixed up after the party? Katy Perry's got your back. On a darker note, are you addicted to all the wrong kinds of love? Eminem and Rihanna have a song about it. Or maybe the love is gone; maybe all that's left are the broken pieces, and you need someone to give voice to your confusion as you attempt to put it all back together. In that case, Adele's your girl. But, here's the thing...
2) She's only as good as you'll let her be. What the hell does that mean, Mason? Ok, let's talk about 21 as a whole. As you know or have intuited by now, it's a straightforward breakup album, with Adele progressing from blind anger to wounded acceptance as the album moves toward its close, the glorious "Someone Like You". These songs are intended to put Adele's pain into words, and thus, maybe put yours into words as well. They're damn good songs, and they can be so much more than music; they can be an aid to empathy. Now, I know I've talked about movie and literature as "aids to empathy" too, but with pop music, it's different. If literature and movies help us avoid a desensitized existence by giving us great fictional characters to feel for, pop music helps us feel for ourselves, uncork whatever reserves of joy or sorrow or confusion we're bottling up, so that repression doesn't get the best of us. Great music cuts us open so we can dance like there's no tomorrow, cry till the sun comes up, or hold our loved ones just a little closer. But, in order for it to do said opening up, you have to let it get under your skin. Listening to music cannot be a passive experience; when it becomes something to listen to as you drive or sleep or do P90X, its transformative powers are all but squandered. To listen closely is to be changed deeply in some cases. For example, after a messy bout of unrequited love, I searched through my Itunes library to find a song to suit my sullen state. As is generally a good idea, I picked the first one I came across; Florence + The Machine's "I'm Not Calling You A Liar". 'This is a sad song", I thought at first. But it wasn't just that it conveyed sadness well. It conveyed the truth of my emotions. I honed in on the lyrics. "I love you so much/I'm gonna let you kill me", Florence sang, and there it was, exactly how I felt, put into words in a way I'd never have expected. Hyperbolic words, to be sure, but true ones. I cried it out. That was the beginning of a solid recovery. Songs can really do this. If you find the ones that mean a lot to you, and listen to them at a moment when you think they echo your own emotions, they can be the world's most powerful form of catharsis.
3) However, they can only move you so deeply so many times. Look at your favorite song in kindergarten. Look at it in middle school. 8th grade. Sophomore year. How about now? Totally different, I'd bet. Why? Well, partially because letting go of "The Hampster Dance" isn't hard to do, but also because that song probably meant a LOT to you. A certain turn of phrase or guitar lick touched your soul. Because of this, you listened to it over and over and over, until you became immune to its power. You still cross paths with it every now and then, but, as it so often is with accidental encounters with old friends, things aren't quite the same. There are a precious few songs in the world that move you deeply, and it's a crime to use them up; to listen to them so much that they cease to move or excite you on an elemental level. "But Mason", you say, "Barbra's your favorite, surely you listen to her songs all the time!" True, but the other night, I noticed something. I was trying to unwind after a hard day of class, so I flipped on my favorite Babs ballad, "Somewhere". It just wasn't doing it for me. I knew every nook and cranny, and could no longer explore the universe of the piece. Then, by chance, I stumbled upon an oddity, a piquantly restrained Streisand cover of "The Water Is Wide". I did a little crying and then I was out like a light. Sometimes, the old standbys just need a break. Here's where we get to the song at hand, kids.
"Rolling in the Deep" was a smash hit for a reason; it encapsulates a post-breakup meltdown better than just about any song written in the 21st century. It starts off angry, yes, with Adele's fury "reaching a fever pitch". She's bent on getting him back for what he did, but she admits that she keeps thinking they "almost had it all." Close, but no cigar. It simply wasn't good enough. But as worlds like "scars" and "breathless" give voice to her psychological wounds, she changes from "almost had it all", unable to hide her feeling that, hell; "we could've had it all". A more powerful cry of confused despair isn't imaginable. This lyric captures that moment when you know a relationship could've worked out, if, if, if and only if....and over this piercing bullet of a chorus, a back-up refrain; "You're gonna wish you never had met me/Tears are gonna fall/Rolling in the deep." The lead vocal belongs to a woman who knows in her heart of hearts that she is loveless and lost, but the back-up urges her on towards hardened anger and maybe even vengeance. It is the contrast between these two emotions, between total solipsistic surrender and active anger, that drive the whole album, until at last, on "Someone Like You", Adele finds a happy medium; she's bruised and bitter, but now she can look her old flame and the eye and say "I wish nothing but the best, for you, too." So, technically, "Rolling in the Deep" is the impetus for all the songs that follow on the album. It's also a great standalone song. Pop music this good is increasingly rare. That's why it's genuinely terrifying that this song is facing backlash. It could prove a useful tool for getting over whatever love woes are getting you down, but not if it's sandwiched between "Party Rock Anthem" and a commercial for Jim Adler, not if it's playing at car shows and track meets and on Glee. If we overuse it, we lose it.
So, what's the point of it all, then? Yes, I am trying to do service to a piece of music that I truly love. I don't want people getting sick of a song that could do wonders for them. But I also feel that what I'm saying is just good advice in general. There's a nursery rhyme that goes;
Catch a falling star an’ put it in your pocket, Never let it fade away Catch a falling star an’ put it in your pocket, Save it for a rainy day
Popular music can be our light in the dark, but not if we plunder it and thus abuse its potential. Have a song that moves you? That really, really gets you? Save it for a rainy day. Or a lazy afternoon. Or a beautiful sunset. Save it for when you need to be moved, really moved. Great pop songs are rare, and when one comes into our lives, we don't have the luxury of saying to ourselves what the object of my Daydreaming once sang: "Never mind, I'll find someone like you!"
MASON'S THREE PART THEORY OF POPULAR MUSIC
1) Pop music is the music of identification. Defining pop music in terms of specific aural qualities is difficult. We could say it's whatever type of music achieves mainstream success--that certainly makes it popular in the song-from-Wicked sense. We could, I suppose, profess that it's music made up of material that's part of a uniquely modern vernacular; music that encompasses popular slang, popular sounds, popular styles. But ultimately, I think it comes down to this; popular music reflects popular sentiments. Good pop music makes it its business to encapsulate widely felt emotions and beliefs. It's the difference between Beethoven and the Beatles. All Beethoven music makes us feel one way; transcendent. It exists on a plain above our everyday woes and wants and places us on that plain. By contrast, each Beatles song, however trivial, comes down to our level and speaks to us there. Take "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", yes, at first glance just an expertly tailored piece of 60's school-dance pop, but listen to the chorus, and you'll notice something more. There's a reason this song is effective when slowed down, as in Across the Universe. It's got a lot of depth. Using simple terminology, McCartney and Co are saying "I know how it feels to want to connect to someone; I'll prove it by singing about it." Perhaps that is the clearest possible thematic definition of pop music: pop music says "I know how you feel; I'll prove it by singing about it." You have an irresistible urge to go crazy on the dance floor, maybe do a little light bumping and grinding? Pitbull gets it, and his lyrics prove it. All mixed up after the party? Katy Perry's got your back. On a darker note, are you addicted to all the wrong kinds of love? Eminem and Rihanna have a song about it. Or maybe the love is gone; maybe all that's left are the broken pieces, and you need someone to give voice to your confusion as you attempt to put it all back together. In that case, Adele's your girl. But, here's the thing...
2) She's only as good as you'll let her be. What the hell does that mean, Mason? Ok, let's talk about 21 as a whole. As you know or have intuited by now, it's a straightforward breakup album, with Adele progressing from blind anger to wounded acceptance as the album moves toward its close, the glorious "Someone Like You". These songs are intended to put Adele's pain into words, and thus, maybe put yours into words as well. They're damn good songs, and they can be so much more than music; they can be an aid to empathy. Now, I know I've talked about movie and literature as "aids to empathy" too, but with pop music, it's different. If literature and movies help us avoid a desensitized existence by giving us great fictional characters to feel for, pop music helps us feel for ourselves, uncork whatever reserves of joy or sorrow or confusion we're bottling up, so that repression doesn't get the best of us. Great music cuts us open so we can dance like there's no tomorrow, cry till the sun comes up, or hold our loved ones just a little closer. But, in order for it to do said opening up, you have to let it get under your skin. Listening to music cannot be a passive experience; when it becomes something to listen to as you drive or sleep or do P90X, its transformative powers are all but squandered. To listen closely is to be changed deeply in some cases. For example, after a messy bout of unrequited love, I searched through my Itunes library to find a song to suit my sullen state. As is generally a good idea, I picked the first one I came across; Florence + The Machine's "I'm Not Calling You A Liar". 'This is a sad song", I thought at first. But it wasn't just that it conveyed sadness well. It conveyed the truth of my emotions. I honed in on the lyrics. "I love you so much/I'm gonna let you kill me", Florence sang, and there it was, exactly how I felt, put into words in a way I'd never have expected. Hyperbolic words, to be sure, but true ones. I cried it out. That was the beginning of a solid recovery. Songs can really do this. If you find the ones that mean a lot to you, and listen to them at a moment when you think they echo your own emotions, they can be the world's most powerful form of catharsis.
3) However, they can only move you so deeply so many times. Look at your favorite song in kindergarten. Look at it in middle school. 8th grade. Sophomore year. How about now? Totally different, I'd bet. Why? Well, partially because letting go of "The Hampster Dance" isn't hard to do, but also because that song probably meant a LOT to you. A certain turn of phrase or guitar lick touched your soul. Because of this, you listened to it over and over and over, until you became immune to its power. You still cross paths with it every now and then, but, as it so often is with accidental encounters with old friends, things aren't quite the same. There are a precious few songs in the world that move you deeply, and it's a crime to use them up; to listen to them so much that they cease to move or excite you on an elemental level. "But Mason", you say, "Barbra's your favorite, surely you listen to her songs all the time!" True, but the other night, I noticed something. I was trying to unwind after a hard day of class, so I flipped on my favorite Babs ballad, "Somewhere". It just wasn't doing it for me. I knew every nook and cranny, and could no longer explore the universe of the piece. Then, by chance, I stumbled upon an oddity, a piquantly restrained Streisand cover of "The Water Is Wide". I did a little crying and then I was out like a light. Sometimes, the old standbys just need a break. Here's where we get to the song at hand, kids.
"Rolling in the Deep" was a smash hit for a reason; it encapsulates a post-breakup meltdown better than just about any song written in the 21st century. It starts off angry, yes, with Adele's fury "reaching a fever pitch". She's bent on getting him back for what he did, but she admits that she keeps thinking they "almost had it all." Close, but no cigar. It simply wasn't good enough. But as worlds like "scars" and "breathless" give voice to her psychological wounds, she changes from "almost had it all", unable to hide her feeling that, hell; "we could've had it all". A more powerful cry of confused despair isn't imaginable. This lyric captures that moment when you know a relationship could've worked out, if, if, if and only if....and over this piercing bullet of a chorus, a back-up refrain; "You're gonna wish you never had met me/Tears are gonna fall/Rolling in the deep." The lead vocal belongs to a woman who knows in her heart of hearts that she is loveless and lost, but the back-up urges her on towards hardened anger and maybe even vengeance. It is the contrast between these two emotions, between total solipsistic surrender and active anger, that drive the whole album, until at last, on "Someone Like You", Adele finds a happy medium; she's bruised and bitter, but now she can look her old flame and the eye and say "I wish nothing but the best, for you, too." So, technically, "Rolling in the Deep" is the impetus for all the songs that follow on the album. It's also a great standalone song. Pop music this good is increasingly rare. That's why it's genuinely terrifying that this song is facing backlash. It could prove a useful tool for getting over whatever love woes are getting you down, but not if it's sandwiched between "Party Rock Anthem" and a commercial for Jim Adler, not if it's playing at car shows and track meets and on Glee. If we overuse it, we lose it.
So, what's the point of it all, then? Yes, I am trying to do service to a piece of music that I truly love. I don't want people getting sick of a song that could do wonders for them. But I also feel that what I'm saying is just good advice in general. There's a nursery rhyme that goes;
Popular music can be our light in the dark, but not if we plunder it and thus abuse its potential. Have a song that moves you? That really, really gets you? Save it for a rainy day. Or a lazy afternoon. Or a beautiful sunset. Save it for when you need to be moved, really moved. Great pop songs are rare, and when one comes into our lives, we don't have the luxury of saying to ourselves what the object of my Daydreaming once sang: "Never mind, I'll find someone like you!"
