The character Rob Gordon spoke those words in the movie "High Fidelity", and it's a sentiment I often share. It's easy to fall into the murky dark of a depressive mood, and every song we listen to that comes from that same spirit only makes it more comfortable to stay in that hole. When it's velvet-lined, our hands are more likely to caress the sides than grip into the edge to pull ourselves up and back into the light.
Over the last twenty years, one of my few go-to 'sad bastard' albums has been the same, even if it brings with it moral and philosophical confusion. I remember the visceral reaction the fans had to Dave Matthews Band's "Everyday" when it was released, with the cries of 'sellout' ringing loudly all around. I could appreciate that album for what it was, and I didn't have any problem with the shiny exterior that glossed over so much of the band's identity. It was clear Dave was trying to have a bit more fun, and the reasons for that became clear very soon.
About a month after that album was released, the internet was abuzz yet again, as the recordings from the scrapped sessions for what should have been their fourth album made their way online. Given the title "The Lillywhite Sessions", we were given an unlicensed glimpse into a mindset we were not supposed to see. It's hard to celebrate an album that has never been released, but the shunning of it is part of the charm. What would a sad bastard be if he was embraced?
The raw and unfinished sound of the recordings feeds into the atmosphere, letting sadness and the dark creep in around the edges. Without any shimmering production, no optimism was lacquered over the top of these songs to hide the alcohol and tears the pages they were written on became stained with. Dave's guitars don't ring out as long, the strings dying quicker with every strike. Boyd's violin blends into the mix more, while LeRoi's sax echoes the blues more than ever before. I can hear the black cloud hanging over the band as they were recording these songs, and it's the sort of remnant that can never be replicated. It's why any producer who knows anything about music is in search of the right performance, not the perfect one. Perfection is boring because of how predictable it is, while the accidents of humanity are what let us see ourselves in a work of art.
Even though I was but a high school senior at the time these songs found their way into the world, I suppose I always had a bit of an old soul. The ache that dripped through these songs, whether it was the anguish Dave strains to get out in "Grey Street", or the fragile sobriety of "Grace Is Gone", resonated in the emptiness I felt. While I enjoyed the sugar rush I could get from pop music, that was fleeting, whereas these songs fed my soul.
Not everything nourishing goes down easily, and that was the case for these songs. Just as you can't stare into an eclipse without damaging your eyes, you almost need to be damaged to listen to these songs and get the full effect. They were the product of a wondrous period of inspiration, but they kept both Dave and anyone listening anchored to the ground, unable to rise above the doubts and fears plaguing us. There are great songs in this collection, and great melodies that could have become hits, but they were imbued from their birth with such anxiety they could never give the masses what they wanted. But for the outcasts who spoke this language, it was everything we needed.
In my lowest moments, this album is what I have almost always reached for first. I don't believe in amplifying a mood with music. Listening to miserable music when I'm miserable isn't going to make me feel any better. But despite everything I've said, these songs don't make me miserable. If anything, the sadness carried by these songs is reassuring, because it shows me how much beauty can be wrung from even the worst times in our lives. Pain can be beautiful, if we know how to harness it. This isn't like painting with various shades of our own blood, but it does use the full spectrum of the dark to draw in relief a way forward.
"But oh god, under the weight of life, things seem brighter on the other side," Dave sings in "Big Eyed Fish". That's the message of this collection, that there is no such thing as an eternal darkness. Even in the outreaches of space, we have lights in the sky to look for, to guide us, to power our hopes. In "Sweet Up And Down", Dave sings, "I believe in love, but believe it's my heart that's been keeping me down." Realizing we are the fault, not some cosmic scheme to punish us, is an important step in moving forward. Dave's frequent use of his falsetto for the key moments might sound like his voice is close to breaking, but that is exactly the point. We are what is broken, not the universe.
In a way, I think it's fitting that "The Lillywhite Sessions" has never been officially released. These songs, in this form, are beautiful for their frailty, but they have to be handled with care to survive. The songs that were re-recorded for "Busted Stuff" are less interesting, because they lack the rainy-day atmosphere of the original takes, but that makes them easier to play again and again without remembering why they are so important. Sometimes the light can burn, but it's necessary to grow and thrive. We cannot live forever in the darkness, no matter how comforting the hazy edges of a shadow might feel to tired eyes.
Even after twenty years, little things like the drum roll Carter pulls off in "Grey Street" still move me. I like knowing that dark times can still inspire the best in us to come out, and that these episodes don't last forever. They are moments in time, and no matter how strong the memory of them may seem, figments of the past can only hurt us if we allow them to. As Dave sings, "I am the captain of this ship." He's absolutely right, even if that lesson is sometimes easy to forget.
These songs, on the other hand, are not. Even if they aren't officially an album, this is some of the most important music in my life. Then, now, likely always.
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