"The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum." - Noam Chomsky
Dear Internauts,
Been spending most of my time trying to finish up with this chapter of my graphic novel. It feels like so much of life has flown so far out of my own hands, I don't even know where to start grasping. But this little bit I can do. Write and draw and try and make something half decent maybe.
Growing up, I only really listened to "Christian" music. I don't think it was a rule that I not listen to secular music, but I only got new cds when we went to the religious book store. I had no reference point with friends or culture to suggest anything outside of the kind of gospel pop with which I was familiar. The loudest opinions I ever heard about secular music were from those most outlandish haters who believed anything referring to sex, drugs, alcohol, or even a somewhat negative disposition was enough to be deemed the devil's music.
So I got the equivalent of knockoff brands. Supposed soundalikes stylistically, who were more often than not just slight hues off from the same ten to fifteen years behind mesh of poorly-balanced easy listening. Sure, there were flavors akin to rap or hard rock, but rarely anything that tried to be fresh or take real artistic chances. The goal, sound-wise, seemed to be to never stray too far from what you may hear if the church worship band found a drum machine or an overdrive pedal they really dug.
I think there are a lot of really talented, hard-working musicians in the Christian scene, sure, but growing up with it, I can tell you it hit like a sack of amps when folks first started to introduce me to actual metal or jazz or classic hip-hop and rock music. To think that the music itself wasn't simply a vehicle to carry the same bland message again and again, but was an end onto itself—that just bowled me right over.
I've been thinking a lot lately about what Linkin Park has meant to me and other folks in the wake of Chester's passing. One of the biggest things that hit me with their music and truly with his performance of it, was that pain and uncertainty were in plain view.
A kind of hardcore, emo, and more brutally honest flood of music hit me around the end of high school, past due for a lot of great groups, LP included. The biggest difference—and the reason why, say Emery or My Chemical Romance or now folks like Watsky or Childish Gambino really connect with me—is it's all about accessibility of the emotional weight in the art.
All those artists when I was growing up, trying so hard to walk this line between cool and missional, rock star and evangelist, performer and worshipper, they all wanted to take the listener to a particular place. All the same place, really. Mostly, they all seemed to want to already be there. Any brokenness displayed had to be soon followed up with healing. Every problem had a solution. Every line declaring personal struggle must coincide with another in praise to the ultimate deity.
Like all music, it has some level of emotions attached. I know from all those years in worship bands that it is an extreme course in manipulating the emotions of a crowd. Mob mentality with a soundtrack. You get hype at church camp or during revival and this is the part that gets stuck in your head. I know all the tricks and the contradictions, so I can't say that folks' hearts aren't in a good place. Still, many people don't get the kinda power they wield over this captive audience. Everyone there wants to fit in with the vibe. It feels good, because it was designed to. It wants to take you to a place.
If the bus is leaving and headed toward the horizon, but it never stopped to pick you up where you live, then you're always gonna be chasing after its exhaust, choking on dissatisfaction. I'm not saying it's better to ruminate, because I do think the best art can transport you, for sure. But the real meaningful stuff first meets you where you are. It doesn't talk down to you and criticize your pain as some sign of failure. It doesn't flog you with your weakness from a place of self-righteousness.
The art that really matters, lasts, and resonates first comes from a place of honesty. That's not saying "oh we're all broken and evil but God's not so it's all okay." It's saying, "hey these are my pieces and maybe I'm broken or maybe the connections are just not so easy to see right now and it's okay if it's not all okay."
I grew up so terrified of being real about my doubts, insecurities, awkwardness, and quirks. Partially, I see now that coming to terms with these things and facing them head on and arms open is a matter of being able to find relational touchstones. Hearing that someone else has been down the same road doesn't have to make me feel like "oh humanity sucks so much, we're all doomed." Instead, I can look at the bravery it takes to be real and share your scars in your art. That reaches a place in me that chasing after some bland, shiny bit of mold-fitting power-worship can't.
Tough honesty can meet me where I am, thus earning the right to take me on a journey of discovery. Trying to drag me there or forcing me to constantly play catch-up may sell a few Christmas albums, but it will always feel more hollow than whole.
Thanks for reading,
Odist
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