bad wolf
Here’s a question about the human spirit: how come you have the ability to crawl through certain psychological sewers with ease, while almost drowning entirely in other sewers of comparable size and stench? I ask because after a day spent hamstrung by self-doubt, I woke up to the obvious conclusion that doubt is a side effect of any creative act, and just went about my day. Previous instances of comparably debilitating self-doubt have left me out of action for a lot longer than just one day. Thank the stars and pray emoji, I guess.
Wolves have been a motif in the music I've been making as part of my now almost released album. Part of the reason why is because as a much younger person, I was deeply moved by the enduring internet cliché of the two wolves fighting within each one of us. Most of the reason why is because when I first started working on the music that would go on to become part of this album, I imagined my general anxiety as comparable to staying indoors, afraid of wolves on the streets. You know, irrational. And then the pandemic struck, and two things happened: one, there was literally a nameless faceless thing out on the streets forcing us to stay indoors, and two, everybody else was plunged into the same general anxiety.
Said in the voice of a boy half my age: I want it to be known that I thought up this wolf allegory way before the pandemic, I have proof and everything. Anyway, the fifth (and final) single from my album is also a reworking of the first demo I released from what was in April just a ‘bunch of tracks’. When I released it, I posted about it faux-cryptically: bad wolf is a track about bad wolves and how to defeat them. It's an anthem for lonely bedrooms and empty living rooms, a soundtrack for a view of deserted streets. I hope this article gives more context and sounds less deliberately obscure. That’s another thing about the human spirit: it’s amazing how much you can grow in two months.
Wonder what the point of music is on the sixth of March, twenty twenty two. Wonder if it serves the same purpose it served fifty, eighty, one hundred, one thousand years ago. Maybe six thousand years ago, that age’s Leonard Cohen wrote wryly of the migration patterns of wildebeest. I’ve been working on new music over the past half year. Here’s a pleasant house cover of the Cure’s Just Like Heaven.