- Metal went through a good period in 2014, but has dropped somewhat this year and nearing it. Unfortunate.
- Some guy named Servando Carrasco married some female named Alex Morgan (speaking of which, we might have their genders mixed up), so like whatever but on a more metal note it does totally sound like the title and sub-title of this blog. WITNESS. WITNESS THE POWERS OF THE FATES.
- Britain, by contrast, voted to exit the European Union.
- John Cyriis disappeared. Perhaps the aliens got him. They won't be taking Britain alive, though, as we just clarified.
- A vicar was recently sacked, 'for throwing live foxcubs to a pack of hounds.' Parables just don't come easy these days.
- Fates Warning released an album named 'Theories of Flight.' Someday this 'concept album about hanging around in a room' trend is going to get off the ground.
- Indie-pop is now a thing, so I guess that's unfortunate for alt rock. Nobody has the time to show attitude now, because they're all too busy being happy about whatever. Alt rock is dead, it seems. Avril Lavigne won. Run for the hills, run for your life.
- Some show named 'Duck Dynasty' was around, but so far it has been found wanting as theories of flight go. No wonder people are offended.
- People in the West are being terrorised. Well, it's too late now, terrorising them is now a part of their culture, which was otherwise quite noticeably static. You could almost swear there was a genre trying to do something like that earlier.
- Hollywood has developed nicely from previous attempts. No longer are films about the usual subjects, now they get straight to the point: 'Hands of Stone,' a boxing film, might seem likely to be about boxing, but as the trailer helpfully notes it is actually about people being paid to engage in sexual activities. So, like, if you're not into that, do something else. Listen to prog records which happen to be long concept albums. Hint. (Alright that was highly unsubtle.)
- Jag Panzer have played a show named 'The Big Ample.' This seems highly unflattering. They should have just let Edgar Ramirez do that.
- You might remember the band Paramore? They were known for playing some song with the chorus line from Fates Warning's 'Eye to Eye' as the verse and then a bunch of pointless shouting as the chorus. Which sounds really metal, but it wasn't. Well, they've tried selling out. How? Despite strapping on large eyes, this was not something they could quite figure out.
- Rap has changed. It's gone from attempting depth to shallowness to giving up entirely and just being a bunch of people trying to go out with Ariana Grande. Por qué?
- Adramelch released an album named 'Opus.' So this is why they released that whole 'Irae Melanox' thing back in the day, with its aesthetic, so that years later they could release an album named 'Opus.' Honestly, picking up an album with a sullen name like 'Irae Melanox' and then it opening with this whole gothic, mediaeval thing would have slightly eerie as it were back in the day, although they tried to hold that back.
- The shark from Jaws has not stood in any election this year. You can ignore all of the elections, then.
September 03, 2016
Alright, but aggression and anger at what? This is usually important - it conditions the form in which the anger is expressed. If aggression is central to a musical form, generally, then an obstacle is also central to this musical form - if this musical genre is to be fairly unified despite this, the obstacle hence has to be also fairly uniform.
So what about black metal? Well, usually it's held to be more atmospheric in inclination. This atmosphere can be variable, but it frequently involves more occult themes or landscapes, or if you wish to be brief zones which drift somewhat far from the norm. Alright - but even indie pop can do this. However, indie music about the countryside might take the countryside and write a song about how they went on a visit there and it was nice, but black metal generally speaking takes this location - Satanic or otherwise - and turns it against something else which is prevalent where the music is made. Hence, it is so to speak an invocation: something far away is conjured and tries to make its way into the place the music is made.
So then both of these genres seem to confront obstacles directly - death metal is generally against a certain obstacle, while black metal draws on something which is generally disliked or which is far away, and attempts to import this into a different place. Music doing this tends to fall within these musical styles. This is in some ways different from other styles of metal, which if they do deal with these subjects tend to have to get over their rock elements first, and the encouragement provided by their music. Iron Maiden, for instance, could try to express anger in a similar sense to black metal, but would have to avoid the fact that their music is trying really hard to turn this into a rousing song about albatrosses. In a sense, black and death metal can use rock elements, but they tend to assume this lack of rock elements rather than necessarily enacting it - as such, listeners of these genres are expected to presume that the music isn't rock-oriented because the rest of metal can eschew these, but nonetheless it can wheedle its way in through the back-door in a way which makes black metal seem more respectable as a genre to people more used to rock. In general, a lot of metal can vary between an honest effect, and an effect which is just assumed because it's in a certain genre.
If music is in a metal genre, you might assume that notes which counter the image associated with this - with more pop or rock tendencies - are somehow in harmony with this genre or are more critical of these other genres than they actually are. This usually helps the metal in question. However, in some cases, it can avoid certain things which would actually make things more appealing for the pop cultural environment they were in, as for instance with Candlemass' 'Seven Silver Keys':
While the album was generally touted as highly 'retro,' albeit in a limited manner, this song is slightly more 'current' than one might suspect. If one observes the initial riff in terms of its rock elements as well as the doom 'atmosphere,' it actually resembles in some ways a doom and undercutting version of Paramore's 'Misery Business' opening, to give an example of some of the pop music current at the time. In this sense, it's quite an effective counter to such musical tendencies, and in general the contrast makes the doom metal elements stand out. Instead of just automatic positivity, it takes its more negative approach to offer up an image of hope from a dark situation, which is in a way more powerful but due to its critical premises - images of darkness are generally critical of something, in this case of more than people are comfortable with - it is unlikely to catch on.
Of course, Candlemass could also use rock elements in a way which was far more likely to get in the way of their 'doom' aesthetic, as occurs at times on 'Assassin of the Light' or 'Dark are the Veils of Death.' In these scenarios, while their identification as 'doom metal' can obscure these tendencies in the music, this is ultimately misleading. Past a certain point, a form of music being part of a 'genre' means that listeners are also constructing an artificial version of the album which is in harmony with this genre or sub-genre's associations, rather than listening the music with its many issues and so on.
Ultimately, death and black metal can be quite obscure, because to produce an atmosphere involving an obstacle of some sort involves continually relying on this object or renewing it, and hence this becomes disruptive towards the music if it becomes their 'thing' over time. While there are many popular forms which use death metal trappings, this is in a sense something that death metal doesn't do much to avoid, because in a way bands are attempting to prop up things which oppose it, which does lead to compromised tendencies which less metal bands can easily latch onto. While death metal opposes various things, pop music will generally tend to be the form in which these are glorified, and hence forms like melodic death metal are possible in some way due to tracing this conflict in a way which suits the forms. It can very easily come across as slightly stilted in its treatment of each form, however, and makes more sense as a result of death metal than something which exists elsewhere.
Bands in death metal can also use this general format of opposing an obstacle to offer general reflections on suffering, etc. This kind of thing generally tends to be slightly slower than other death metal bands, and tries to leave more space for the topics to be conveyed. It also tends to be atheistic in tone, as with Immolation, because God offers up a general and all-pervading image of an obstacle which can therefore easily be opposed. These bands are, so to speak, adversaries, not typically flag-bearers for some religion's 'God.' Black metal is slightly more constrained to what is found in a given location, and hence bands there which go in this kind of direction tend more towards the image of this location - satirically or not - than otherwise. Death metal is generally more compatible with lyrics-based music - it is somewhat textual in nature. Black metal can be lacking for musicians who wish to convey some sort of message or view in detail, like Varg Vikernes - nonethless, lyrics-based black metal would be a fairly impressive feat if carried on coherently, and not falling into being primarily death metal in the process.
In general, then, an image of these genres could be formed in terms of obstacles which are both part of the music, and which are also tackled or cleared out of the way in some form. The genres offer different takes on this general format. Hence, black metal tends towards the occult and pagan or things like NSBM, while death metal can often incorporate horror elements and so on. However, what is the nature of the obstacles faced by each genre? While death metal can default to anti-religious themes, it needn't always do so. In general, then, death metal involves themes of an obstacle to be faced, which is the general thematic basis of the genre, but the nature of this varies. It is something that can be taken on directly, and is hence something which appears, but it needn't be a single thing and must present itself directly if the music is to portray it as well, and hence death metal can be summarised as opposing itself to an image, albeit not a static or silent one. The images are something protected, or something which must be attacked and taken on, and likewise something which does not simply stay still be impinges on their space. Conversely, black metal, as we've noted, opposes itself to a landscape or area - but which one? Generally, it is a Christian form, but nonetheless this Christianity is something diffused rather than being kept within a specialised format - it is hence a Christian city rather than a church, a place where Christianity of some form is the predominant religion in a not specifically religious area. Hence, black metal generally seeks a 'religious' view if it needs one which is far from this area, set in natural places, but this could mislead - to make nature an object of religion is not necessarily to view it as more than exotic. Of course, these places are in a sense Christian by accident rather than inherently, and as such black metal's ties to the Satanic aren't always strict.
In general, then, while the choler the leads unto death metal is one of being impinged upon by some or other aesthetic object, or something which is straightforwardly presented and forces a response, black metal is a genre which attempts to find some form of shelter among the intrusive aspects of city culture. Different bands can integrate elements of both, as they are similar genres. Nonetheless, in a sense black metal is also a genre which is highly vulnerable to incursions of rock tendencies, and in a sense is similar to ambient sound, but played in the form of a song. If you attempted to play an old vinyl record in a similar pattern to an ambient or dark ambient record, you would probably end up with something resembling black metal.
February 20, 2012
One of OSI’s most distinctive features is Kevin Moore’s lyrical style, with its unorthodox, fragmented narrative and disjointed sprinkling of imagery. Though it uses symbolism, the symbols almost seem to be akin to the notes of the music themselves, establishing a tone rather than conveying a message clearly. Or, perhaps, the unclarity of the message is precisely the point. Though it’s addressed to a ‘you’, it’s never clear that it’s actually being said to them, or indeed to anyone; though it tries to communicate, it always seems to be rather stuck in introspection, with the other person nowhere in the vicinity. If there is another, they are distant. There is a ‘you,’ but an alien ‘you,’ alien in such a way that language fails to directly communicate.
In a sense, this is a phenomenon fairly common in introverted music; ‘A Pleasant Shade of Grey’ is another prominent example of this alienated ‘you’, of music which is in essence first-person, but takes on an ostensibly second-person form. However, while APSoG is generally quite direct in its communication, and derives a lot of its strength from this, OSI seems to display a reluctance to speak directly at all, and bases songs around images such as that of an actor, a boat, a voyage on the sea, and so on. While APSoG’s addressee is generally portrayed as a person, a soul as it were, in OSI the furthest you’ll generally get is the addressee crystallized and represented solely in actions: ‘Don’t start telling me love is a symphony / Point that phone at the floor,’ ‘[T]he cold, hard look in your eye,’ ‘That’s my bedroom door you’re kicking,’ ‘You move mysterious,’ etc. They don’t really have an existence outside of this image, and in the song they are represented as nothing more than this, an image. Of course, APSoG did have a generally more positive and intimate strain running through it (as in Parts IV, VI, IX, etc.), which probably wouldn’t have been compatible with such a representation, while OSI’s albums, though varied, generally vary rather on the continuum between anger and alienation.
If OSI’s addressees are allowed to speak at all, it’s generally over the phone or some other indirect medium, as in ‘Kicking’ and ‘Terminal;’ even here, it’s often with some reluctance, with ‘Kicking’ asking them to point the phone at the floor, and ‘Terminal’ following up the mention of being called with, ‘Here’s another clue: I’ll be gone / Before the daylight saving is through.’ There’s a general failure of communication, with the lyricist alternating between almost pushing away the other person’s voice, as in the previous songs, and being unable to comprehend their speech, as in ‘Radiologue’ (‘Heard your voice / Calling through the noise / Wrote it in the radiologue. / Hurt my head / Wondering what you said / So I threw it overboard’) or ‘The Escape Artist.’ In ‘Once’, they discover that the addressee ‘has got some words of their own’, but immediately follow it up with, ‘Let’s try to hide it for / This story, this story.’ In ‘Better’, ‘You’re not talking and I’m not talking, / The dog’s not talking and no-one’s talking at all.’ The other character is not given a voice, or some way to express their thought, but rather you seem to have a state where neither them nor the lyricist is communicating directly, and hence also a collapse of direct speech in the lyrics.
In that case, then, the reduction of the other person to images complements an overall lack of direct communication, so that things are transmitted only through symbolism and implication; an emphasis on connotative rather than denotative meaning, so to speak. Though there may be something which lies beneath the surface, nonetheless the fact that it is expressed through symbols is not separable from this ‘essence’, but rather characterizes it: it is essential to the experiences and emotions which OSI tries to convey that these indirect symbols are their most adequate mode of expression. To put it otherwise, an OSI which were predominantly direct and communicative in their expression would represent something quite different to the current band. In OSI, there generally isn’t frank expression so much as a repression of meaning under multiple layers of symbolism. However, the reason for this is that the subject-matter is a general relationship in which frank, direct expression between the participants is not an option, or at least not an option indulged in; the alienation that characterizes the music as a whole is, to some degree, a result of as well as a reason for this breakdown in communication. If language fails to communicate directly, it’s because people fail to relate directly, and the indirect mediation in the one case mirrors that of the underlying reality.
This turn towards imagery in order to express a sense of alienation is also present to some extent in A Pleasant Shade of Grey, although there counterbalanced by the more intimate strain running through it and accompanied by more direct lyrics. For example, the recurring image of the ‘shifting sands’, letting nothing bleed into nothing, and so on, compared with the more direct address of, say, parts VI and IX. However, the use of these images is interesting in another way as well, insofar as their power is derived not solely from the images in themselves, but also from their repetition. When the ‘shifting sands’ reference arises again in part V, a large part of its effect, which makes it one of the more powerful parts on the album, is the fact that it references the earlier part III and carries contextual associations from their earlier usage; its being used in a certain musical and lyrical context earlier gave it certain symbolic associations independent of the image of shifting sand by itself, and these are recapitulated through its re-use. The images therefore become, as it were, symbolic morphemes within the overall paradigm of the album and song.
However, it is also significant that an image or scene is here used as a bearer of meaning, rather than any direct communication intervening. In the aforementioned ‘shifting sands’ repetition, as with many OSI’s uses of imagery, much of the effect derives precisely from the fact that the significant moment marked by the repeated lines in part V, forming as it were one of the ‘low points’ of the album (not in terms of quality, in terms of emotion), is marked out only with this image rather than any direct statement of what is going on. In the first place, it’s fairly clear why the use of images and symbols would be more accommodating to this sort of repetition than a direct statement, insofar as the former carry already within themselves a suggestion of something ‘beneath the surface’, which is necessary if the repetition itself is to become constitutive of meaning, while direct statement tends to have an essentially plain, explicit meaning in itself which would obstruct attempts to give it a sub-surface meaning unless this implicit meaning were directed against the direct statements themselves (as, for example, when a statement is repeated in a context which undermines its previous usage.)
Further, however, the sense that the image has of containing depth is both concretized and made more acute by the repetition, which in the first place makes this image an integrated part of the overall paradigm of the piece, while earlier it was merely illustrative and symbolic, and in the second place augments its initial depth with a further one applied through the repetition itself. The image comes to take on a more holistic significance in the music; rather than being merely a particular image at a particular point in the music, it characterizes and submerges the entire problematic of the music, now serving as a part of the music’s overall vocabulary and raised to a part of the musical paradigm. As it were, it extends this paradigm, crystallizes into a part of it, and hence also forms a part of the overall viewpoint and mental atmosphere into which the music inducts the listener.
This allows for images such as these to be especially effective when their placement complements the overall musical movement in such a way as to make this extension of the paradigm correspond with and intensify the direction in which the music is already going. For example, when the shifting sand line is repeated, APSoG has just moved from the divided intimacy of part III to the more consolidated one of part IV, but then has taken a lurch towards the negative and returned to the isolation of the second part in part V, a movement which reaches its lowest point at the recurrence of the shifting sand verse, which now contains within it the force and momentum of this entire movement and, due to its paradigmatic qualities, asserts this overall movement as a whole in the strongest form.
Of course, for OSI, without this overall dynamic going on, such a movement would not be possible, but on the other hand its lack also means a more concentrated focus upon constructing an overall scene and paradigm out of its images, which APSoG could not do due to the need to switch to the more positive, communicative side of things more frequently. While APSoG can be more akin to a tidal wave with its use of dynamism and the ‘past’ of the music to apply force in the present, OSI are a bit more like submergence and drowning.
Imagery: Some types.
In speaking of images, however, we must take into account the fact that imagery is not monolithic, but rather divided into multiple types of images, so that to go further we must make a few basic divisions among image types and functions to allow us to be more specific in our observations. One of the most common types of basic image is what we may call the ‘analogical image’, in which the point and semantic signification of the image derives from the similarity between it and another situation or experience, and the image is used to show us something about the latter situation. Here, the point is the image’s fidelity to the situation of which it is an analogy, its illustrative quality, and it becomes stronger as an image the more its own development can be traced alongside that of the original situation. For example, in early Fates Warning, in songs such as ‘The Apparition’ and ‘Exodus’, the image of a physical journey is used to illustrate a different form of journey, where the analogy between the different forms of journey is the basic point of emphasis and foundation of meaning. The one type of journey gives us a representation of the other journey in essentially direct, literal terms, and the two journeys appear as essentially in unity due to this. Here, the image is emphasized not in itself, but in its representational quality, as when one uses a map to navigate, and therefore treats a certain length on the paper as being in actuality a far greater distance.
Another, less common, kind of imagery is what may be called the ‘obscure image’, in which the image takes on a greater degree of independence, and the focus moves from denotation to implication. This is the form of imagery most prominent in OSI. Here, the image’s significance ceases to be that of representing something lying beneath it and rather becomes that of, through its own implications as an image, constructing what lies beneath it. The image hence takes on a greater degree of autonomy, where a greater emphasis must be placed upon the image itself in terms of shaping its implications, etc., as there is no analogical framework from which it can derive its significance. The image must derive its significance from itself, and while it is still not being paid attention to in an aesthetic sense so much as one of implication, and the depth ‘below’ it, now this implication appears as something less clearly defined and constitutes the overall impression of the image rather than its referent. Due to the fact that its elements need not either represent specific analogical symbols, which can be mapped out onto elements of the situation for which they serve as an analogy, or be judged in an aesthetic sense, this form of image allows for a great deal of ‘blurring’, by which the image need not be clearly pictorial but rather constitute a general sense of setting.
Unlike analogical imagery, here meaning does not appear as something given which expresses itself through imagery, but rather the image comes to take on a sense of independence from meaning, and hence internal to this overall form of image is a destitution of meaning which suggests a departure from communicative discourse. This form of image complements an overall sense of alienation, through disabling the ability of meaning to be expressed, and reducing it to an overall vagueness, a totality of implications projected out from the image itself. Insofar as meaning is dominant, and the image a means of its expression, the subject – the lyricist – is also dominant, and uses the image as a free means to express themselves; however, due to the subordination of meaning in obscure imagery, the subject is reduced to an offshoot of these images themselves, existing only as they allow it, and direct communication is replaced with a collapse of linguistic expression, such that the language itself appears autonomous and the subject dependent upon it for sustenance, having no existence outside of the image.
The subject is replaced with a basic montage, which cannot communicate directly but only has existence as a web of implications, whose previously clear meaning is replaced with a mass of connotations. The person is displayed only as something vague and amorphous, not producer but product. Corresponding with this is OSI’s presentation of both the lyricist and their addressees only in terms of images and actions.
One reason why OSI’s lyrics have their somewhat cryptic allure is the fact that they always seem to contain a back story, a history of conduct, but this history is almost never explicitly described. It is rather assumed; the speaker knows what has happened, but you don’t, and hence the narrative of the story appears fragmented: start-stop and blanketed by black lines. This is enhanced by the imagery, which often serves to allow a history to be told, and to give a seeming summation of the situation, but nonetheless does not do so because the story is told in imagery which abstracts from the lyricist, the addressee and their relation, and hence which appears essentially inessential to the actual focus of the song. Whether it is set in a boat, a theatre or a road, this appears as an inessential detail, as a detail which has no literal significance, but rather only serves to construct the overall setting for the song’s imagery.
Even in the absence of a clear setting, as provided in ‘Radiologue’ or ‘Memories, Daydreams and Lapses’, OSI’s songs do have some sense of overall context, or paradigm. This can range from the, ‘I set the scene in a magazine,’ and, ‘I cracked the code of the episode,’ of ‘Go’ to the ‘machine’ and screaming of ‘All Gone Now’ and the storytelling of ‘Once.’ This form, however, is merely a scene for the actual relationship of the protagonists of the story, for the actual point of the story, and hence can be seen as setting a stage for this. Just as a stage forms a setting on which actors perform a story, without this story being actually set on a stage, so here the stories played out in various locations and contexts takes place beyond them. They are, as it were, metaphorical, while the real ‘point’ of the song lies beneath them. However, at the same time, this ‘point’ remains obscure; the characters are trapped in the actors.
While for analogical imagery, the setting appears as something consciously molded by the author for communicative purposes, for OSI it appears as something simply given, pre-existent. It forms a part of the presupposition already observed, the overall backdrop. The point is not, ‘this stands for this,’ but rather the imagery appears as given and is allowed to free its tendrils where it will. The effect of this is, further, to create a paradigm, a ‘musical language’, which appears pre-made, in which all of these various symbols have their meaning. This is the overall paradigm which the listener enters during the song, given that the music and lyrics are both from the perspective of the lyricist; the images, even though they may not appear initially meaningful to the listener, are presented in such a way as to make them clearly imbued with meaning, to make them, as said, ‘symbolic morphemes’.
What this consists of is the formation of an overall meaningful context within which a line or image is represented, and which thereby stamps it with a certain role in the mind of the reader. Through this, its repetition or development will be able to summon back this significance, this imputed meaning, and hence will form a part of the ‘musical language’, or paradigm, in which the listener shall be submerged. The first requirement of this is the vagueness of the image, without which the meaning of the image is not imputed by its context and implications, but is already present in the image by itself; hence, a certain melody representing bravery, say in an epic opera, or the entrance of a specific character would generally not be able to fulfill this function on a musical level. Rather, some level of obscurity is demanded, which prevents the repetition from degenerating into a cue. These are not simple leitmotif ‘guides-to-feeling’, but rather the underlying obscurity of the music transforms their function into something quite different from a simple guide to how to react, precisely because here there is no guide.
OSI’s ‘musical language’
The overall aim which OSI’s music reaches towards is the creation of a music in which every gesture appears imbued with meaning. This can only be done through the creation of an overall musical paradigm, or language, in which they do in fact become meaningful for the reader. For an example, we may look at the song ‘Blood’:
It begins with the music sans vocals, as most OSI songs do. These repeat a single melody, to which additional, more percussive, elements are continually added. Note here how the percussive elements appear essentially built up around the original melody, and mirror it in their organization; the two are intimately connected. There is an essential unity of paradigm asserted here; the meaning of the one element merely complements the other, it does not depart from it. The same applies to the electric guitar when it enters, as well as the keyboard; all build upon the same basic pattern. Their association with the other parts of the song becomes indivisible from them.
If one wishes to construct a given musical language within a song, permeating it thoroughly, it becomes necessary to have repetition which plays a prominent role within the song’s composition. This song exemplifies that to some extent; just about all of the various musical layers and figures used within the song cleave to this basic pattern in some way, from the drum pattern at 2:38 to the keyboard melody which follows it. The song forms an indissoluble whole. Hence, you get the quality of submergence talked about earlier.
At the same time, however, you have differentiation. Various changes in dynamics and instrumentation take place; for example, the pronounced shift between the electric guitar and a simple keyboard melody at around 0:56. These various elements gain their meaning from their place in the whole. Hence, each change in dynamic, or shift from percussive to melodic music, serves as an elaboration of the meaning of the musical ‘units’, or patterns, involved; it adds to their semantic content. This means that their meaning is ultimately unstable; they gain new aspects to their symbolism with each repetition and the context which surrounds it.
This possibility arises from their overall ‘simplicity’ and lack of detailed elaboration; once a melody becomes too complex and long, this possibility would cease to apply, and it would gain too great a degree of autonomy. The overall pattern must be ‘memorized’ subconsciously, and hence not be too long or complex for this to occur. Now, the use of repetition to establish an overall atmosphere isn’t exactly unique to this song; another notable example is, of course, the song ‘Black Sabbath’. However, what sets this apart in some ways is the number of different layers of sounds, instruments, and so on; while the repetition on ‘Black Sabbath’ is imposing, here the variety of forms taken by the single pattern creates a sense rather of omnipresence, hence of submergence. Rather than any one melody asserting itself as primary, all of them swim around, creating a multifaceted image.
While the repetition of a single musical unit, or two similar ones, in ‘Black Sabbath’ serves to emphasize and bring out completely the meaning inherent in this riff itself, the variation of units in OSI leads to a situation where their significance becomes inherently contextual, and hence none is defined purely in itself. This, firstly, leads to a sense in which the motives become ‘vague’, lacking a specific denotation of their own; due to the centering of the whole piece around a specific ‘pattern’ which is nonetheless only expressed through divergent units, these units themselves become ‘de-centered’, deriving their structure from a pattern which isn’t heard rather than being in themselves autonomous. For example, compare the keyboard melodies in ‘Blood’ with the more straightforward repetition of Redemption’s ‘The Origins of Ruin’:
It’s clear that the melody here takes on a more defined, sentimental significance, while that of ‘Blood’ has always to be related to its context in listening, and hence has a significance intrinsically related to the overall progression of the song. It can have aspects added to it by the addition of other layers of music alongside it at a certain point, or alternatively by being isolated from previous companions; in each case, this depends upon its positioning within the whole structure. It hence derives its meaning not solely from its own properties, but from its place within the whole narrative.
This quality, that of belonging to and forming a narrative, is the other main consequence of OSI’s contextual approach to musical units.* Through the overall development of the song, albeit around a common axis, the various musical units come to form patterns between themselves, and the song takes on an essentially narrative bent; or, to put it otherwise, if the significance of the musical unit is contingent upon the overall movement in which it takes place (eg. a shift from electric guitar to keyboard), then this movement itself comes to be meaningful, and hence we are forced to pay more attention to the song’s development and overall narrative. The narrative form is partly a consequence of this emphasis upon development and partly one of the commonality of the various musical units, all interrelated in their composition and fitting roughly to a basic pattern of their own; due to this, each development of the music appears as a further manifestation of this ‘central’ pattern, and hence united in a single narrative.
To summarize, then, the music takes on a narrative form due to the fact that its development becomes a focal point, and becomes essential to every aspect of the listening process. There is, one could say, a ‘story’, a complex situation going on behind the varied sounds and shades of emotional intensity, rather than the song representing the distillation of an emotional state as in the Redemption song. The ‘story’, in musical terms at least, is created by the focus on development as opposed to the autonomy (autonomous expression) of the various separate parts of the song. Now, in a way, it is true that this kind of creation of a ‘story’ in music is nothing new in itself, even discounting classical music, and its application on an even higher scale is the principle of what is popularly known as the ‘concept album’ (Not to say, of course, that there aren’t concept albums which don’t have much focus upon creating a story in this musical sense, such as Operation: Mindcrime.) Nonetheless, OSI’s specific use of this form is, if not ‘unique’, still nuanced enough to deserve consideration apart from that of the form by itself.
Unity and disunity
OSI, as we have said, have not only an emphasis upon musical development, but also form their musical units around a more or less unified pattern, something which most concept albums do not. Their songs are more ‘centered.’ This is due, in part, to the fact that they generally work on the level of the song, and hence they can take a far more concentrated approach to musical unity and variation than if they had to keep it up for an album’s length. One can see this in comparing OSI’s albums to a concept album, say APSoG or Sider’s ‘Labyrinth;’ in the latter, there’s a necessary degree of dynamism within the album, both between and within the songs, which means that while there is a focus upon the development from one part of the music to another, these parts are nonetheless quite different, as is required by the narrative and its progress, while in OSI they’re a lot more unified and stand out as iterations of a common function. The difference between parts IV and V of APSoG, or even between different sections of part V, is a lot more pronounced than that between the various sections of ‘Blood’, whether heavier or ‘lighter.’
The story in Fates Warning’s album is situated within the overall context of motion and development, where a story is palpably shown to the listener, as it were narrated to or acted out for them. The album is focused primarily upon the subject and the development of their feelings through the 50-minute duration. In OSI’s album, on the other hand, all of the various developments that take place within a song are closely linked to the previous ones, generally conforming to them either in pattern or in atmosphere, and hence you don’t have the same sense of being shown the action. There isn’t the same sense of a focus on the subject and the development of their feelings throughout, and this is in part a result of the subtlety necessitated by the unified structure of OSI’s song and the minimalistic nature of their musical units. This minimalism and unity would mean that a song which was meant to represent such a subjective development, in the manner of APSoG ,wouldn’t be able to get the necessary degree of variation between feelings to create a powerful narrative. Looking at ‘Blood’, for example, even in the variation from an electric guitar passage to a keyboard one, there isn’t really enough of a break to ground a song based on a subjective narrative, and the two rather seem to represent two aspects of the same matter rather than a wholesale development.
Of course, Fates Warning do at times use a similar form of continuity, with a great degree of recapitulation of past verses and musical phrases, and it’s quite instructive to see when they do so. Generally, the repetition seems to take place precisely to strengthen a sense of entrapment and submergence; for example, the repetition of the, ‘Let nothing bleed into nothing’ verse and accompaniment between parts V and VII, or the similar repetition of the ‘shifting sands’ verse between parts II and III. It forms a significant part of the rich associations taken on by the ‘So where do we begin?’ verse, which through its repetition does similarly come to take on an association with the album’s sense of entrapment, although this forms only part of its varied connotations and dimensions. A great degree of the repetition’s power comes from its continual reassertion of the alienation of the lyricist from the addressee as something inescapable, which is why the repetition of the ‘shifting sands’ passage in V, for example, is perhaps the most powerful encapsulation of that part’s overall atmosphere, and forms a trough which must be followed by an upwards, more positive movement.
In the Fates album, nonetheless, this development and submergence serves quite a different one to that present in OSI. This is because, as mentioned, there is a greater degree of dynamism within the album as a whole, so that these repetitions are staggered by the more ‘positive’, intimate sections, such as parts IV and VI. The more positive parts generally take the form of a growth or construction, creating a feeling of almost building up something out of nothing; for example, if you look at the use of the rain imagery in part IV, it seems to gradually be elaborated and created:
Only us breathing.
And the rain, keeping time,
Dividing the silence,
In a distant thunder.
The structure of the verse itself is expansionary, slowly growing outwards from ‘listen’ to the more continually elaborated image of the last three lines. Likewise, if one looks at the structure of the parts IV and VI on the whole, there is a similar movement; part VI, for example, begins with a very tentative, underspoken introduction which slowly expands into the song, while part IV only enters into its more intimate atmosphere with a subtle, yet very powerful, inversion of the opening acoustic riff, marking a soft beginning to a powerful song. Even in album-wide terms, they move from the more tentative, abstract part IV to the more concrete part VI, which attempts to fact the issues and overcome them, and finally the straightforward statement of part IX, which seems to represent an even more definite statement of intimacy. Overall, the effect is almost like one of light slowly growing through the cracks.
From this, the repetition in the ‘negative’ tracks comes to take on a clear role, namely that of countering this progression, negating it, and thereby becoming ever more powerful the more it appears that we have progressed. It asserts in effect that the apparent progress was never concrete, that in reality things still are as they were; hence, that despite the attempts to inch oneself out, one remains imprisoned. Therefore, the straightforward instrumental of part X has a more intense effect, due to its following part IX, than part II had earlier, despite the lack of vocals and elaboration; part II, of course, does serve to induct the listener into the overall mindset of the album more than part X could do in its place, but by part X the overall framework has been laid, and the power of the section can now rely to a greater extent on simply its position relative to the rest of the album. APSoG’s structure does, in a sense, prevent it from becoming less interesting over time, as it overall represents a development carried out through antagonistic elements, and hence grows more, not less, powerful as one ‘gets into’ it.
APSoG, then, uses the repetition in a way which somewhat parallels OSI’s own atmosphere, hence illustrating its potency in creating an atmosphere of ‘submergence’, while at the same time using it in a way which is ultimately based around APSoG’s overall dynamism, and hence differs from OSI’s own usage. It gains a significant amount of its strength from its appearance alongside a more Echo Us-like constructive pattern in parts IV, VI and so on, and hence is also allowed a far looser degree of unity than OSI, due to the fact that the power of the repetition and submergence can now be derived through the succession of ‘positive’ parts by reversions to the earlier atmosphere, rather than needing the same sense of omnipresence that OSI does without this means of asserting continuity. Hence, when looking at parts V and VII, for example, you don’t have nearly the same degree of compositional unity that OSI have in ‘Blood’, and indeed at times this becomes a strength, by allowing the use of more direct repetition (eg. the ‘shifting sands’ verse, the ‘Let nothing bleed into nothing’ chorus) to have a far stronger impact due to almost underlining the point, while for OSI you don’t leave the prevailing atmosphere, and hence the return to it can hardly be a point of emphasis.
What, then, is the significance of this ‘centering’ of OSI’s music in terms of its development? In the first place, as we have said, this centering takes place through the interlinking of the various musical units used throughout the song,which hence appear to rotate around a common axis. On the other hand, this axis is never presented by itself, but always through the motion of varied musical units. The songs hence come to take on a narrative structure, one where the various transitions and developments become an object of focus, while at the same time keeping these transitions constrained within a common structure. As it were, it hints of dynamism without actually giving into it, or making a complete break. There’s a sense almost of stagnation despite the transitions, that though there is a story, the song is not acting it out.
Further, what the presence of this unheard centre creates is a sense of something lying beneath the various musical units, a sense of their implicit unity despite the variations. This is made even more forceful through the actual interweaving of them in the composition; for example, in ‘Blood,’ where the keyboard melody comes to be played simultaneously with other musical units by the end of the piece, hence creating a sense of their being united expressions of a given situation. This unity creates an atmosphere where the narrative implied by the music is not acted out through it, but is rather placed as a centre which the music never reaches directly.
The music’s motion implies narrative, but this motion always takes place and returns to a common centre, a common pattern which the various units follow. However, this common pattern is represented only in these fragments, and therefore appears as something ‘hidden’, and the basis of the narrative is hence kept out of plain sight. Though there is a focus upon development, and upon the reason for development, nonetheless this development is not itself the story, but rather floats around and expresses the story. Hence, you have on the one side the identification of a narrative, a story behind the music, created by its motion, and on the other hand the essential pattern behind the music and its development remains obscured, and so also the story. There is something deeper beneath the various musical units, but this cannot be directly accessed, just as OSI’s addressee can only be seen in various actions.
In APSoG, due to the lack of a common centre the unity of the piece is formed by an underlying logical coherence to its various developments, by its thematic continuity; the conflicts between alienation and intimacy, etc., are played out and developed in such a way that the one side appears just as much a part of the whole work as the other, and can be seen only in the light of the other. Because this theme, this conflict, is treated of and developed throughout the piece, its various developments appear unified precisely because of being developments of this basic conflict. It is, ultimately, the coherence of the development between conflicting atmospheres which keeps the whole project unified. In OSI, on the other hand, the various parts of the piece are unified by their general adherence to a common centre, despite their multiplicity. The parts are unified insofar as they refer back to the common thread of the piece, the common patterns and underlying atmospheres which characterize it. On the other hand, as we said, this also leads to the phenomenon that these parts themselves appear ‘de-centred’, and their meaning comes to depend upon the underlying pattern which is unheard, and therefore so does the meaning of the overall movement and narrative. We get multiple impressions of this narrative, from the satellites which orbit it, but are not presented with its central essence.
Because the musical units derive their meaning to a large degree from their fitting into a common pattern within the whole piece, while at the same time representing only a particular incarnation of this pattern which may be quite different from the others (eg. the harsher electric guitar sections compared to the softer, keyboard sections), they therefore both create a feeling of submergence due to the overall repetition, and centre the meaning of the narrative upon the non-present centre. Therefore, in the music by itself, you have already the sense of a hidden story, of a failure to clearly communicate, expressed. The music doesn’t communicate its meaning, its essential ‘point,’ clearly, but rather only expresses it through a mass of implications from without, from the divergent musical units, which imply a basic pattern and narrative without going directly into it. Within this context, even the subtlest gesture or sound can become imbued with meaning, due to its casting off further implications, as well as allowing further repetition through providing a degree of variation on the side. The principles of this musical structure form the foundation of OSI’s lyrical style.
Lyrics and the musical language
OSI’s lyrics build upon this musical basis, and form a part of the music through giving it a more explicit narrative structure. They are to a large degree integrated into the music, forming simply another facet of it, rather than being completely independent. In a sense, the vocals only bring out what the rest of the music has already created, while at the same time deriving their strength by playing on the various associations and implications thrown up by the music itself. Through introducing images of its own which are associated with the underlying textures of the music, it creates further, more concrete, associations which, through their correlation with the music, also take on emotional implications.
The lyrics serve, on the one hand, to more firmly establish a ‘subject-matter’ for the music, and thereby give it a more concrete stage on which its implications can act. In the most general terms, this can usually be said to relate to subjects such as war (‘Hello, Helicopter!’), politics (‘Free,’ for example) and interpersonal relationships (‘Terminal,’ ‘Once,’ ‘Kicking,’ etc.) What this does is to further the sense of a ‘centre’ present in the music by giving it an overall, unified theme. Just as the music derives a decent amount of its power by hinting towards a centre, so the lyrics enhance this effect by giving the music a rough ‘thematic’ centre, with which the music then comes to be associated. This almost serves to ‘complete’ the music’s own effect, and give its sense of implication a more concrete effect, while still not getting rid of it. Doing this – giving a thematic sense, a sense of setting, without destroying the effect of the music’s allusory quality – is one of the main tasks of OSI’s lyrics, and their form and imagery reflect this purpose (whether consciously or unconsciously) quite strongly.
(Even in OSI’s very occasional instrumental pieces, such as ‘Horseshoes and B-52s,’ a lot of power is gained from the general associations with war and social sterility which the track takes on as a result of its placement on the album. While a strong instrumental in itself, it still benefits from the thematic associations surrounding it, and this becomes an important part of its overall effect, as it were creating a setting for our experience of the song, with all of the various connotations that settings can hold.**)
In order to create a setting, OSI use images and ‘scene-setting’ (eg. the use of acting terminology in ‘Bigger Wave’, or ‘Go on ahead’ in ‘Go,’ which are not imagery in a conventional sense, but nonetheless serves a similar function). However, at the same time, the emphasis is not upon creating a simply physical setting, but rather an emotional, connotative setting. As such, rather than trying to give an elaborate description of surroundings, fragments of the setting are broken off, and devices such as repetition are used to provide them with associational value. For example, by repeating an image, or even a line like, ‘Get into character,’ the image is given an increased depth of symbolism, and emphasized to a greater extent. In a sense, it appears closer to the ‘centre,’ due to becoming a part of the music’s established language rather than merely an isolated image, and hence its associations become much more relevant; its repetition contributes to its meaning. This is quite recognizable from our discussion of the music itself, and by this overall, fragmentary approach, the feeling present in the music is hence retained in the lyrics.
Through this, then, one has the form of what we called ‘obscure imagery:’ images which are utilized more or less for their own sake, but not for their aesthetic value. In a song such as Holocaust’s ‘Caledonia,’ while the gradually intertwining spiritual and earthly imagery is used more or less for its own sake, it has an aesthetic significance rather than an associational one; the emphasis is upon the growth and elaboration of the image for its own sake, and on having the listener participate in this process. The point is a growing assertion of harmony, which is continually growing and is yet maintained, and this harmony is assured by the fact that the image appears something desirable, something beautiful; the focus is hence aesthetic. The listener allows themselves to participate in its construction because of these aesthetic qualities. On the other hand, in an allegory such as that of the Tortoise and the Hare, while there is definitely a focus upon associations, and upon the parallels of the story to human life, (allegorical images almost always contain a didactic, or, if you prefer, pedagogical element), the image is by no means taken in itself, but is rather in a process of continual, direct application. You have animals that are basically human because the animals are to be understood as human. Conversely, in order for images to function as semantic units, and base themselves upon associations, neither of these cases are possible.
We have also noticed that, in OSI’s music, direct communication is cast off in exchange for a constant orbit and probing around the centre, and this approach to imagery also preserves this feature. This can be enhanced at times by the use of slightly looser standards of English, most notably in ‘Terminal,’ with lines such as, ‘I wanna have fun like we used to did,’ and, ‘Maybe I can love you complete,’ which mean that even in the most direct, honest parts of the song, there are still clear traces of an inability to communicate directly; even when closest to the centre of meaning, the singer can’t quite reach it, and hence these ostensible outpourings become rather painful reminders of alienation. Even when the grammatical structures are somewhat more conventional, OSI still remain frequently averse to any straightforward rhetorical progression, bringing in episodes which don’t necessarily seem to have any connection one after another in such a way as to leave an impression of a speaker whose focus and subject-matter float around from sentence to sentence, as in:
On the first day,
I set the scene in a magazine
And now I've hurt someone.
In the next scene,
I cracked the code of the episode
And now I'm having fun.
Where the sudden alteration in imagery marked by the switch of ‘scene’ for ‘day’ creates a multiplicity of imagery, which is nonetheless shown to be connected by the temporal congruity of ‘on the first…’ being followed by ‘in the next…’, or:
I'll be gone now, either way that the wind blows.
I'll be back though, leave a light in the window.
When the waves die down, I'll be halfway round and I'll call you.
When the sun blocks out hold the radio up to the phone.
Where the first two lines may seem coherent enough by themselves, but the subject then floats onwards further and further away, to the point where the sun is blocking out. In both of these examples, you have something paralleling what we’ve already observed in the music; the placing of these various lines and images in succession creates a sense of continuity and unity of meaning, but at the same time their connection is disturbed by the fact that they are not in fact united in terms of image, and hence not a logical development of the same image. The underlying unity, the centre, is implied, but what is immediately apparent is not united and can do no more than imply it. Of course, this lyrical continuity is only possible because of the music underpinning it; the fact that the lines follow each other is not by itself enough to imply a unity of meaning, or at least to make one palpable, but rather this is established by the continuity of the music beneath them. If I were to write, for example:
‘Who is in the barn?’
‘‘I’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’.’
‘What a roast beef!’
‘There’ll be no mutant enemy,
We shall certify.’
The continuity on the page would hardly be enough to make somebody reading it feel that it was anything more than a random arrangement of disparate fragments, and any continuity analysed in it would be purely intellectual rather than something actually palpable in the reading process. Of course, there is a difference, if one oft forgotten, between something which can be made coherent by intellectual analysis and something which actually gains coherence in reading from its seeming incoherence; that is, between a glorified code and a piece of art. As Clark Ashton Smith commented, on a different form of art: “Poetry which, while perhaps offering something to the intellect, offers nothing to tempt the imagination, has sterilized itself, and is no longer poetry.” *** Purely intellectual continuities, which aren’t active in the reading process, could be found here, albeit with some strain, but are not really sufficient to establish actual, felt continuity in the artwork.
On the other hand, OSI are able to get away with some uses of sampling which run very close to the the above example in their version of ‘Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.’ There, the musical continuity is sufficient to allow many and varied sources to be represented without any real feeling of incoherence. In fact, one of the most notable things about that song is the sheer density and variety of the samples used, complemented by the longer-than-average length. One could even imagine the above example ‘poem’ gaining some coherence if used as samples in a piece of music, so long as the music itself had continuity, although at the same time enough variation to give sense to the variety of the quotations used (the same music which accommodates ‘Who is in the barn?’ may be less hospitable towards grammatical advice.)
OSI’s lyrics, then, essentially further the underlying sense of alienation, of a failure of communication and inability to speak and convey meaning, which the music contains implicitly. However, a simple lack of communication, seen in a purely negative sense, does not itself seem significant, but rather needs an overall context to gain emotional resonance. It needs, as it were, a ‘story,’ to give it some substance. We have also seen that OSI’s music contains a narrative element, a sense in which there is motion, and focus upon the developments in the song and their significance, while on the other hand within this motion there is still a sense of stagnancy due to the underlying unity of the music. There is a story, but it is not ‘acted out’ in the music. This can now be seen in relation to the recent discussion of lyrical continuity and discontinuity; though there seems to be a unifying ‘principle of motion’ behind the music, a reason for certain progressions of imagery (eg. the temporal progression from the ‘first day’ to the ‘next scene’), hence a story, at the same time it isn’t set out in terms of a continuous narrative, or acted out, but is rather simply implicit.
This could also to some degree explain the power of OSI’s placement of their story in the past, as a ‘backstory.’ In OSI’s music, the sense of a narrative is developed by the development of the music and the reliance of each musical unit upon its relation to others to establish its meaning. However, at the same time, in this process it does not gain its meaning in relation to an overall, absolute development in the song, but rather is simply absorbed into the song’s overall ‘musical language,’ as a term which, alongside the rest of the various phrases, characterises the nature of the underlying unity of the song. It is crystallized into a part of a single paradigm, which dominates throughout the song and in which the listener is submerged, rather than signifying an advance. It forms just another drop in the ocean in which you already drown, rather than being the the first droplet of a new rain. Due to this, the ‘story,’ in relation to which the images and phrases gain their meanings, must be placed in the past, as something which happened, and due to which the various emotional progressions occur, but which is now crystallized in images rather than actively occurring. Hence, the hidden backstory.
The main exception to this is the ‘war songs,’ such as ‘Hello, Helicopter!’ or ‘When You’re Ready.’ In these cases, there is a sense of being placed within the present, but a present where one is essentially helpless, and all of the action which goes on is in essence alien to one. You are simply a spectator to the play of the gods. ‘Hello, helicopter.’ Of course, this would hardly be the case if one were part of the suffering party in the war, and as such is much more appropriate when the lyricist takes the perspective of somebody in the dominant nation (‘I know what we’re doing.’) Of course, it’s also closer to reality, but that doesn’t stop most war records from taking the perspective of the sufferers; the point isn’t so much what the artist’s initial motivation for choosing a viewpoint is, but rather why it works with OSI’s music, and hence the motivation for completing the song and publishing it. The author is the first reader. Of course, the war songs also sound somewhat different to the rest, although there are underlying commonalities, but a more detailed examination of this would require a post of its own, and hence shall be done in a later post.
If you were to look at OSI’s music, you could say that there was on the one hand the meaning, the ‘positive’ element of the piece, and on the other hand the inability to speak it, the ‘negative’ (‘negative’ in the sense of ‘negation,’ not ‘bad’) element. If you have only the inability to speak, you have basically a meaningless silence; this wouldn’t get us anywhere, except maybe to a John Cage rip-off. If you have only the meaning, then you could hardly express the sense of alienation which OSI generally focus on. Rather, what OSI do is to place the positive element, the action, either in the past or ‘outside’ the lyricist, in such a way as to allow it to crystallise into something distant which the lyricist can be alienated from. The past was reality, and still is reality - it still plays an important part in our present state - but at the same time it is no longer such. And, of course, it is no longer living, but rather irreversible.
Closer to the centre: Conclusion.
OSI’s music is characterised by a tension between the centre, the meaning, on the one hand, and the inability to communicate directly on the other. Some of the strongest moments in OSI’s music are those in which they come closest to the centre, hence seeming to encapsulate the entire song in a short segment, although of course this is only made strong by by the context provided by the previous alienation. For example, ‘Can’t go on, can’t go back’ from ‘Radiologue,’ or ‘The heart, the heart beats for blood’ from ‘Blood.’ These are generally telegraphed by a corresponding musical change, making them stand out and enhancing their summative nature. In these sections, you seem to be closest to the essence of the music, to what it represents, and their power derives to a great degree from this nature.
Of course, these usually end up being used as a ‘chorus’, as for example with ‘Can’t go on, can’t go back,’ or ‘alone’ in ‘The Escape Artist.’ Nonetheless, in ‘Blood,’ this rather represents a conclusion to the song, and likewise to the album. OSI’s conclusions have always been strong, from the title track of ‘Blood’ to the song ‘Standby,’ whose short length emphasizes the power of the chorus. On the other hand, the conclusion of ‘Free’ is a bit different from these, not ending with a ‘summative’ moment like these, or being structured around one, but rather taking the form of an surprisingly conventional country-ish song, albeit infiltrated with Kevin Moore’s less conventional lyrics.
Once OSI have established their formula, or rather their personality, they’re free to assimilate whatever they want, to give their music a structure completely different to that which is usual, and to even use this difference as a strength. It’s a song which gets much more powerful once you know OSI’s other songs, once you know OSI’s general personality, and can hence appreciate this as manifested in this song; once it can be seen as not a quirky country tune, but a quirky OSI tune. One of the common signs of a powerful artist is the ability to shift between styles without losing your essential style, or ‘sound;’ the sense that you’ve created a personality strong enough that it can be heard clearly despite everything else changing. John Mortimer can do it, OSI can do it; but can your average party Thrash band, or chorus-centric Euro-power band? The author isn’t dead unless they kill themselves.
OSI are a subject which we’ll probably return to quite frequently; there’s a lot to say about them. Their discrography extends from the more political ‘Office of Strategic Influence’, which had the most conventionally metallic construction, to the more personal ‘Blood,’ probably their most coherent album; within these, there are some softer songs, some heavier songs, and some which mix the both: what is the significance of this alternation? Their discography is not static, but still expanding; their newest album comes out on March 27th, and seems that it shall promise plenty to digest. There’s still a lot of ground to cover, and more shall emerge soon enough. For now, though, I’ll leave you with ‘Our Town.’
* Even in ‘Home Was Good’, the song seemingly closest to Redemption’s, you have the introduction of a narrative element as soon as the acoustic guitar section enters:
The opening sounds like it could well be an introduction to a song along the lines of ‘The Origins of Ruin,’ and the first verse wouldn’t be inconsistent with this either, but the introduction of the acoustic guitar changes that and makes the song seem to have a more narrative element, a story of some sort. Notice at the same time, however, how the acoustic section seems to almost be based upon the structure and notes of the previous section. Also, of course, one area where it differs from the Redemption song is in the lyrics, which already suggest OSI’s musical style over Redemption’s.
** Likewise, in the following near-instrumental song, a single sample repeated once creates a great deal of power precisely through through its introduction of a sense of subject-matter:
Of course, this sample only works because it seems to express what is already implicit in the music, and the voice’s enunciation seems to imply the same difficulties of communication as the song.
*** From the previous note in the Black Book:
“Poetry, though its proper concerns are not primarily intellectual, [is] none the worse for having behind it a keen and firm intelligence. But intelligence alone does not make poetry, as glaringly exemplified by the latter works of T. S. Eliot, which, while no doubt profound from a philosophical standpoint, has little or nothing of the bardic magic and mystery; all such elements have been ruthlessly sacrificed, leaving an obscurity which, unlike that of Gérard de Nerval, is devoid of color, glamor, and the allurement of new imaginative meanings and analogies which would justify obscurity.”
He also comments, in a remark which could be connected with this topic, that: “Personifications, when used in poetry, should be vitalized in some signal way.”
While I don’t necessarily always agree with Clark Ashton Smith on his views of poetry’s purpose, in this case he seems to have a point. Essentially, conscious obscurity in art must have a use, rather than merely allowing English students a convenient subject for dissertations; obscurity must contribute towards meaning, not merely hide it. As such, when faced with obscurity, it’s often quite useful to not simply try and dissect it to find what lies beneath, but rather to look at what this obscurity contributes to the piece when read or heard.
In this feature, the focus will be on finding poems and songs which have similar themes and modes of expressing them. The song and poem shall be presented, followed by a brief introduction to and discussion of each author, and some comments on the similarities between the pieces. This isn’t one of the longer, analytical works, although it will feature some analysis; the focus is rather upon noting interesting parallels between works in two different formats, and as such the analysis of each individual work will be abbreviated.
I. Holocaust: ‘Leper’s Progress.’
II. Anne Locke: From ‘A Meditation of a Penitent Sinner.’
So foule is sinne and lothesome in thy sighte,
So foule with sinne I see my selfe to be,
That till from sinne I may be washed white,
So foule I dare not, Lord, approche to thee.
Ofte hath thy mercie washed me before,
Thou madest me cleane: but I am foule againe.
Yet washe me Lord againe, and washe me more,
Washe me, O Lord, and do away the staine
Of vggly sinnes that in my soule appere.
Let flow thy ple[n]tuous streames of clensing grace.
Washe me againe, yea washe me euery where,
Bothe leprous bodie and defiled face.
Yea washe me all, for I am all vncleane,
And from my sin, Lord, cleanse me ones againe.
Holocaust are a Scottish band, which begun as a NWOBHM band, but then, after a split, was re-formed by guitarist John Mortimer as a progressive band with a strong Voivod influence. They have varied their style significantly on almost every album, so that from playing harsh, early-Voivodian music on their reformation they went on to put out an album more along the lines of this a few years later. Nonetheless, perhaps through the fact that John Mortimer remains the primary force behind the band’s direction, as the only constant member, they do retain a large degree of continuity throughout this. This applies both in musical terms, with their characteristically ‘open’ guitar sound, and in lyrical terms.
Holocaust generally tend to incorporate Christian themes into their lyrics, reflecting Mortimer’s own views and his interest in theology, although they’re not averse to adopting more exotic imagery when it suits them, with influences from both new age and Zen movements. As Mortimer puts it:
“Like I say, I am a Christian and for me nothing is more important than Christ but I don't take the view that I should shove that down other people's throats. On the other hand, if I'm being honest as a songwriter then it is inevitable that Christianity will appear in one form or another from time to time in the songs.
“Other "religious" influences come in to flavour things as well, particularly Zen on The Sound of Souls and Covenant. With Covenant that was almost inevitable since Stephen R. Donaldson (the author of the "Chronicles of Thomas Covenant"), saturates his writing with religious concepts, especially Christian and Buddhist.”
As he notes here, the book which the album ‘Covenant’ – from which ‘Leper’s Progress’ comes - is based upon has quite strong Christian themes as well. The other book which they chose to base an album upon, Paul Tillich’s ‘The Courage to Be,’ is also a work of Christian theology (and a really good one, speaking as a non-Christian.) Due to Mortimer’s interest in theology, his lyrics are generally able to go a lot deeper than most Christian bands (‘Satan is bad! You’re bad if you like Satan! Jesus is good, so worship him! Yeah!’), and his Christian themes are generally introduced in terms of dealing with more philosophical themes such as the relation of mind to body, reason to the instincts, death to meaning, and so on. In this context, they tend to become a lot more personal, and to display inner turmoil or the personal search for peace.
Anne Locke is generally considered to have been the first to pen a sonnet sequence in English. While sonnets may have already existed in English literature*, the form of the sonnet sequence, a string of sonnets related to a common theme, which had become famous in Italy through the work of Petrarch, had not yet carried over. She was the first to use this form. It would later become a craze of its own in England, influenced by Sydney’s ‘Astrophel and Stella,’ where every man and his dog soon begun writing sequences of anguished sonnets, generally focusing on the theme of love, and generally not very good. John Donne’s ‘Holy Sonnets’ are another famous example of a sonnet sequence based upon religious themes, which were generally secondary to love as a subject for sonnets as far as popularity goes, but nonetheless were always present as a theme even in the form’s origins in Italy.
Locke’s sonnets are written as responses to the clauses of Psalm 51, and can be seen arranged alongside this psalm here. While Donne was known for his tendency to flaunt the established sonnet-form, Locke was a very close adherent to it, ending her quatrains with full-stops and keeping quite strongly to a rhyme scheme. Her main strength was her ability to harness these constraints, having one of the most keen ears for poetry among sonneteers, through creating verse which constantly threatened to overflow its boundaries, and was every time forced back. Her continual use of repetition gives the poems an almost obsessive tone, and form a very interesting complement to the more laconic language of the psalms; it essentially takes the language of the psalms, and due to the need to extend one line over the 14 of a sonnet, continually repeats it and stresses it in such a way as to give it a sense of outpouring which it doesn’t explicitly have in the psalms, as it were bringing out the real, forcefully emotional nature of the psalms through recasting them in a sonnet form. It may appear curt, but in reality it is powerful; the sonnet shows this by its basis upon the language of the psalm, and the obsessional return to it, which at the same time extending it over sonnet length.
The sonnet is, in a sense, an inherently dramatic form. You have the initial two quartets, which develop a theme, followed by the volta, the ‘turn,’ which requires a shift in perspective and tone, and hence implies dramatic development. This could to some degree explain the sonnet’s appeal to both Christian and romantic poets; it allows you to develop intense emotions without losing yourself in them, to indulge in despair without merely succumbing to it, because one has the sestet and turn to allow a change back from the unrestrained emotion. Indeed, in a sense the sestet demands this so that the poem be brought to a neat conclusion in the given space, and the act of bringing to a conclusion is clearly incompatible with unrestrained emotion. In the sestet, you can reflect upon the overall situation, and summarize it in more accurate terms, as well as more calmly appeal to the lover or God for salvation. Anne Locke’s power is to a large extent her ability to create the sense of passion in the quatrains, while following this with a plea to God in the sestet which, due to its being a direct request which must conclude in six lines, becomes more coherently structured in a way which both gives the poem resolution and preserves the emotion of the previous lines.
Anne Locke’s sonnets generally end with a plea to God following the ‘turn,’ and what this does is basically to proportion the poem between the initial despair and the need for God, the lack of salvation and the possibility for salvation through God’s mercy. Of course, the speaker has no power over God, nor do they have anything which is of use to God, and hence this must take the form of reliance upon God and submission to the fact that it is up to him. It nonetheless represents a resolution by the poet, but here a resolution towards acceptance; she resolves to live a life subject to God and accepts that she needs Him. Likewise, in Milton’s sonnet, known as ‘On His Blindness,’ the poet anguishes over their inability to act in service of God, but is responded to by ‘Patience’ at the turn, saying:
(The last line has become a British proverb, which perhaps illustrates some things.)
There can’t be a resolution towards independent action, because there is no salvation to be gained by one’s own action by itself, but only by the grace of God.
Comparison and conclusion:
The theme of leprosy has a long history in Christian thought, with episodes such as that of Christ touching and healing the leper leading to a wealth of possible allegorical and symbolic meanings which could be used in art and rhetoric. However, what unites these two works is not simply the theme, but the power of their focus on the rottenness of the self, and at the same time the hope of salvation. Of course, in Holocaust’s song, the subject is a character who does in fact have leprosy, but, as I suppose you would expect from the Thomas Covenant series, literal leprosy isn’t simply literal leprosy, and here that is brought out quite clearly with lines such as, ‘Oh, my soul,’ and explicit references to Christianity (indeed, one could say that even, ‘Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, I am defiled,’ immediately elevates this leprosy into symbolic territory). Suffice to say, it’s a song with universal themes, rather than simply a song about the mistreatment of one person who had leprosy.
In Holocaust’s song, the pummeling, heavy riffs are used to underpin the overall sense of almost self-loathing expressed by it. This is at first merely a physical matter, but soon is elevated into a matter of the soul; ‘To live by what I hate is my unbroken rule.’ The following of this by the reflective, regretful, ‘Oh, my soul,’ serves to make this aspect of matters even clearer. The problem is, ultimately, subjection to sin. The speaker portrays themselves as utterly wretched, completely deformed, mentally and physically; their soul is lost to darkness, and in the next song they request, in one of the most powerful sections of the song, a fire to ‘burn away the darkness in their soul.’ On the other hand, there is also an occasional sense of hope, represented by the chorus of this song, along with its characteristically ‘open’ guitar accompaniment; the hope, that is, of salvation for the soul, of being able to escape this mental and physical leprosy. If he cannot escape the leprosy of the soul, he is condemned to the leprosy of the body.
The title of Holocaust’s track hence alludes to the story of Christ and leper, and the Christian symbolism with which leprosy is associated. However, at the same time, it seems to also reference ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ the story of how a certain man named Christian met a bunch of conveniently named characters after discovering that he was afflicted by sin and voyaging to escape this state. In a sense, it’s quite appropriate to the song, and the album as a whole, insofar as it represents the progress of a leper, in this essentially symbolic sense, one consumed by sin, towards escaping the darkness in his soul, his inability to accept God’s rule in classical Christian theological terms (The Fall was a result of disobedience to God, which is hence seen as the primary and basic sin, an aspect emphasized even more strongly by Milton. For Milton, the basic problem is man’s valuation of himself or other men over God, ignoring the fact that God in reality constitutes their rational essence, all which is good within them.)
Anne Locke’s poem has much the same effect, except that in place of the heavy riffs you have the onslaught of ‘sinne’ and ‘foule,’ repeated almost continually as if to underline the point, to express the true depth of their impurity, to illustrate how they really are ‘all uncleane.’ The terms which are repeated; ‘sinne,’ ‘foule,’ ‘all,’ ‘cleane,’ all serve to emphasize the fact of their complete uncleanliness, their need for a complete cleansing. There is a powerful sense of self-loathing here, albeit one which concludes in turning to the Lord for help precisely because one sees oneself so insufficient; one cannot raise one’s own consciousness to purity consciously, because that would require a pure consciousness to begin with in order to figure out the direction to go. The admittance that one is completely unclean means that attempting to guide oneself to salvation would be akin to a child ignorant of even basic arithmetic or mechanics trying to teach themselves quantum physics in isolation; their reason has not yet attained a sufficient level, and therefore their reason cannot guide them there by itself. “The educator must himself be educated,” as Marx noted.
Of course, this formed to some degree the cornerstone of Paul Tillich’s philosophy in ‘The Courage to Be’ (and hence we return to Holocaust); the admittance of the imperfection of man, of his finitude, the limitations of his rationality, means that we cannot develop by ourselves in a progress led simply by human reason, but only by taking a ‘leap of faith,’ and reaching towards the good despite our limitations, trusting in the grace of God for our development despite the imperfection and sin inherent in our every action. We must trust in a higher reason to guide us to a higher plane, given that we cannot, rather than attempting to do so in contradiction to them. To some degree, this could be seen as going back to Descartes’ argument for God’s existence as the only possible basis for knowledge and thought, given the imperfections which we have and which culminate in universal doubt, the declaration that our knowledge is in every aspect unclean. What all of these arguments have in common is that they presuppose reason – ‘thought,’ ‘rationality,’ etc. – as the driving force of history, so that man’s development appears essentially stunted by the limitations of his reason and requires the existence of a higher reason, God; this would be contrary to the views of Marxism, for example, which places material practice at the foundation of both thought and history.
Of course, we can’t really give a thorough account of the subject here, so the above account probably doesn’t really make the nature of the argument clear enough. It’s probably a subject which we’ll return to at a later date in discussing some other good Christian bands (there’s a fair few), or Holocaust themselves, so we can probably leave that tangent as it is for now. Suffice it to say that for many Christian theologians, this declaration of oneself as impure, as having no truth apart from God, as merely ashes and dust, forms in some sense the foundations of Christian faith. As Wittgenstein put it, “Any man who is half-way decent will think himself extremely imperfect, but a religious man thinks himself wretched.” Hence the poignancy of the leper’s expectation that Jesus will not touch him due to his impurity, such that both Holocaust (‘Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, I am defiled’) and Locke (‘So foule I dare not, Lord, approach to thee’) feel it important enough, despite being a single detail, to include, is the admittance that one is so wretched that one does not deserve God’s grace. Of course, from a Christian perspective, you ‘deserve’ nothing from God; however, it’s one thing to say so and another to realize that it means stating that no part of you is good apart from God, for there is therefore nothing in you that God ‘ought’ to preserve, nothing good. Hence Euthyphro’s dilemma is vaulted over.
This, then, is the basic theological place which their self-loathing takes, and the reason why it must be so harsh. They must leave no part of themselves untouched, no attachments to the old must be maintained. As Donne put it, in a rather striking manner:
Yet dearly I love you [God], and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Paradoxes! Of course, the paradox that only in subservience to God we gain true freedom is pretty much inherent to Christian thought, and forms the embryo of Donne’s paradoxical wave here; we can only be free as individuals by allowing God to permeate us wholly and obliterate our individuality. To attain freedom and our true interests, we must hate ourselves. So it goes.
In that case, Holocaust’s similarity with the Anne Locke poem is ultimately based upon their similar place in a theological framework, the fact that they play a similar role. The harshness of their self-critique, though articulated in different ways, nonetheless retains a united force in both the song and the poem. To some degree, a strength which Christian art can claim is its foundation upon a firm, serious tradition, one encompassing Milton, Spenser, Bach and all the rest, as well as Aquinas, Descartes, Hegel and so on on the philosophical side. One couldn’t say the same for, say, Satanism; for all the furore about Christian metal, I think that in rejecting it wholesale you miss out on a significant potentiality for heavy metal.
* A sonnet is a 14-line poem, which is usually divided into two groups of four lines and one group of six, as follows:
With how sad steps, ô Moon, thou climb'st the skies
How silently, and with how wan a face !
What, may it be that even in heav'nly place
That busy archer his sharp arrow tries?
Sure, if that long with Love acquainted eyes
Can judge of Love, thou feel'st a lovers case;
I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace,
To me that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, ev'n of fellowship, ô Moon, tell me,
Is constant Love deemed there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those Lovers scorn whom that Love do possess?
Do they call Virtue there ungratefulness?
Generally speaking, the division into stanzas isn’t present in the actual poem, and is here used merely for illustrative purposes. The first eight lines of the poem form two groups of four lines each; each such group of four lines is called a ‘quatrain.’ In what is known as the English, or Shakespearian sonnet, these usually follow a rhyme scheme where the first line rhymes with the third and the second with the fourth (known as ABAB); in the ‘Italian,’ or Petrarchan sonnet, they follow a rhyme scheme where the second and third lines rhyme, as well as the first with the fourth (ABBA.)
In the above case, we have the form of rhyme in the quatrains which is generally associated with the Petrarchan sonnet, despite this being written by the English Sidney. It is also notable how the quatrains here both end with a sentence-ending punctuation, either a full-stop or question-mark; this is the most basic way of writing the sonnet structure, although many sonneteers would go on to experiment with continuity between the lines, or, in less adventurous moods, semi-colons to achieve a similar effect without quite finishing the sentence.
For the last group of six lines, known as a ‘sestet,’ the rhyme can again vary. For Petrarch, forms such as CDECDE (eg. Fish / Rubber / Cow / Dish / (Land) Lubber / Mao) were common, and the use of a rhyming couplet (two lines in succession which rhyme) to end the poem, which we see here, was primarily popularized by the English sonnet. In entering into the sestet, you traditionally have what is known as a ‘turn,’ or ‘volta,’ by which the tone of the poem shifts at the beginning of the sestet. This generally allowed the sonnet to be given an question-response form, with the first eight lines providing the problem and then the last six reflecting on it and concluding. Of course, this was increasingly experimented with, from starting the volta halfway through the line to delaying it for later lines, but nonetheless the volta, in whatever form, was a common technique in the sonnet, and formed an important part of its attraction. Some sonnets disposed with it altogether, but most major sonnets didn’t unless they wanted to achieve something specific; likewise, the proportioning of the poem into a section of 8 lines and another section of 6 had a useful effect in creating a proportionate structure, which many sonnet-writers thought was worth salvaging.
If you wanted an analogue for the effect of the sonnet’s volta in heavy metal, one of the closest is perhaps the ‘turn’ in the last third of Holocaust’s song ‘Hypnosis of Birds,’ which begins with a sense of alienation before slowly coming to a conclusion with a sense of unity with the divine, and the acceptance of its necessity (‘We all need to hold / And need to be held’), which is made more powerful due to the greater intensity granted by the shorter length, as well as through bringing the song to a sense of resolution on that final line, which hence gains a lot of power.
OSI use a somewhat similar effect with the ending of ‘Blood,’ which does indeed appear to be a sort of resolution and acceptance on the part of the speaker, even invoking God; however, in this case it’s twisted around somewhat by the fact that ‘war,’ which the speaker resolves to accept and submit to, is portrayed as essentially alien, and hence their submission is not positive, but rather subjugation. The power of the final line is almost opposite to that of ‘Hypnosis of Birds,’ a decided sense of helplessness and negativity rather than acceptance and unity.