Connecting with Art

As pretentious and corny as it sounds, music can be a pretty good source for temporary relief, escape, or therapy at times. As I mentioned prior, when I was grieving Eugene, I looked to Panic at the Disco’s Pretty. Odd. as an incredibly unlikely place for comfort. Whenever I felt like it would become too much, I’d listen to the album front to back, on repeat, for days. I still can’t describe it, but even now, 2 years later, it puts me at ease. 

One of my favorite bands is called Blue October. I discovered them in high school when I was arguably at the peak of emo days. Not necessarily depressed, but definitely emotional. I was originally drawn to them because of their incredibly deep, moving lyrics that spoke of pain, depression, suicide, and love with sincerity. The main lyricist and lead singer, Justin Furstenfeld suffers from bipolar disorder, and is a former alcoholic and drug addict. As you’d imagine, as a kid growing up with depression, it meant everything to find someone who understood what I was feeling and was speaking a truth that I could connect with. And thirteen years later, I still enjoy listening to them and I’ve been to approximately 8-10 live performances. 

Over the years, he’s managed to persevere and overcome addiction, in order to live a full, positive life for his family. As it tends to be the case with artists, the most beautiful art comes from pain. Therefore, as he started to feel less pain, his lyrics have become less interesting. They were becoming repetitive and vapid. The emotional honesty that I connected with slowly disappeared. Thankfully, as the lyrics started to tank, the focus shifted towards richer, more layered music. I still listened on a regular basis, but I had all but written off their most recent albums. While I was sincerely happy for him that he was able to find peace, I figured I’d never be able to connect the same way I used to. And there was nothing wrong with that. Music doesn’t always have to be a relief, an escape, or therapy all the time. Sometimes, you just enjoy it as a form of entertainment. 

Last month, they released their 10th album, This is What I Live For. As with every Blue October album these days, I listened to it, fully expecting disappointment. However, the first lyrics of the first track instantly took my breath away. Through the floating, ethereal music, he bared his soul: 

“This is the part where I laugh at myself
And the world for thinking that things could actually change
Just like the old me you knew once before
Who almost destroyed and lost everything to the same damn thing”

The depth and the anger that was absent in recent albums had returned. But different. Sort of more mature than before. Almost evolved. Originally, his lyrics were deeply depressing, angsty, and childish in its thinking. It sort of lashed out at the world and himself, with no solutions. This time, however, the lyrics suddenly expressed more so an exasperated sadness. Someone who was sick and tired of being sad. Someone who was frustrated with themselves for sinking back into something that they thought they’d overcome. And for the first time in years, I connected with the lyrics again. 

If you’ve stuck with this blog over the last few years, you’ve likely read my desperate attempts to ward off the depression. The impatience with myself for not getting better quick enough. The actions that I took to keep myself from falling. And then, the frustration I felt at myself when I did inevitably fall. That’s what I felt in those first lyrics and I was glad to find someone who understood what I was feeling, again. 

The band released two versions of the album. The album proper and an enhanced version of the album, where the lyricist ran commentary, explaining the lyrics on each track. And I got the full picture. Justin explains that the album is essentially coming to terms with the fact that depression will always be a part of his life and he’s welcoming it back as if it was an estranged part of his family. 

Recently, though I’ve never expressed it on here, that’s something that I’ve been coming to grips with myself. I said something to my therapist recently, along the lines of, “I don’t want to be depressed, but sometimes I do get sad, and I’m realizing that it’s okay to be sad, sometimes.” I guess that was my first step into accepting that it’s never going to go away. 

I’m starting to understand that depression isn’t something I need to be fighting all the time and that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself if I happen to fall again. I’m acknowledging its persistent presence in my life, understanding that it’ll always be there, and accepting that I’m gonna fall sometimes… and that’s fine. 

I mean, I will continue to take action for myself when I can, but I’m not as afraid of falling as much anymore. I’m not sure that I’m willing to welcome it into my life the same way Justin did, but it’s nice to know that it’s not the end of the world if I do. 

It’s also nice to know that I can still connect with his lyrics thirteen years later, when I’m in a completely different phase in my life. When art can grow with the person and the people who connect with it, to me, that’s art.

Keep on.

Adam