Going Out Like Someone Who Doesn’t Want To Go Out
My Mixtape’s A Masterpiece is a weekly feature in which a guest compiles a playlist around some theme. This week, Justin Howard Query assembles 12 songs for those who are still trepidatious to venture out into our chaotic world. Read Justin’s thoughts on each song and listen along to the Spotify playlist on top and/or the YouTube playlist at the bottom of the post.
The pandemic and subsequent lockdown don't really need a playlist. Many of us sobbed furiously into our pillows—nightly—and that sound became the lullaby since March of 2020 that whisked us off to something creepily resembling Dreamland.
But as restrictions lift and people return to those pre-pandemic activities that once warmed their hearts – standing less than six feet away from someone, shaking hands, eating at a buffet – some may find the return to "normal" a bit abnormal.
The nightly news reminds us that we haven't weathered the full storm yet. And this playlist is meant to remind you that if you're the least bit uncomfortable with going out into the world, there is a world of music to let you know that you have a like-minded friend – just keep your distance.
And sanitize.
1. “Underground” by Ben Folds Five
The song isn't meant to suggest that we should live like Caliban in Uncanny X-Men, but the song certainly indicates that resisting the urge to prematurely return to the unmasked world might be a little alternative, a little antithetical, a little left of center, a bit punk rock. And those of us who elect to do so could be very happy doing so. Stay underground until you're absolutely certain you're ready to join the masses of those wandering around up there. The "bye bye" that announces the end of this track also ultimately announces that safe space in the sunlight is not soon on the horizon.
2. “Live And Let Die” by Paul McCartney & Wings
What better anthem than McCartney's defiant dismissal of anyone who would interfere with his (and your) will to stay alive? You're certainly not responsible for the lives of others, so why not simply advocate for your own survival? The gentle melodies that lead to the song's abrasive chorus are precisely what survival today demands, a perfect blend of accepting the reality of the world and accepting the world even under its most mortal conditions.
3. “Man In The Box” by Alice in Chains
Even after only three months of lockdown, this song sounds like we all felt, how we all looked, perhaps even how we all smelled. Couple that chunky guitar with the rage of that chorus, and this is what we’re coming to when we can’t sit indoors at Chili’s or go to a movie theater. Things are about to get rough. So is this playlist.
4. “No Rain” by Blind Melon
Quite the musical one-two punch from what just came before it. However one responds to the "new normal," it's also a personal choice, and it's likely a joyous one, once accepted. Find that place where you feel most protected and you can accept any hardship that the world throws at you. This track demonstrates that people need little more than a dancing bumblebee girl to raise their spirits.
5. “Brain Stew” by Green Day
Was I the only one who vacillated between loving the singularity of lockdown and yearning for human interaction? It was a seesaw. It was a rollercoaster. It was a number of metaphors, each replete with gory imagery like the poetry found here, disrupted by the angular guitar chords that belie the song's imagistic lyrics.
6. “Poor Places” by Wilco
Things begin to truly slow down here, as the musical discordance of some of these instruments playing over one another matches the conflicting back and forth of Tweedy’s lyrics:
“And it makes no difference to me/It’s hot in the poor places tonight. / I’m not going outside.” There’s an affirmation of the way the world is beginning to work, but it can’t drown out the deafening noise and distress signal that confirms that the world is far from getting better as this track suddenly and abruptly comes to a –
7. “Why I’m Lonely” by Harvey Danger
“And with the right revolting piety of tone, / The word ‘freedom’ can make you want to lock yourself in a deep dark dungeon,” vocalist Sean Nelson contemplates, and the lyrical musings that permeate this track are a muted hurricane of observations in lockdown: “I wish I could be less aware” moves seamlessly into “Now it’s absolutely clear to me / That solitude is not the same as singularity.” But despite every conclusion that this musical essay arrives at, the listener discovers that there are still no easy answers. That's not why I'm lonely. Perhaps we'll never know why.
8. “Goodbye” by Bo Burnham
9. “It's A Motherfucker” by eels
The track’s title would suggest a raucous response to one’s current predicament in isolated lockdown, but Mr. E has constructed a ballad here that speaks to loss, grief, and longing: the byproducts of the shared nationwide experience of a pandemic lockdown and the tallies that daily reminded us that lives are being lost. And even when it passes, we'll likely never ever be the same.
10. “Raise The Blinds” by The Mumlers
The tension is beginning to build here, an inevitable response to all that time that we were tucked away, ready to re-emerge into the world, even if the consequences of that emergence remain a true mystery. Some hope survives as the track concludes, indicating that as long as owe each other something – patience, compassion, a fat bottom lip – we’ll never be broke. There are glimpses of danger throughout this track's lyrics – but shouldn't there be?
11. “In Hiding” by Pearl Jam
There’s a defiant shift here that seems to suggest that things might actually turn around, a certain bit of self-righteousness that can only come from coming out the other end of a pandemic relatively unscathed. Though the lyrics (“It’s been about three days now/Since I’ve been aground. /No longer overwhelmed and it seems so simple now”) would indicate that this has simply been a long weekend, that was the longest March that any of us have ever known.
12. “Here Comes The Sun” by The Beatles
Is there a better invitation than this to finally get out there? It can’t rain all the time, and it was only a matter of time until all of us had to shake the dust of the past two years from our clothes and get back out there. We’re each of us a little haunted by what we saw and heard and felt over the course of the past two years – and whether wary or not that we’ve fully weathered the storm, this quiet conclusion serves at least as a bit of a promise that we’ll survive it
