I was reading some Neil-related posts. The last one was by Ms. Amanda Palmer and their trip through China where she joined Neil who was researching for his new half-fiction/half-nonfiction book. The entry was supplemented with many entries, and in that sense, came to understand Amanda better, even though I'm a fan of some of The Dresden Dolls's songs (and she's using the Tumblr platform for her blog). Scrolling down, I came across a post that I started to read maybe a month ago. I thought it looked promising then. But it was a bit long, and the putting off didn't happen until today, which by the way, was accidental.
So there it is, Amanda Palmer's open letter to Robert Smith . It detailed her pre-adolescent and teenage years, and how Robert Smith's words became a refuge from the world that doesn't understand her. She detailed her obsession with Robert, how she would stumble upon vinyl copies of Japanese imports which she couldn't buy because they were too expensive for a still-in-high-school Amanda, having a Robert Smith shrine in her bedroom, the most prominent of which is a wall poster of Smith with his back turned to the viewer "hiding his tears", perfecting the band name's font used in one of their albums, having relationships with guys who shared the same passion on the band with her. She lived with and in his words.
While I was reading that, what she was saying struck quite close to home. Although I've never had one favorite band that I stuck with through and through (sometimes, I would want to listen to something else; and besides, I'm not a lyrics-oriented person - melody is enough to make me a fan of a song or a band), but I believe that is how one loves a band. You do things to pay homage to the personality/group that has a big influence on you, or that in a way he/she/they only can, define you and give meaning to your life.
Before she went on with her point, she told the reader to play The Cure's Disintegration album, download if need be. The torrent file I found had 0% health (edit: or it's probably because I lost my connection that time). So I just played what was on my library, a random collection of Cure songs. The first track was Blue Monday. I read on.
She related how seeing her favorite bands in high school in a festival in Coachella where she also performed reminded her about what music is to her. She mentioned that she had been a bad fan, because she eventually forgot about Robert Smith once she was finally able to do the thing that she always wanted because of Smith - becoming a musician and speaking to people through the songs.
And I recall. Even though I didn't grow up listening to the Cure, nowadays, as I listen to tracks I've collected because they are one of the greatest musicians I keep hearing about but have never listened to (not because some magazine or chart proclaimed to be, but reading about them and their influences in the articles of Erwin Romulo (in his earlier Young Star (the Friday section of a national daily) articles and my impressionable age of 11-14 - I'm impressionable until now actually but those were the years that I believe Young Star really shined). His were the only articles I remember, I'm not sure if I've read other writers' referencing or talking about the band), I realize that the music is right. For me, for my soul. Maybe not for all, but there are some in my measly collection which cut through. Though I don't know exactly what the songs say, the melody reminds me of me. I've never been familiar with their songs, hearing them only sparingly on the radio even during my younger days, and the only song that I knew then was theirs was Boys Don't Cry because my cousin liked to sing that on videoke. Hearing their songs brought the feeling that I was already aware and listening when those songs hit the radio and became popular, making them an inseparable part of my being. But these songs were from the 80s or the early 90s, a time when I had no favorite songs, no favorite artist, even no TV viewing apart from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles/X-Men/Power Rangers on Friday nights.
The yearning, angst, fear in Smith's lilting voice, the earnestness, bounciness in the melody reflect a part of me, mirroring my inner conflicts in their songs. I never thought I would feel an affinity with the Cure as I do now.
A new track played. It's If You Leave and the mp3 tag says it's from The Breakfast Club. Again, one of the rare movies that speak to me deeply emotionally. Yes, there are some movies that have made me cry, mainly because of how the characters end up. But this story about five students getting punishment because of a behavior stemming not only from their unconscious self, but as a result of years of rearing by the same persons who expect unreasonably and condemn them for not keeping up a facade that everything's alright... let's just say I haven't left teenagehood yet. Or more specifically, I haven't left my angsty self (the part so often associated with teenagehood) yet. As my friend Joyce pointed out, twentysomethings are still given to plenty of angst. Well, I think mine is angst left over (or like how others would see it, should have been left off) from teenage years. Mind, I first watched The Breakfast Club about a year ago, when I had somehow acquired a very fast access to internet and learned how Torrent works.
I'm well out of my teenage years then and I can't help identifying with everyone of them, reveling in the secrets they shared with each other, understanding, although not completely seeing as they come from different social circles, each others' plights, rendering themselves vulnerable where before they were not by allowing a peek into their innermost thoughts and feelings. I felt myself ready to cry as the track played and I replayed images from the movie in my head. Tears in understanding for all the misunderstood/boxed/much-expected-from people in the world.
In 4:13 Dream, I love the track This. Here. Now. With You. the most. It
reminds me closely of the Cure songs that I have come to associate with non-80s/early 90s me. The melody resounds of the old Cure songs that I've come to identify with.
It just somehow feels so much better when you know that you are not alone in experiencing all the stresses, setbacks and hurts in this world. You can have an anthem or a theme for a certain phase of your life, resolve or get over it, move on. And years later, a sight, sound, smell, or a certain emotion triggers a memory. And you're grateful; even if nobody you knew understand you, there is this music or this piece of art that made you feel belonged and understood. After all, it is better to choose death than loneliness.
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