Dear Radiohead (and your army)
I don't know exactly what you're doing to me or why, but I know there is something big going on. I have lots of ideas, some crazy and others not. I cracked the Radiohead code, or at least I think I have. It's hard to figure out what's real.
I had never really given The King of Limbs much of a chance, but I started listening to it more in the last few months. I was curious about the lyrics, so I looked them up while I was listening to the album. I didn't think much of it the first few times, but it gradually grew on me. The words stuck in my head, and I kept hearing the same words in the lyrics of other bands' music. Certain themes kept coming up--water/sea/fish/flood, sky/stars/sun/moon, birds, half-veiled biblical, mythological, and cultural references in every line. By the time Burn the Witch came out, I had become pretty familiar with basic archetypal theory and its use in interpreting symbolism (as well as it's association with witchcraft), and used these techniques to understand the lyrics and references made in the video. I knew from the first scene of the video that this song--and the upcoming album--would be full of symbolism and seemingly endless rabbit holes to fall through, in that typical Radiohead way.
The new album, A Moon Shaped Pool, came out and I didn't listen to it immediately. I didn't feel a huge need to rush, but people kept mentioning it to me, asking if I'd listened to it yet, so I decided that I would give it a go. From the first listen-through, I knew it was good, but didn't fully appreciate the weight of it yet. The album as a whole was beautiful and took me on an emotional roller-coaster through a troubled mind that felt strangely familiar. I felt especially impacted by the final song, though, and couldn't shake the eerie impression that there was more to it than at first appeared. I tried to read a few reviews to see what other people had thought of the album, but found that the internet had seemingly gone berserk with regards to Radiohead. Social media was completely unhelpful, and many reviews seemed to miss the mark entirely. People didn't know what to make of this album. I knew I needed to listen again and figure out what the hell was going on.
This time I listened while reading the lyrics intently, and stopped to research anything that seemed like a reference along the way. The album as a whole made many references to environmental destruction, inevitable doom, the darkness present in the world and the sense of powerlessness in the face of potential disaster. But beneath the surface, it also seemed to make references to a failed relationship, but one that failed as a result of several small actions that were perhaps not meant to harm but that did nonetheless. This album feels like one half of a two-part story. This is one side, but we still don't have the other side yet. It's impossible to make any judgments about who was right or wrong until both sides have been heard. But, of course, both sides can't be heard if people aren't willing to listen or talk. And in the end, it's likely that neither side is completely right or wrong, just misunderstood by the other side.
This album seems to have hit many people hard, and I'm not surprised. I'm no stranger to the heartbreak of a failed relationship myself. However, it helped me see things from the other side. I've always been the heartbreaker, the one that got away, the one who wouldn't listen. I never knew the other side.
I loved a boy once who loved Radiohead more than anything. Well, maybe not more than anything--he loved me too. His name was Alex. We met through music, many years ago. We liked a lot of the same bands, and he was looking for a violinist to play music with. I wanted to play music with him, but I didn't know him very well so I was afraid to ask. So I laid a trap of sorts--I posted lyrics to a song by Cloud Cult, a band we both liked, in hopes that he would see them and maybe talk to me. It worked, to my surprise, and soon we were talking, and before I knew it I was at his house listening to songs he had written and then we started playing together and it was like magic.
That whole summer--it must have been 2009, right before I was about to enter my last year of high school--flew by in a blur. We saw as much of each other as possible; we just couldn't get enough of each other. And I was writing poetry like I'd never written before. And he liked my poetry! And he liked my music! And he liked my voice, and my weird style, and everything about me. I felt like I finally understood what love was, and I could finally understand why everyone went so crazy about it all the time. It felt amazing.
Like all good things, it came to an end. Not quickly, but slowly and painfully, over the course of several years. Our band, which had grown to include my brother and a few of our friends, slowly fell apart; music became an obligation, a duty. Because Alex listened to so much good music, he had impossibly high standards for himself which he constantly fell short of. His skills as a drummer were unparalleled, and he had the seemingly magical ability to hear a completed song in his head when all I gave him was lyrics and a melody. But he hated his voice, and felt that if he couldn't sing his own songs, it wasn't even worth playing them. He became irritable and frustrated with us during band practice, because none of us really took it that seriously. We were just there to hang out and have a good time. But he felt compelled in a different way, driven by a force that none of us had encountered yet. He had found his calling, I suppose, and was trying to answer it right away, but didn't realize that we just weren't ready like he was.
The band falling apart was just one part of the reason our relationship eventually soured; there were many other factors going on in his and my life that caused us to drift apart. I felt that he wanted to possess me for himself but I wanted to see the world and have more experiences before settling down. He would have been happy to get married and make music with me for the rest of our lives, but I wasn't there yet. I had to make a lot more mistakes for myself before I would get to a place where I felt the same intense feeling of purpose and the urgent need to take action towards that purpose.
We broke up in the spring of 2012. He tried to get back together with me, but I didn't want to. In May of 2012, he committed suicide.
When he died, he took a piece of me with him. I still loved him, even though I had broken his heart and didn't want to be with him anymore. I just knew it wasn't the right time. But I wish things had gone differently. I wish he were still here and still making music, and I know the world feels his absence like a black void. He would have known just what to say about the latest Radiohead album, the first that has come out since he's died. He would have loved it, and devoured it, and told everyone he could about it. But he's not here anymore. I just wish we could talk like we used to.
I split myself in half after that, and hid the deepest part of myself for a long time. I built a thick shell around myself and didn't let anyone in. I was utterly broken but had to keep smiling, because I felt it had been my fault he died. It didn't matter how many people told me otherwise, I could never shake the feeling that I was responsible. That he died for my sins, like some sick twisted Jesus metaphor. I'm still working to heal that deep wound and pick up all the pieces of myself so I can start moving forward again instead of just drifting in an endless sea of meaningless pain. I have a long way to go, but there are definitely no shortcuts worth taking.
I'm sorry for hurting you, Alex. I hope you're smiling down from heaven. I hope you got to listen to this album, because it's fucking beautiful. I love you.
E
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