No One Notices the Contrast of White of White

No One Notices the Contrast of White on White

Music created out of depression can be starkly beautiful. The history of art is riddled with the stories of tormented souls trying to express themselves. Is it any surprise that themes of sadness, despair, rejection, loneliness, anger, and cynicism resonate with people almost universally?

Kevin Gilbert, a bright songwriter who lived a tragic life and suffered a despicable death wrote the line, "and everybody has someone they can share their sadness with" in the satirical Joytown, a song about a place that doesn't exist. People are in sad shape. While listening to Rush's Presto album last week, I was struck by the songs The Pass and Red Tide. The first deals with trying to talk a friend out of suicide, and the second is about modern epidemics, environmental disaster, and the ability of technologically advanced humans to kill others and themselves more efficiently. I realized, unbelievers have everything to worry about, because anything that threatens their own world threatens everything they have. See Neil Peart's Ghost Rider for a good example of this.

I dusted off Counting Crows' debut album August and Everything After last night. This is an amazing album musically and lyrically, one of those albums with a sound that fills up and changes the mood in a room. The critics loved this thing when it came out. Singer Adams Duritz is the perfect tragic Romeo character, desperately sad but loveable. He and all the characters in his songs have problems, and you get the sense that he is sharing your problems and singing about them for you.

In the song Mr. Jones, Duritz theorizes, "when everybody loves me, I'm gonna be just about as happy as I can be." When Counting Crows' follow up album Recovering the Satellites included more songs about depression and a retrospective on how life as a rockstar wasn't all that great, the critics became very unhappy with Mr. Duritz, labelling him a hypocritic whiner. Subsequent Crows albums have still included that air of melancholy, but haven't captured the pristine sadness of their first two works. They haven't affected me at all in the same way.

In real life, Duritz seems to be kind of a lousy guy. He apparently went Brian Wilson a few years ago, staying home for a year, not shaving, and refusing to record or play live because he couldn't handle criticism. I can't say I blame him. If he's down and out, the critics don't want to hear him whine. If he's writing happy-cheery songs, the fans are unhappy. At this point, I would rather the guy get his life together and never make another classic, depressed Counting Crows album. It's kind of selfish to hope that your favorite songwriters stay depressed so they'll keep making good music.

All this begs questions about art in general. Authenticity is very valuable in art, and most people are genuinely suffering. Christians should be able to recognize this, and be mindful of the fact that coming from unbelievers, good art is art that tells us about the condition in which they find themselves. Likewise, Christian artists shouldn't gloss over the troubles that are present in their own lives, as unbelievers will smell a fake. I think it is important to make the contrast as vivid and real as possible, to accurately portray the effects of sin in the world, admit our own weakness, and then be able to demonstrate the real hope that we have.


I got bones beneath my skin, and mister
There's a skeleton in every man's house
Beneath the dust and love
and sweat that hangs on everybody
There's a dead man trying to get out
Please help me stay awake, I'm falling

Asleep in perfect blue buildings
Beside the green apple sea
Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby
Try to keep myself away from me
- Counting Crows