That thought has been on my mind for much of this year, as I have been wrestling with existential questions that have answers only insofar as I am willing to accept my own reasoning. While I know people mean well when they say "don't give up", their imploring never comes with an explanation for what nobility exists in continuing to venture down paths that cut and scrape, that leave scars which will not heal, but rather get swallowed up by the effects of time on our skin as we age. We have no trouble admitting there are times when continuing to hold on is less humane than letting go (as we do with our pets when they become sick), but we struggle to let ourselves have that same grace.
For longer than I have been writing about music, I have been writing music. I have talked about my own experiences as a musician to give context to why I think certain albums fall short of the intended mark. I am not merely someone saying I like or don't like something, I have the experience of trying to do this myself to explain what I think does and doesn't work.
That paragraph was written in the present tense, but it should be written in the past. The fact of the matter is recently I have committed myself to giving up on thinking of myself in that way. Music was not just a hobby, it was a form of therapy to be able to turn my thoughts into something productive, something I thought I was proud of. Those ideas have dried up, and the fuel that burned within me is now cold. I don't think that's intrinsically a bad thing, though.
None of the people who have told me to keep going have given me a good reason to, and most of them have never even listened to a note that I created, so what the fuck do they know? Giving up is something I am doing for my mental health, to save myself from the torment that comes with trying to force something that is no longer there. Beating my head against a wall is never going to do anything good for me. The flat-top isn't in style anymore.
So where does that leave "Breach", the album that is most responsible for setting these last twenty-five years in motion? Honestly, I'm not sure. I still call the record one of my favorites of all time, and I hear bits and pieces in the lyrical writing that still resonate with me in ways almost no other music does. I remember the feeling I had when I understood that music and poetry could blend together into something far deeper and more important than a typical pop song.
When Jakob Dylan sings, "I can't fix something this complex and more than I can build a rose", I can feel the inadequacy of knowing life exists beyond our capability to construct it. Though the concept of 'manifesting' was not as ubiquitous then, what he was saying was that we cannot cut and arrange the pieces of life as if arranging a bouquet. People are not in our control, nor is luck, and we rely on both of them far more than we like to admit.
Later, he sings "some flowers they never bloom, and some flowers they just bloom dead". Is there a more elegant way of saying "fuck you" to the people who promise you that your time is coming? Subconsciously or not, we erect markers in our minds for the milestones of life, and when they remain at the far edge of the horizon after getting postcards from everyone else who has arrived, hearing platitudes about everything good that will be waiting for us becomes less a measure of compassion, and more a reminder of our failures. I shouldn't use that particular word, because it isn't that I have failed, it's that my road was never going to be the highway I had charted out on the map. I didn't know that at the time, and I only found out after the damage was already done. Clearly, I didn't learn enough from "Breach".
Just a few weeks ago, the lyric to "Witness", in which Jakob sings "happy birthday, no one cares", was the mantra of that day. As is the case with many other issues, it took me a long time to fully understand how much that one day of the year has broken me again and again. The lyric was always there in the back of my mind, telling me something I didn't know I already knew, waiting for me to be ready to come to terms with the truth.
"Breach" has always been that record for me. It has pushed me to think about the uncomfortable things about myself, and to figure out my own way of saying the things that are too important to be said plainly. For so long, I loved the album for lighting the path as I explored my own artistic side. Now, I'm not sure if I hate it for how much time and energy I expended on things I was never going to be able to do properly.
So I return to the question I started with; If I have lost my passion and inspiration, and pushing the rock up that hill is as futile as it seems, what is the point of soldiering on? Why shouldn't I give up on something that no longer brings me joy, and that clearly no one else gives a damn about?
I may be quitting on music, but I can't quit on over-thinking. For that reason alone, no matter how bitter I get, I'm sure "Breach" will be my companion for another twenty-five years.
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