Song Analysis #39: Two Door Cinema Club – Next Year

Song Analysis, , , , ,

Title: ‘Next Year’
Where to find it: ‘Beacon’ (2012, Kitsune [UK], Glassnote [US])
Performed by: Two Door Cinema Club
Words by: going to guess Alex Trimble, as I’ve never asked them who in their band writes the lyrics

My father was a scientist and he was away a lot when I was a child. I know a lot of this was unavoidable: he often had to go out into the field for one or another of his many expeditions, or he’d be called away to a foreign land for a scientific meeting or conference. I know these things, because even at a young age, with English as his second language, he’d ask me to review his slides and notes, making sure he was grammatically correct. Maybe that’s where my editing experience began?

I gave more serious thought to my father when my friends Two Door Cinema Club had to cancel their headline set at Latitude 2 weekends ago and a later planned appearance in Splendour in the Grass in Australia this past weekend. The reason for the cancellation is less important for the purpose of this analysis, though it struck me as intensely personal: singer/guitarist Alex Trimble collapsed on their way to the airport and needed immediate medical attention for “a chronic stomach complaint”. I met the lads in April 2010, upon their first visit to Washington; they opened for Phoenix, their American labelmates on Glassnote Records. We’d been writing about them for a while on There Goes the Fear and my cup runneth over with the prospect of seeing them live.

Four years later, I sometimes think it is insane that those three boys from Northern Ireland, so pleased to meet me and recognize me from my business card, are now huge stars with fans all over the world. I saw the terrible complaints from supposed fans upset with them pulling out from Latitude, and I reacted with same disgust as I had when fans in Europe hit out at them when they cancelled a string of dates in I believe Italy because they physically could not get to their next show because the roads had been blocked by a blizzard and it was too treacherous to travel. They’re human. What did you want them to do, wave a magic wand and be transported by fairy dust to your town?

Because of their star status, I haven’t actually talked to Two Door in person in a long while. But this lack of face time hasn’t changed my support of them; I know they appreciate me for what I’ve done for them as much as I’ve appreciated the music they’ve given to this world. This is where my thoughts of my father kicked in with the meaning of their song ‘Next Year’, and with that, the feelings I had when I had first heard the song became all the stronger.

Fans may complain that these three boys from Bangor have ruined their summer by not appearing at a music festival. But I wish those fans would stop and think for a moment who are they spending time away from all year long. Their families, their loved ones. These people, the silent, faraway, never wavering cheerleaders of these boys who I know work so hard for their dream of becoming rock stars. In that sense, ‘Next Year’ feels to me as the love letter, the Christmas card Alex, Sam, and Kevin write in their heads every time they have to be away from those they love.

People think being a rock star is the greatest thing in the world and it is in many respects the greatest job in the world. But I think the fans can lose sight of the fact that with great things come great responsibility. And great sacrifice.

First, the words:

Verse 1
I don’t know where I
am going to rest my head tonight,
so I won’t promise that I’ll speak
to you today.
But if I ever find
another place, a better time
for that moment,
I was never what I am.

Take to me to where you are,
what you’ve become,
and what you will do
when I am gone.
I won’t forget,
I won’t forget.

Chorus
Maybe someday,
you’ll be somewhere
talking to me
as if you knew me,
saying, “I’ll be home for next year, darling.
I’ll be home for next year.”

Verse 2
In between the lines
is the only place you’ll find
what you’re missing
that you didn’t know was there.
So when I say goodbye,
you must do your best to try
and forgive me this weakness,
this weakness.

‘Cause I don’t know what to say,
another day,
another excuse to be sent your way.
Another day,
another year.

Chorus
Maybe someday,
you’ll be somewhere
talking to me
as if you knew me,
saying, I’ll be home for next year, darling.
I’ll be home for next year.

And maybe sometime,
in a long time,
you’ll remember
what I had said there.
I said, “I’ll be home for next year, darling,
I’ll be home for next year.”

Bridge
If you think of me,
I will think of you.

Chorus
Maybe someday,
you’ll be somewhere
talking to me
as if you knew me,
saying, “I’ll be home for next year, darling.
I’ll be home for next year.”

Maybe sometime,
in a long time,
you’ll remember
what I had said there.
I said, “I’ll be home for next year.”

Maybe someday,
you’ll be somewhere
talking to me
as if you knew me,
saying, “I’ll be home for next year, darling.
I’ll be home for next year.”

Now, the analysis:

The first time I heard this song, when I was reviewing ‘Beacon’ for TGTF, I thought it was about leaving behind a girlfriend for the road to live the life of a rock star. Then over the last couple of months, I listened to it more frequently on the drive to and from work and came to the conclusion that it encompassed far more people than just a girlfriend. Now I’m convinced it’s a song to all of Two Door’s family and friends, the people who they miss while they’re pursuing their dream life, yet even in their young age (they’re merely in their mid-twenties right now), they realise they’ve had to give up another part of their lives to make this dream happen.

The first half of the first verse describes their whirlwind existence. As a music editor now with lots of friends who are either musicians or support staff to musicians like managers and roadies, I often hear stories of confusion owing to too little sleep and too much travel. The opening bars “I don’t know where I / am going to rest my head tonight, / so I won’t promise that I’ll speak to you today” are honest: the singer has no idea where he is so he is earnest in saying, “I’m really sorry, but I can’t promise you I’ll ring you from where I am, because I don’t know where we are going.”

Then comes “But if I ever find / another place, a better time / for that moment, / I was never what I am”: this is an acknowledgement that if he finds himself suddenly free to ring this person, “for that moment, / I was never what I am”, it means he’s had take himself out of this place where he is a rock star. This is one of several lines I find in this song absolutely heart-breaking. He knows who he is, at least in regards to his public persona, and even if he can get away from that persona for just a moment, it’s like he’s pretending he’s someone he’s not.

He is, however, adamant to want to be in this person’s life. “Take to me to where you are, / what you’ve become, / and what you will do / when I am gone”: he wants to know what goes on even in his absence, and even vows, “I won’t forget.” These lines indicate to me that he’s well aware of what his absence is doing to his loved ones. Very sad too.

If you haven’t broken yet by this time in the song, just wait for the chorus. “Maybe someday, / you’ll be somewhere / talking to me / as if you knew me, / saying, “I’ll be home for next year, darling. I’ll be home for next year.” This first chorus seems to be spoken by the loved one; he/she is hearing him say that he’ll be home for next year. If a full year has to pass before the next chance of this event, we could be talking about a birthday, Christmas, New Year’s, anything really, and I am sure due to their busy schedule, Two Door has missed loads of happy occasions (maybe some sad ones too) that took place in their family and friends’ lives.

When the chorus comes back around after verse 2, it is a two-parter. In the second half of the chorus, the point of view flips back to the voice of the song, “And maybe sometime, / in a long time, / you’ll remember / what I had said there.” There is a weariness to these lines – “sometime”, “in a long time” – as if he’s not sure if the other person is aware of the toll his life is taking on him.

But I’m going to go back to verse 2 for a moment for some more heartstring-twanging moments. “In between the lines / is the only place you’ll find / what you’re missing / that you didn’t know was there”: I read this as referring to the multitude of interviews the band does all over the world. It must be very strange to be reading the words of your boyfriend / son / nephew / etc. in a newspaper halfway around the world. At times it must feel a bit of a shell shock, like “he’s famous!” but also “I don’t know him anymore!” when things are revealed in these interviews with strangers that even they didn’t know. The loved ones are clearly missing them but these disembodied “lines” are their only connection until the next time he can pick up the phone and ring them. “So when I say goodbye, / you must do your best to try / and forgive me this weakness, / this weakness”: the weakness I suppose is in their job and the nature of their job, for they have to pick up and leave for a tour, or a festival, or to do into the studio and record.

More heartbreak occurs in the lines before the aforementioned second chorus. “’Cause I don’t know what to say, / another day, another excuse to be sent your way”: the loved ones must receive emails and voicemails with apologies about not being able to attend birthday and anniversary parties, weddings, etc. “Another day,
another year” is a resignation that this is their life. And it’s not going to change or end any time soon. (Not that they’d want it to, mind.)

The last bit I want to leave you with is the bridge: “If you think of me, I will think of you.” As I was a child before Skype, smartphones, and technology of that ilk and long distance phone calls were often prohibitively expensive, I had to wait until my father returned from his trips before I could speak to him again. Kids these days don’t know how good they have it, to be able to video conference in their parents and relatives from far away. After my father died, my mother showed me the contents of a briefcase he took on his travels. Inside were arts and crafts my brother and I had made as young children, including a yarn bracelet with plastic charms I’d made as a Brownie and string art on a piece of a cardboard I’d made a couple years later. I had no idea he’d been carrying these things with him all over the world, but he must have been looking and fingering these pieces and thinking of us when he was alone in a non-descript hotel room far away from home.

The bridge of ‘Next Year’ makes it obvious to me that Two Door are, like myself and my own father, very loving and sentimental folks. As I mentioned earlier, it’s been some time since I’ve been lucky enough to sit down with the guys and chat over a beer, but I still feel connected to them when I hear songs like this, because I remember the times we shared before they had hit it big and a song like this tells me they haven’t changed and they’re still the same lovely Irishmen I met years ago. Sometimes I think about how I wish I could give them a hug and tell them how proud I am of them and all their successes in person instead of telling them through social media. But then I stop and think that their free moments are best to be given to their loved ones, not me.

While ‘Next Year’ is a sad song, I think those words in the bridge save it from being an elegy of abject sorrow. The bridge serves as a reminder to all that even when it’s impossible to be physically in the same place with the ones you love – whether that be here on earth, or beyond if you believe that Heaven and an afterlife exists – thinking fondly and often of those people you don’t have can preserve that love within you.

Lastly, the song, in its live performance promo video. For less sensory overload, watch the band play a stripped back version of ‘Next Year’ at Coachella 2013 here.

Song Analysis #38: Goldheart Assembly – Last Decade

Song Analysis, , , , , , ,

Title: ‘Last Decade’
Where to find it: ‘Wolves and Thieves’ (2010, Fierce Panda)
Performed by: Goldheart Assembly
Words by: I’m guessing James Dale, but seeing that I’ve yet to meet them, not entirely sure

In a post-Mumford and Sons ‘Sigh No More’ era, there are loads of harmonising indie folk bands. But I still rate Goldheart Assembly as one of the best, even if they’ve not garnered the same kind of media attention as Mumford. Frankly, I think they run circles around the American equivalent Fleet Foxes. One of the most beautiful albums to come out of 2010 – and in my opinion, one of the most criminally overlooked – is Goldheart’s debut album ‘Wolves and Thieves’. It began my on again, off again love affair with their label Fierce Panda Records.

I think we all need something reflective, something to comfort us after the terrible tragedy of the downing of Malaysian Airlines’ flight 17. On Saturday, I went on a long run with this song on repeat, enveloped in its beauty. I had been reminded a couple days prior listening to it by itself on my mp3 player that it really is one of the most perfectly formed song in popular music in the last 5 years, probably in the last 30, if I may be so bold. ‘The Last Decade’ is elegiac, yet truly magnificent, and may the lives and souls of those we lost in that terrible accident rest in peace.

First, the words:

Verse 1
The dying leaves
Can grip no more
The Eastern breeze
Will steal them all

Take care my love
It’s all too soon
And all you need
Is space and room away from all my harmful ways
But you know I hate half the things I say

Verse 2
Your eyes are bubbles
Made of oil
And when they spill
They wreck these shores

My pulse has slowed
The atoms thin
But on the beach
The sea breathed in
and out and stole our hearts that day
But you know I’d go back but there’s no way

Pre-chorus
Oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh

Chorus
This is the last decade
Let’s not pretend we’ve changed
Come back home

See how the sun decays
Over our last parade
On our own

Soon there’ll be sleep, no pain
This is our last decade
This is the last decade

Outro
Oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh

Now, the analysis:

The title of this Goldheart Assembly song ‘Last Decade’ gives us some important clues: a decade is a long period of time, and something is ending that has been in existence for a long time. I’ve been waffling between whether this song is about literal death or the death of the relationship. I guess this proves just how great this song is, that it can be taken in either context, or both. The beauty is apparent from the first two verses, with the first bleeding effortlessly into the second. Dying leaves, also referenced in the gorgeous Stornoway tune ‘November Song’ as I discussed last autumn, are a literal sign of death and the ending of something important, but they also indicate a chance for renewal. “The Eastern breeze / will steal them all” may refer to the east wind of Greek mythology, but in this song, it more likely is conjuring up the east wind as Biblical judgment of God, as of the wind that Moses summons to part the Red Sea, bringing the locusts to plague Egypt and allowing the Israelites to flee to safety.

The idea of escape brought into this song is terribly interesting, isn’t it? If you read about death in books about bereavement, it’s in the context of what effects that person’s death will have on the people who are left behind, not on the person who is dying and the ensuing emotional fallout. Of course, this makes sense, given who the audience is. And if you’re of the mindset that there is nothing beyond the life we have here, the person who is ‘leaving’ no longer has a say in what will happen next, does he/she?

The second half of verse 1 is where I start thinking it’s about a relationship that is ending. The main voice is insistent, emphatic that when he is gone, even if the end if “all too soon,” she will soon be free: “all you need / is space and room away from all my harmful ways.” I read this as if he’s saying she’s managed to dodge a bullet in his leaving. It seems to me that he’s saying this to lessen the brunt of his leaving because he realises his influence has been a negative one, and he’s regretful of this, wanting to make peace before the end: “But you know I hate half the things I say”.

Verse 2 follows the same measured, soft melody of the first, though now in the first half of the new verse, he’s picking apart the problems in their relationship. They were like oil and water, with him describing her eyes being “made of oil”, so when she turns on the waterworks when it is time for him to leave, like that BP disaster in the Gulf of Mexico, they will “spill” and “they [will] wreck these shores”.

In the second half of verse 2, he’s more contemplative as “my pulse has slowed” (death is near), but he recalls more carefree days they spent on the beach (a beach that wasn’t tainted by the sadness of her oily tears). I take ” The sea breathed in / and out and stole our hearts that day” that he admits that they probably shouldn’t have been together for so long, but the sea – an external force bigger and stronger than both of them – threw them together in a ‘love is blind’ kind of way. ” But you know I’d go back but there’s no way”: where is he trying to go back to? Before they became a couple? Before things went sour? There is a palpable gorgeousness in this line: he wants to make things right, but I think this was made purposely ambiguous because he realises, rightly, that we can’t change the past. What’s done is done.

If up to this point you have managed not to cry, Goldheart Assembly then brings in the big guns with their harmonies: the chorus. I’m just tearing up as I write this. “This is our last decade / Let’s not pretend we’ve changed / Come back home”: at the end of a relationship, who hasn’t wished things could have gone back to the way things were, when things were new and things were perfect? Or maybe have gone back to a point in time when things could have been rectified to have prevented this end?

“See how the sun decays / Over our last parade / On our own”: these lines appeal to my scientific mind. Scholars of astronomy agree that the sun, our sun, is like all other stars in the universe: one day, it will die. And it is slowly decaying as we speak. There is a dramatic, yet fragile beauty to the idea that on the last day that these two people will spend together in joy (“our last parade”), there is something that is dying, slowly, watching over them, and them alone (“on our own”).

“Soon there’ll be sleep, no pain” brings it all back down to earth and is self-explanatory: there will be an end, where the pain that survives while the entity is still lives will no longer exist. It is little comfort now to those who lost loved ones in this tragedy, but like with 9/11 and all other horrors against humanity in which we’ve senselessly lost human lives, there will come a day when those left behind will come to some peace and will go on. We have to hold on to that hope.

Lastly, the song, via its official promo video from November 2010. What are these chaps building? Suggestions and explanations welcome.

Song Analysis #37: Kaiser Chiefs – Meanwhile Up in Heaven

Song Analysis, , , , , ,

Title: ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’
Where to find it: ‘Education, Education, Education, and War’ (2014, Caroline International)
Performed by: Kaiser Chiefs
Words by: not sure actually – guess that’s a question I’ll need to ask if/when I interview them!

I’ve written a couple pieces on There Goes the Fear on the Kaiser Chiefs (archive this way) since last December about the possible negative effects of founding member and primary band songwriter Nick Hodgson. To the delight (and relief) of Kaiser fans, the new album released this year sans Hodgson, ‘Education, Education, Education, and War’ is a good one. While it might not reach the same heights as ‘Employment’ or ‘Yours Truly, Angry Mob’ of the band’s earlier days, the musical landscape has changed in the last 10 years since they started releasing LPs as a band, so you don’t neither can expect the same formula to work. What I find especially wonderful about the new release is that it is showing the band’s evolution post-Hodgson, from their previous scrappier form to a more polished, dare I say it Coldplay / Keane-esque sensibility that will no doubt increase their reach beyond the indie kids and overall will serve them well to keep them in the game for many years to come.

Two of the standout tracks on ‘Education…’ are numbers in this vein, ‘Coming Home’ (whose intro initially reminded me of Simply Red’s ‘Stars’) and the exemplary ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’. We were never sent the album, so the first listen I had of the latter track was when it was played on BBC 6music. I honestly didn’t think it was the Kaiser Chiefs upon hearing it. What’s particularly interesting is that the verses are kind of biting and in a minor key, but then when the chorus comes in, the whole song opens up, as one might expect a song titled ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’: it’s like when you’re at a music festival and it’s been raining, and then God bestows his blessing on everyone and as described by everyone, “the heavens opened up”.

Live, Ricky Wilson is no shrinking violet. He’s anything but and very in your face. That’s just part of the fun of the Kaiser Chiefs live show. When I saw the Kaiser Chiefs for the first time 2 years at SXSW 2012, I was impressed by his intensity and charisma even at an afternoon show in the middle of a cute little courtyard in Austin. However, with the band evolution we’re witnessing, songs like ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’ came across last week at the 9:30 Club as truly beautiful and uplifting. Frankly, I’m tearing up just thinking about it and I’m near tears every time I play it.

First, the words:

Verse 1
Picture yourself by a rocket
Picture yourself in a glittering silver suit
Picture yourself getting on it
Saluting the news crews, you’re the new recruit

Verse 2
Do you remember the numbers
hung on the door of the house where you grew up?
Do you remember the colours
tied round the handles of last year’s FA Cup?

Chorus
Meanwhile up in Heaven, they’re waiting for you, waiting for you
And if you believe them, you will see that when you
Meanwhile up in Heaven, they’re waiting for you, waiting for you
And if you believe them, you will see that when you
Are ready to

Verse 3
Guided by love and a flashlight
Led by consuming desire for a good idea
Lighting the clock on the dashboard
It’s not worked 10 years, but I know that it’s still there

Chorus
Meanwhile up in Heaven, they’re waiting for you, waiting for you
And if you believe them, you will see that when you
Meanwhile up in Heaven, they’re waiting for you, waiting for you
And if you believe them, you will see that when you
Are ready to

Bridge
Your mind is the key, it is the key that sets you free
Your mind is the key, it is the key that sets you free

Chorus
Meanwhile up in Heaven, they’re waiting for you, waiting for you
And if you believe them, you will see that when you
Are ready to…

Now, the analysis:

The first verse of the song is pretty straightforward. It’s describing an astronaut (“by a rocket” and “in a glittering suit”, part of the military “saluting the news crews”) who is about to go into space. He’s getting loads of attention, and as he should: he’s a big deal. This is a positive moment.

Yet in the second verse, we are all brought down to earth, literally, as Wilson asks him about if he remembers the number of his house (basic knowledge about oneself) and the colours of the scarves that are tied round last year’s FA Cup (basic knowledge about football for any man who likes footy). Why is Wilson asking these things? Presumably because the said astronaut may not return to Earth.

What’s that’s giving me the most question in ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’ are the ‘they’ and ‘them’ as referred to the chorus. “They’re waiting for you” suggests the folks beyond the pearly gates who have successfully made it to Heaven. You see this in the promo video, in the form of wounded soldiers and nurses looking like one of the dream sequences in an episode of M.A.S.H. (see the end of this post), but I think this is also indicating people you love are looking down on you and waiting for you to make that final leap into the next part of your life, when the time comes. However, have a look at the ‘them’ in “And if you believe them, you will see that when you / are ready to”: is he referring to believing that there’s a Heaven and an afterlife? Or that the astronaut should be believing the people who are putting him in the rocket – the scientists on the ground – that he’s going to come through this alive, that will he will return to Earth safe and sound?

The third verse goes even more ambiguous. The lines “Guided by love and a flashlight / Led by consuming desire for a good idea” sounds to me like the astronaut’s earliest years, when you’re a little kid and all your dreams and wishes are innocent. While “Lighting the clock on the dashboard” refers to the present, when the astronaut is revving up his spaceship, “It’s not worked 10 years, but I know that it’s still there” seems to point to the fact that the machine is not reliable, and I’m guessing “I know that it’s still there” means the goal, the dream that he had as a child is still alive, well, and active in his thoughts today.

And then we come to the bridge, which I believe is the key (no pun intended) to the whole song. I’ll never forget the moment when Ricky Wilson leaned on the monitor in front of us and belted out the last “sets you free…” I was speechless. It was amazing. I hope it reminded everyone that he’s a very good singer! Further, the way he sings it and just how much lift the notes have emphasises the importance of these words: “Your mind is the key, it is the key that sets you free.”

Whatever is going on the head of the astronaut – or any of the Kaiser Chiefs’ devoted fans more likely was their intention? – it’s what is in your head that is most important. I can’t tell if the whole song is a commentary on mental illness, but maybe the whole astronaut thing is supposed to represent a delusion of grandeur? Either way, I like the song’s message that it’s about you. You and your mind. You and what you’re thinking up there. The idea of astronauts flying around space was always on my mind as a child; it’s kind of a given if your father works for NASA. My father’s wide-eyed wonderment about what was possible with space travel was never tempered, even after the Challenger disaster. He always said we had to keep pushing the envelope, because whether it was space science or my later chosen major of biology, that was how discoveries were made. By taking a chance, by risking it all.

In school, lots of my classmates would say they wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up, but for some reason, that was never an aspiration of mine. The thought of being launched up into the heavens with the possibility of never returning was a terrifying thought. I don’t think this Kaiser Chiefs song is saying that everyone’s dreams are as fantastic as becoming an astronaut and going into space. (Initially, I assumed it was a very morbid song, talking about people welcoming someone who was about to die and enter into the afterlife. But that seems to make no sense whatsoever in the inspiring way Wilson sings the bridge.) Instead, what I think it’s trying to say is we all have had or are in situations that in the moment are terrible and scary but one day it will all become clear in your mind, and you have to trust that the day will come.

This all makes me think about the scary and often frustrating time in all of our lives when we make the transition between being a child and being an adult. When you’re a child, nothing much matters except playing with your friends and having fun. There are no real responsibilities. And then whoosh, we’re thrown into adult life when we’re responsible for ourselves and if we get married and have children, you’re suddenly responsible for other living human beings. Even if you don’t believe that there is life after death, I find the greatest beauty that lies in ‘Meanwhile Up in Heaven’ is knowing that we’re alive and even if you find yourself today in mental anguish or emotional turmoil, you can trust that the heavens will open up one day and the sun will shine again. And getting there is a wonderful, wonderful moment.

Lastly, the song, in promo form, starring the band and a motley crew of what I can only assume are the dear departed, frolicking around a carnival ground. Ricky Wilson is scarred and bleeding from his mouth, and I’m wondering if we’re supposed to think that he and his bandmates are dead?