If I was an actor, I’d be a method actor. I have to feel something to express it well. Case in point: in high school, forensics was a “sport” in the fine arts milieu, where you read poetry or prose or acted out scenes from a story. The most ambitious / pretentious young adults invariably landed on the “farrago” category, which meant you selected and read an assortment of short pieces of prose or poetry on a theme. So naturally this is what I did my junior year, around the same time Duncan Sheik’s self-titled album came out. My theme was “love” (original, right?). However I was trying to explore different kinds of love, from the angry passion of Heathcliff, to the self-deluded “love” of the narrator of “My Last Dutchess,” to the sweeter of love one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. The interesting thing was, the quality of my performance of each of those pieces varied wildly depending on my emotional state. Awash in emotion over the crush who keeps breaking my heart? Nailing the Byronic hero. Giddy with possibility as she suddenly gives me fresh hope? The bard came out ahead.
All of which is a very roundabout way of saying that, like the performance of art, for me the reception of art is intricately bound with whatever I am going through at that point of my life. Which is why, despite a great deal of fondness for Duncan Sheik, both in terms of what his music meant / means to me, and his musicianship, I was afraid that revisiting his self-titled (and most angst-ridden) album might not touch me the same way it once did, even though I have confidence in the quality of the music. I’m in a much happier place now, and most of my ennui is reserved for work. However they just don’t write many angst-y or depressing songs about work. “Fred Jones, Part 2” is a notable exception, but we won’t get there until - let’s see, when did I get “Rocking the Suburbs?” - 2003. So here we have a masterful array of songs written for the broken hearted, for those burdened with an existential longing. How does it sound to a guy who no longer goes out of his way to spend much of his time wallowing in sorrow?
“She Runs Away” - This one got a little bit of radio play, for those of you keeping score at home. (Of what you’re keeping score, I don’t know. The pop-friendliness of my music tastes? Fair warning: it only gets more obscure from here, especially post-college.) I like the drums in this song. I’m not sure exactly what he’s using, but it seems like a cross between a drumset and bongos. Maybe both. Either way, the more melodic sound of the drum accents really blends with the strings and drawn out guitar notes. And it’s simple but true, “Happiness ain’t never how you think it should be.” Yeah, I still like this one, but I’m not super feeling the angst.
“In The Absence of Sun” - Sandwiched between his “barely on the radio” song and his mega-hit, this is the first song on the album I remember absolutely loving. It is probably the second most depressing romantic song on the album. Or maybe third; it’s a competitive category. He really captures the way avoiding the truth about what is really going on in a complex relationship has a way of reducing people to “shadows of [themselves].” When you can’t let out the truth that is tearing you up inside, you can’t really be yourself. And of course, as a person who once spent an absurd amount of time being friends with girls I was secretly in love with, lines like “I don’t want to say I’m just a friend” really resonated with me. The strings really add to the emotional weight of the song, and even now I can feel a bit of the old magic. If you can call something that makes you feel mopey “magic,” anyway. This one still really works for me.
“Barely Breathing” - Ah, the mega-hit. I’m sure Duncan was sick and tired of getting asked to play this one. Then again, once two or three albums went by, I assume most of the people who showed up for his concerts weren’t there for the one hit wonder song. And even if he still has to play the song sometimes, I’m sure winning that Tony for “Spring Awakening” helped ease the pain. I was never that crazy about this song, relative to the others, and I think a line like “It must have been that yesterday was the day that I was born” is pretty clunky for Duncan, but then again, the music and the singing have always been his strength over lyrics. On “Phantom Moon,” which I would call his best album, he wrote the music but not the lyrics. Though I do understand what the lyrics are trying to say; I am quite familiar with making a decision to wait and hope for a girl to change her mind, even though I know it will probably bite me in the ass. In fact, I probably spent almost half of my late teens and early twenties doing that.
“Reasons for Living” - I probably made this song about a girl when I first heard it, but now I hear more of Duncan’s spiritual side (Buddhist, in case you’re curious). I love the clanging reverberations of the piano in this song, and the way every note seems to echo, even the synthesized parts. It really helps sell the existential anxiety at the root of the song. This song does feature one crime against lyricism, though: trying to rhyme “mean” with “think.” It wouldn’t be so bad, but he strains to pronounce “think” in such a way as to rhyme ("thi~enk"). Still, I like the song, and I like the lyric, “There is a rhythm, it’s near and it’s far, it flows through the heart of us.” I’ve come to believe we’re all struggling for meaning, even those of us (myself included) who think we’ve found some meaning. We’re always looking for more; we always feel in danger of losing what meaning we’ve found; and no one else’s “raison d'etre” will do; we have to find it for ourselves.
“Days Go By” - There really are a lot of strings on this song. And even the way he plays guitar on many of the songs seems more melodious, more operatic. Thankfully I’m a fan. This is a positive love song, and yet somehow it seems sad, or anyway fragile. “Days go by; I catch myself smile” sounds like a recovery song from a break up, but instead this is more like him learning that it is okay to be happy now, okay to smile, since he has found someone wonderful (presumably after a string of heart-breaks). I like that, though. Not the “I have this relationship so now I’m happy” thing, but the dawning realization that things are going to be okay. I love the moment when a hint of a smile starts to peek out from a sad face.
“Serena” - Love the guitar on this song. Love. I saw him live, and it was just him and this other guy and like 14 guitars that they switched between, and this was one of the highlights. The guitar part on this song moves me emotionally, even without the lyrics. The song essentially asks the titular Serena how she got to this broken place. I think it does so in order to ask her to consider for herself what happened and to become an active participant in life again, instead of hiding away from everything. Great song. Easily the most rockin’ song on the CD. One with a fundamental sadness, but not one that wallows in it. And I love it whenever a singer sings along with the guitar part.
“Out of Order” - I’m kind of “meh” on this one. The song is about a friend advising him not to pursue a certain girl. I get the idea, but like the singer, I doubt I would listen to the friend. Certainly my seventeen-year-old self wouldn’t. Despite that, the song rings a little hallow, a little artificial in its melodrama. And the music is okay, but not as strong as on other songs.
“November” - Another serious contender for most depressing song on the album, and not one of my favorites. I like the sparseness of it, the spaces between the words and phrases, but like on “Out of Order,” or like Earnest Hemingway on a bender, I get the sense that maybe he set out to make something depressing, rather than that it just came out naturally. Although, I love this part, both the words and the delivery: “Something stays...so who am I to say...there’s nothing more between us?” And overall I like this a lot better than “Out of Order”, enough to say I definitely enjoy the song. Side note: this song reminds me a little bit of “Corpus Christi Carol” off of Jeff Buckley’s “Grace.” Though Buckley's song definitely wins any duel between them.
“Home” - I just let this one soak in. Way back in ‘98, I remember liking this song as the better of the two happy love songs on the album. It is sweet and warm, and I liked the instrumentation and the lyrics. And now - bringing it back to method acting - it feels a lot more relevant to my life than the other songs on the album, especially lines like, “I’m here by myself, but I know I’m not alone.” I really enjoyed this song, more than ever before.
“End of Outside” - From a few months after I got this album until I stopped listening to it regularly, this was my favorite song. It is also the most spiritual song on the album. Great guitar that rocks out more than most of the songs, not quite to "Serena" levels, but good. The steady drum thumping louder and louder into the chorus builds the tension masterfully, and the strings accent the chorus just right. Plus it has a bridge, and I am on record as being a lover of almost any bridge in any song, ever. Plus, you know, I do wonder “what’s at the end of outside.” So thanks for providing some spiritual food for thought, Duncan. In the end, his spiritual songs have always been my favorites.
“Little Hands” - Folks, we have a winner: this is the most depressing song on the album. Everything about this song, the sparseness, the melody, the way the guitar strings are plucked, even that screechy sound as he moves his hand up and down the frets - somehow it all adds to the sense of pain and loneliness. Plus, the lyrics just seem more vivid than the other sad songs. I can see it, I can feel it, I can hear his heart break. At one point, after she spends a night at his place sleeping off a lot of drinking, he tries to make a pass at her in the morning, and she says, “Didn’t you promise to give it a rest? Right now I need a lover like a hole, like a hole in the chest.” Ouch. And then she says, “Even if you had a chance, you never knew the game.” I remember the way you talk things out after a rejection, and then you let it go for the moment, but somewhere deep inside you can’t kill off hope, stupid hope that you know is just going to crush you again.
“In The Absence of Sun” - Sandwiched between his “barely on the radio” song and his mega-hit, this is the first song on the album I remember absolutely loving. It is probably the second most depressing romantic song on the album. Or maybe third; it’s a competitive category. He really captures the way avoiding the truth about what is really going on in a complex relationship has a way of reducing people to “shadows of [themselves].” When you can’t let out the truth that is tearing you up inside, you can’t really be yourself. And of course, as a person who once spent an absurd amount of time being friends with girls I was secretly in love with, lines like “I don’t want to say I’m just a friend” really resonated with me. The strings really add to the emotional weight of the song, and even now I can feel a bit of the old magic. If you can call something that makes you feel mopey “magic,” anyway. This one still really works for me.
“Barely Breathing” - Ah, the mega-hit. I’m sure Duncan was sick and tired of getting asked to play this one. Then again, once two or three albums went by, I assume most of the people who showed up for his concerts weren’t there for the one hit wonder song. And even if he still has to play the song sometimes, I’m sure winning that Tony for “Spring Awakening” helped ease the pain. I was never that crazy about this song, relative to the others, and I think a line like “It must have been that yesterday was the day that I was born” is pretty clunky for Duncan, but then again, the music and the singing have always been his strength over lyrics. On “Phantom Moon,” which I would call his best album, he wrote the music but not the lyrics. Though I do understand what the lyrics are trying to say; I am quite familiar with making a decision to wait and hope for a girl to change her mind, even though I know it will probably bite me in the ass. In fact, I probably spent almost half of my late teens and early twenties doing that.
“Reasons for Living” - I probably made this song about a girl when I first heard it, but now I hear more of Duncan’s spiritual side (Buddhist, in case you’re curious). I love the clanging reverberations of the piano in this song, and the way every note seems to echo, even the synthesized parts. It really helps sell the existential anxiety at the root of the song. This song does feature one crime against lyricism, though: trying to rhyme “mean” with “think.” It wouldn’t be so bad, but he strains to pronounce “think” in such a way as to rhyme ("thi~enk"). Still, I like the song, and I like the lyric, “There is a rhythm, it’s near and it’s far, it flows through the heart of us.” I’ve come to believe we’re all struggling for meaning, even those of us (myself included) who think we’ve found some meaning. We’re always looking for more; we always feel in danger of losing what meaning we’ve found; and no one else’s “raison d'etre” will do; we have to find it for ourselves.
“Days Go By” - There really are a lot of strings on this song. And even the way he plays guitar on many of the songs seems more melodious, more operatic. Thankfully I’m a fan. This is a positive love song, and yet somehow it seems sad, or anyway fragile. “Days go by; I catch myself smile” sounds like a recovery song from a break up, but instead this is more like him learning that it is okay to be happy now, okay to smile, since he has found someone wonderful (presumably after a string of heart-breaks). I like that, though. Not the “I have this relationship so now I’m happy” thing, but the dawning realization that things are going to be okay. I love the moment when a hint of a smile starts to peek out from a sad face.
“Serena” - Love the guitar on this song. Love. I saw him live, and it was just him and this other guy and like 14 guitars that they switched between, and this was one of the highlights. The guitar part on this song moves me emotionally, even without the lyrics. The song essentially asks the titular Serena how she got to this broken place. I think it does so in order to ask her to consider for herself what happened and to become an active participant in life again, instead of hiding away from everything. Great song. Easily the most rockin’ song on the CD. One with a fundamental sadness, but not one that wallows in it. And I love it whenever a singer sings along with the guitar part.
“Out of Order” - I’m kind of “meh” on this one. The song is about a friend advising him not to pursue a certain girl. I get the idea, but like the singer, I doubt I would listen to the friend. Certainly my seventeen-year-old self wouldn’t. Despite that, the song rings a little hallow, a little artificial in its melodrama. And the music is okay, but not as strong as on other songs.
“November” - Another serious contender for most depressing song on the album, and not one of my favorites. I like the sparseness of it, the spaces between the words and phrases, but like on “Out of Order,” or like Earnest Hemingway on a bender, I get the sense that maybe he set out to make something depressing, rather than that it just came out naturally. Although, I love this part, both the words and the delivery: “Something stays...so who am I to say...there’s nothing more between us?” And overall I like this a lot better than “Out of Order”, enough to say I definitely enjoy the song. Side note: this song reminds me a little bit of “Corpus Christi Carol” off of Jeff Buckley’s “Grace.” Though Buckley's song definitely wins any duel between them.
“Home” - I just let this one soak in. Way back in ‘98, I remember liking this song as the better of the two happy love songs on the album. It is sweet and warm, and I liked the instrumentation and the lyrics. And now - bringing it back to method acting - it feels a lot more relevant to my life than the other songs on the album, especially lines like, “I’m here by myself, but I know I’m not alone.” I really enjoyed this song, more than ever before.
“End of Outside” - From a few months after I got this album until I stopped listening to it regularly, this was my favorite song. It is also the most spiritual song on the album. Great guitar that rocks out more than most of the songs, not quite to "Serena" levels, but good. The steady drum thumping louder and louder into the chorus builds the tension masterfully, and the strings accent the chorus just right. Plus it has a bridge, and I am on record as being a lover of almost any bridge in any song, ever. Plus, you know, I do wonder “what’s at the end of outside.” So thanks for providing some spiritual food for thought, Duncan. In the end, his spiritual songs have always been my favorites.
“Little Hands” - Folks, we have a winner: this is the most depressing song on the album. Everything about this song, the sparseness, the melody, the way the guitar strings are plucked, even that screechy sound as he moves his hand up and down the frets - somehow it all adds to the sense of pain and loneliness. Plus, the lyrics just seem more vivid than the other sad songs. I can see it, I can feel it, I can hear his heart break. At one point, after she spends a night at his place sleeping off a lot of drinking, he tries to make a pass at her in the morning, and she says, “Didn’t you promise to give it a rest? Right now I need a lover like a hole, like a hole in the chest.” Ouch. And then she says, “Even if you had a chance, you never knew the game.” I remember the way you talk things out after a rejection, and then you let it go for the moment, but somewhere deep inside you can’t kill off hope, stupid hope that you know is just going to crush you again.
Well, would you look at that? I guess the music brought out my teenage angst side after all. I really enjoyed revisiting this one, although I think I could only listen to this album so often without waking up ol’ Heathcliff from his restful slumber. No thank you.
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