Rubber Ring: In Defense Of Music As A Personal Lifeline

Some people consider me to be a pessimist.

I suppose they might be right, at least to a certain extent. It’s hard to find the line where my depression washes over my world view, or perhaps the two are so overlapped I can’t find where one ends and the other begins.

It’s easy for me to grow hopeless: despair is my default mode, but maybe I’m looking at this in the wrong way.

Depression is one thing, because it exhausts you, it drains you, and such dragging lows can make it extremely difficult to even look after yourself. Disenchantment, or dissatisfaction with the world, however, can be something quite different.

I dreaded waking up this morning; anyone who is depressed knows that feeling upon waking up: you’re slammed with exhaustion as soon as you’re conscious. Any drive for life becomes virtually nonexistent. Great.

Things could be better right now: before the shows were cancelled by management, I was supposed to be planning a trip to Texas next week to see Morrissey.

You see, Morrissey always makes me feel better.

Photo by Jonathan.Weiner photography on Instagram

The people who don’t get Morrissey won’t understand what I’m saying here. Desperate deadline-crunching journalists have passed down the “Heaven knows he’s miserable now,” and “pope of mope” descriptors for decades. Dial-a-cliche. I’m not sure they’ve ever listened to him properly. But that’s fine – it’s their loss. Because to me, well - he’s my lifeline.

So, I’m still crushed right now – because I wanted to see him again before I had to face all those nasty things I don’t enjoy: like attending dismal holiday gatherings, being under the firing squad of "What are you doing with your life?" questions, or getting my antidepressants refilled (one being necessary to survive the others). Well, what can be done?

I had to drag myself out of bed today, not with any desire, but because I had some errands to attend to. So, I reluctantly went out, and I didn’t like anything I saw: walls of traffic, zombified Christmas shoppers piling into bland box-stores, caffeine-fuelled road-raging businessmen, and fast food families waddling under the 10 billion-served-and-slaughtered death-arches of McDonald’s. There was a lot of rushing, but to where, and for what? It’s a bit overwhelming, if you stop and think about it.

Modern life has no soul.

It’s easy to feel very alone.

It’s very easy to feel detached.

Life is presented and packaged to us in a certain way, and there is a certain order in which we do things, or so they tell us. It can get old very quickly.

Most politicians, the media, ‘authority’ figures – are all terrified that you might think, or feel for yourself, or that you could possibly want something different.

That’s where art comes in.

Art appeals to our longing for something more – something that acknowledges our struggle with – yet our understanding of - reality. I think it’s best when it tells us something about our raw feelings, or speaks to a certain ache.

Music is art. And it’s one of the only authentic expressions that’s all-encompassing of the mind, the heart, and the soul.

So why, why, why – is its distribution controlled by these major record labels, industry bores, and major media outlets, that don’t want us thinking or feeling or having our own opinions?

We are force-fed pre-packaged music – and it is essentially chosen for us and thrown in our faces and into our ears.

Most ‘artists’ today are uninspiringly manufactured; they come from reality shows. Hell, even the next American president, spray tan and all, comes from a reality show. Kardashian Kulture.

But if someone else in a drab air-conditioned office somewhere is choosing it for us, or telling us what to like – how is it art? Is it even still art if it doesn’t speak to us on any level?

If a singer’s voice is distorted by auto-tune to the tune of 100 “oh baby’s” layered over synthesizers, will that ever tell us anything about the state of our world or our own feelings?

Oh, but it's image. Someone from OK! Magazine thought it was...okay.

No wonder it’s so easy to feel alone, or bored, or despondent – because everything that’s presented to us is the same.

And that’s why there’s nothing wrong with feeling disillusioned – because those who feel that way are often the ones who look for more.

My late 20’s were dreadful because I felt so lonely. Teenage angst wasn’t really a teenage thing at all – it was a life-thing – and I was overcome by the knowledge that the world is a painful place, and my feelings of being an outsider would never really dissolve. I wanted something to speak to me, and along with books, music was always my favourite escape – but nothing ever reached me in quite the right way. I just couldn’t find my place in the world.

Then, relatively late in life, I found Morrissey.

How did he know?

“What She Said...How come someone hasn’t noticed that I’m dead, and decided to bury me, God knows I’m ready.”

Oh my God, he’s singing about me! Well, not exactly, but – it felt that way. It was like someone reached into the depths of my heart and found a diary in there, unlocked it, and was reading it back to me.

I immediately bought his whole catalogue. It was absolutely life-changing.

Life Is A Pigsty.

Earth Is The Loneliest Planet.

The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores.

Who else was saying these things? This was the ultimate catharsis. He can make me laugh and sob in the same 4 minutes of beautiful music. Some hope and some despair – woven together – a reflection of life, actual life. He speaks to the parts of me that are broken, yet somehow remain strong because of this brokenness – because these fractured pieces make me unique. More than anything, I finally feel understood. How could I not love him?

He is the strength I never knew I had.

The winter I discovered him, my dream was to one day see him sing in person. Several months later, the first night I saw him walk on stage, from sixth row, in Seattle, I nearly burst into tears - he had rescued me, and here he was, in the flesh. Since then, I’ve seen him 15 times – and somehow – every time he walks on stage, it still feels like that first time. I am genuinely alive, even if it’s just for a few hours. I couldn’t ask for more than that.

Looking up at Morrissey on stage, singing, thrashing the microphone cord, the darkness and light surrounding his frame, there’s of course something supremely godlike about him, but there’s also something very vulnerable and exquisitely human about him. And he speaks to us, his audience, like intelligent, caring, humans. Somehow, that’s rare.

I wish in a week or so I could be watching Morrissey on stage, in a far-off place, surrounded by the friends I’ve made, other Morrissey “soulmates” from around the world. But for now, I’m at home.

Yes, I’m depressed, and yes, some days are struggles. But, at other times, I feel inspired and understood. Strangely, what led me to this place was my overriding sense of despair about the world. At times it’s crippling and I feel hopeless – but, if I didn’t experience this despair, I wouldn’t look for change - I’d simply just accept things.

I don’t want art to be boring and contrived. I want art to challenge my ideas. I want music to speak to me. Yet somehow... out-of-touch execs are making these decisions for us – and the true artists don’t have record deals.

I felt my heart break when I read True To You the other day, because I could tell that these dates being cancelled was gut-wrenching for Morrissey and the gifted musicians in the band. For days I didn’t want to look at any of the NME, Guardian, (et al.) articles being re-tweeted onto my Twitter timeline. The truth is, there will probably always be the predictable negativity from journalists, or from anon69 in the comments section of online music mags – or from those who are fed up they can’t get all the money back for their room at the Holiday Inn.

But remember, artists are human beings too.

It’s cold, dismal, and grey here – and my heart somehow still believes it's travelling to Texas; it’s wandering around confused while my luggage stands empty by the door.

I’m going to go listen to World Peace Is None Of Your Business.