John Lacey

I have a confession; it’s hard to get back on the blogging bandwagon after you’ve fallen off. I made a deliberate decision not to blog over the weekend, but then this self-imposed exile morphed into something else entirely when my laptop suddenly died. There was much concern and even hyperventilating. I laid on the floor of my lounge room and thought, “No, please no - anything but that.” Because while it is just a machine, it contains so much of my life. And, regrettably, most of it wasn’t backed up.

Fortunately it wasn’t a big issue. I identified the problem, ordered a new part from HP. HP advised that it would take 3-10 days to arrive. And it was here the next day. Hallelujah!

I want to talk about a slightly different religious experience for the remainder of this post. My friend John and myself (no, not at all confusing, relating a conversation between two people with the same name) were discussing something that reminded me of Tori Amos’ Boys For Pele album.

I should probably disclose my bias early. I adore this album. It was so different, so daring. It was the perfect accompaniment for me as a disgruntled angsty teenager. It was just wild. It was so adventurous. An ‘alternative’ album full of harpsichord and clashing piano. Cover art with a provocative Amos sitting in a carriage with her leg in the air, or sitting on a verandah with a rifle in her hand and a python at her foot. And that isn’t even referencing the picture in which she is suckling a pig.

I struggle to witness another example where an artist had surrendered themselves so fully to a creative vision.

The album itself is really about the destruction of a relationship. We assume that relationship was the [romantic] one between Amos and her former producer Eric Rosse.

You know it was my intention to write about the merits of that particular album, to beguile you with interesting information about themes and facts. The truth is something else weighs on my mind. I feel profoundly conflicted about the music of Tori Amos. I enjoy it. I embrace it. But I am also haunted by it. It has served as soundtrack to some of the most painful moments of my life. For a long time I was unable (or, at least, unwilling) to listen to anything by her. But I find myself watching random Tori-related videos tonight on YouTube and being in awe of her creativity, her musicality, her courage.

I would like to resolve this conflict. I have come to realise there is a gulf between emotional honesty and emotional binge. A lot of people seem to have been impressed by my efforts to express myself in the past. The depressing videos and blog posts usually strike a chord with people. (I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when HalfScottishGuy wrote, after watching one of my videos, “… sad can be a good thing, sad is happy for deep people.”) There’s a good chance I do ’sad’ well, if only because I’ve done it a lot. Perhaps I’ve turned it into an art form. The universal quality of it might mean lots of people can relate; I suppose that is a glorious thing.

The thing is I don’t actually want to be depressed for the rest of my life. There is a certain familiarity there. The depression is, for the most part, at least, a known quantity. The truth is I want different, better things. I’ve actually always wanted those things, but I’ve also doubted that they were possible for me. That they were within my realm of possibility. That, perhaps, even that I might not have deserved them. I have been reluctant to say too much, but there are things going on in the background. Things are changing. Particles are moving around in the air. Stars are (hopefully) aligning. And even more magically, perhaps, I’m changing.

I have always used pain as a starting point for creativity. But I want to now choose to believe that actually anything at all can be a starting point for creativity. I want to choose to believe that I can delve into my emotional world and still come up for air, that I can find new and exciting ways to swim.

Because I’ve been guilty of making myself a sad pathetic example of a human being. I never felt as though as I was interesting or talented enough of myself to warrant people’s interest, attention or affection. I was always going for the sympathy vote. I guess I always figured it was the most reliable. I could, after all, always find ways to be pitiful.

So now I am trying to listen to these recordings by Tori Amos in a way new. To find a way to derive some solace from the unhappier moments without bonding myself to them for an eternity.

Categories: Personal Universe
Tags: depression, features, tori amos