Quiet Quiet Quiet

Sssshhhh, sssshhh, Dear Reader. Don’t say anything for a second. I’m still taking it in. The other day, I made a sort of rushed decision to burn up an iTunes gift card with the purchase of Brand New’s recent release, “Daisy.” I love Brand New, they’re a terrific band, and I’m a notorious completionist, and yet I hesitated on this one for months. Why? Because of a little record called “The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me,” which is one of my favorite CDs of all time. In my top three. What’s so bizarre about that is the fact that before that record, I had never heard a single song by this band. When word got around the record store I was working in, I scooped it up without listening to any of it. It was a mythical experience, coming almost out of nowhere. I had no way of categorizing the musicians who created it, they just appeared.

At first, the record played strong but not incredible. I liked “Millstone” immediately (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wiFmO2GRDWU), and was stunned to find the lyrics to be centered on a struggle with faith. Lyrics like “I used to pray and God was listening, I used to make my parents proud” came from a writer who had lived the belief in God, not just read about it, and the fact that the song’s chorus (and title) are derived from a passage in the Gospels only added to this. My interpretation of the song was that its narrator was someone very much like me who had, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, lost touch with God, and as a direct result himself. As the song rides into the chorus (“Take me out tonight, this ship of fools I’m on will sink, A millstone around my neck”), he finds himself unable to attach a simple reason for his actions. One day he was a good person, the next he had simply destroyed it. Why?

The song didn’t so much speak to me as scream in the ear of my soul. It put a shape and sound to fears I’d always had. My whole life has been a tricky balance between the grounded, well-adjusted influence I received from my family and the edgy, insane impulses that make me an artist. The two don’t cooperate, they have to be sectioned off, and Brand New seemed to understand what that was like. As that song dug its claws deeper and deeper into me, the rest of the album started opening up, and I realized with a start that the entire album was telling the story of this narrator I connected to. “You Won’t Know” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5mm8ex8Vd4) read to me like this same character on the eve of abandoning a girl he loved, confessing the emotional crime he’s about to commit to her father. Again, the theme of ambiguous motive lingers: why is he doing this? He’s throwing his whole life away for no reason, or at least what appears to be no reason.

And then I stumbled on “Jesus,” a song that must be heard to be believed (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_iNdbPvrYk). Although it switches off a little bit, the majority is a hushed conversation with the titular Messiah. The Man Himself never actually says anything, but we have a strange sense of His feelings based on the speaker’s responses. The narrator hides behind comedy at first (“Jesus Christ that’s a pretty face, the kind you’d find on someone that could save,” “Jesus Christ I’m alone again, so what did you do those three days you were dead?”), trying not to be honest with Him. But the song keeps gaining momentum, and we know this person is losing control of their emotions. And then, as the music switches down at around 3:10, some of the best lyrics ever written unfold:

“I know you’re coming in the night like a thief

But I’ve had some time, O Lord, to hone my lying technique

I know you think that I’m someone you can trust

But I’m scared I’ll get scared and I swear I’ll try to nail you back up

So do you think that we could work out a sign?

So I’ll know it’s you and that it’s over so I won’t even try

I know you’re coming for the people like me

But we all got wood and nails, and we turn out hate in factories”

It’s powerful enough on its own, but when you hear it in the song, it soars. I can safely say that these words are as deep and meaningful for me as anything I’ve ever heard in music. I love the vulnerability of them, the speaker’s self-doubt reminds me of how Moses protested to the Lord that he couldn’t do it, that he wasn’t good enough, that He should find someone else. There’s a wonderful touch of comedy in the way the narrator pleads with Jesus for them to “work out a sign” for the Second Coming, “so I’ll know it’s you and that it’s over so I won’t even try.” Again, the authenticity of these words is that they could only be written by someone who knows what it’s like being a Christian. The sly scriptural reference of “I know you’re coming in the night like a thief” is also wonderful. The song is about desperation: pleading with the Lord because you don’t think He should love you, and becoming even more frightened in knowing that He does. Christ’s presence sits behind these words, we can feel Him smirking but refusing to budge.

Over time (and by time I mean years), I found myself in the bizarre position of rehearing the album dozens upon dozens of times. I could not stop. Each time I returned to the well, I would leave with a new song I had before neglected. Even weird instrumental tracks like “Untitled” and “Welcome to Bangkok” became favorites. Every single song was a stunner, and each one connected emotionally like a kick in the head. As is the case with most albums that one truly treasures, I came to realize that it was unlikely the band intended the meanings I was taking from their music. On some I felt sure our readings were quite close together, but tracks like “Degausser” and “Limousine” turned out to be about a tragedy involving a young girl which I knew nothing about. I had to let go and realize that what Brand New had done here was so good that I was clicking with it on levels they didn’t even realize were there. My interpretations were just as defensible as theirs, just as reinforced by the words they were saying, and yet quite different. I just came to accept it.

The best example was a song called “The Archers Bows Have Broken” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKZkkBFCceY). I don’t have a clue what Jesse Lacey and company intend this thing to be about. For me, though, the verses are the old narrator again. The music is faster, more energetic and spirited, and the lyrics seem to be hopeful—still struggling, but hopeful. And then the chorus kicks in, at which point my mind reads it as Jesus Christ finally returning fire. He’s had enough of the speaker’s grumbling, and hits Him back with this retort:

“What did you learn tonight?

You’re shouting so loud you barely enjoy this broken thing

You’re a voice that never sings, is what I say

You are freezing over hell

You are bringing on the end, you do so well

You can only blame yourself, is what I say”

The repetition of “is what I say” is incredibly musical, and conveys the emotion of the words in a way literal dialogue could not. It marks the two points of focus in the chorus and creates the rhythm that allows the words to be understood correctly. Again, God only knows what Lacey is getting at here, but for me the Lord has always spoken powerfully (almost violently) to me with these words. More than a few times I’ve been in public listening to them and…er…started kind of crying. I don’t think they’re angry, I think they’re very sympathetic and loving, but there’s a sternness to them. My brother once told me that young children like to be disciplined on a deeply subconscious level, because they are comforted in knowing they’re not in control. That’s kind of the way I feel when I hear these words. I’m so relieved that somebody out there (Jesus) knows what my problem is and can sum it up so easily. It’s both painful and wonderful at the same time. Mostly the latter.

Anyway,

You can imagine why a new record from this band would be met with trepidation by me. I liked to pretend the band was this mythical creature that created something impossibly pure and then vanished. But no, they’re just people, and they put out other records with cover art I don’t like as much, and track names that may rub me the wrong way, etc. I didn’t want the dream to be over, so I stayed away from “Daisy.” This turned out to be a mistake, because when I finally did invest in it, I found a wonderful record. It’s a tough listen, definitely not for anyone who can’t handle some screaming, but the craft displayed previously hasn’t budged. I’ll come right out with it: the lyrics don’t speak to me like the “The Devil” did, but I’m surprised at how little that bothers me. That album was a once in a lifetime thing, and I’m not sure I even wanted the band to nail me that hard again; once is fine, thank you. And “Daisy” is such a strong piece of work, there are no “album tracks” or half-hearted sections. Sharp craft, sharp performance all around. With this record I am a cemented Brand New acolyte. These guys are amazing.

And in fairness, the lyrics are still wonderful. The violently loud “Sink” has one of the most ominous choruses Brand New has ever written: “If you call then I’m coming to get you, but you wanna sink so I’m gonna let you.” “Noro” is among the best closing tracks I’ve ever heard; a moody, bass heavy last gasp led by Jesse Lacey’s soaring refrain: “I’m on my way out.” Very few bands these days take the time to find those simple words that resonate, that linger even when the meaning is unclear. Come to think of it, very few bands take the time to advance themselves so far with each release. Brand New began their careers as pop-punk with a witty edge that suggested they were too good for the genre. Slowly, with each new album, they forced themselves outward into new territory, until they arrived at something familiar yet completely idiosyncratic. There’s no quick way to summarize what the band does now. It’s indie rock to a point, but if you’re thinking Modest Mouse or the Shins you’re way off. There’s a strong trace of Nirvana and Jane’s Addiction, but the lyrical themes are totally different from either. I’ve never heard anyone pin them down correctly, which may be the highest form of praise.

Of course, now that they’re firing on all cylinders and putting out tons of great music, I hear rumors (some from the band itself) that they’re going to break up. Great. Just great, guys. That makes perfect sense: find your style, build a devoted audience, drop it all for no reason. How very like the narrator.