I like disappearing into people

When I have no one to disappear into, I don’t know who I am

I used to be someone

I’m sure

I’ve got vague memories of it

Being happy every once in a while

Being me

I think

Or was I

Maybe I’ve just been disappearing into people all my life

It’s as close as I can get to actually disappearing

But I have standards

If you know what I mean

I won’t disappear into just anyone

No

It has to be someone I want to disappear into

The problem is being alone

I’ve never been that good at it

Because when I’m alone

I have no one to disappear into

So I just want to

Plain

Old

Disappear

I’m doing write-ups on my personal top 10 albums because that’s fun for me… tl;dr, just check out the headings below.

My report card grades are due tonight at 11:59 PM and I’m sick of scoring student work, so I’m letting myself work on this challenge one album at a time as my reward for hitting various work checkpoints. Listening to these various albums while grading has already brightened my mood. Nothing fights a feeling of enclosure more effectively than music that expands the mind.

The key word in the challenge to me is “album.” To me, an album should be more than a collection of songs. A great album must be greater than the sum of its parts, so that listening to it in its entirety elevates the whole experience; on a great album, there should be no skippable filler. For this reason, I have taken a liberty with the challenge instruction to identify the “best song” by naming an excellent song outside of the best-known singles. If I couldn’t find such a song and could only justify a choice with tracks that made the radio and Billboard charts, then I deemed the album insufficiently great for this list. I also deliberately tried for variety to make my list more interesting: at least a little diversity of genre, and no more than one album per artist (or else there would have been a hell of a lot more Pink Floyd). I’m also leaving off musical soundtracks as primarily belonging to a different art form, or else Hamilton would have made my list.

I’ll begin by noting that my honorable mention albums include Nine Inch Nails’ The Fragile and literally everything David Bowie ever did, but probably Station to Station. (Sorry, David Bowie.)

10. Soundgarden, Superunknown – “Let Me Drown”

I had a devil of a time choosing a song from this album, best remembered for “Black Hole Sun,” because each track is a showcase. Whether the song is rollicking or brooding or both – which is the case with “Let Me Drown” – Chris Cornell’s power vocals cut through the grunge and add whole other layer. The earlier Badmotorfinger is a snarling badass of an album, but give me the tuneful and varied songwriting of Superunknown, grunge in its most elevated form.

9. The Decemberists, The Hazards of Love– “The Hazards of Love 1 (‘The Prettiest Whistles Won’t Wrestle The Thistles Undone’)”

Given my criteria for a great album, it should not be surprising that I’ve got a concept album on my list. This one is a fairytale: a young woman finds a wounded fawn who transforms into a handsome young man, under the spell of his mother, a witch, and the two sheltered youths fall in love – pregnancy, the witch’s jealousy, and a kidnapping provide complications leading up to a tragic end. The deeply creepy “Hazards of Love 3 (Revenge)” is a highlight – ghostly children taking revenge on their murderous father! – but it’s the first full song on the album that provides its best intro. Colin Meloy’s endearing voice and delight in wordplay are on full display, and the track immediately draws the listener into the fable.

8. Lady Gaga, The Fame Monster – “Dance in the Dark”

I don’t generally do pop music, but this album is an exception. I first checked out Lady Gaga because of the crazy and awesome music videos she made in this era – the art form was moribund at best in 2009, but Gaga made videos an event again, for which we are all in her debt. It’s hard to escape the headliners on the album (“Bad Romance,” “Alejandro,” “Telephone”) but it’s all so damn good. This overshadowed track has a driving beat, earworm synth, and, at its core, a pair of evocative and simple lines: “Baby loves to dance in the dark / Cause when he’s looking she falls apart.” Despite the number of repetitions, the lines remain plaintive until the end, thanks to Gaga’s skillful singing and a well-timed spoken word bridge that expands the song’s scope. Considered as a whole, The Fame Monster grapples not only with fame but with love, joy, possession, fear, and their intersections.

7. Muse, Absolution – “Falling Away with You”

Once Muse got big, the band wallowed in its own pretension and facile slogans; the sound remained good, but the self-importance lessened it for me. Absolution, though, came before all that. I first sought out the album because I caught “Hysteria” on the radio, and it rocks, hard. Muse can do that; they can also create beautiful, melodic layers. Absolution balances it all. As much as any track, “Falling Away with You” contains these competing, complementary styles. The lyrics, here and elsewhere, would not hold up on a page sans accompaniment, but they’re not meant to: the arrangements and upper-range vocals invest them with largeness. Later Muse is self-righteous and pandering, but on this album, you hear searching instead of answers. It’s music reaching for something beyond itself.

6. Kendrick Lamar, To Pimp a Butterfly – “How Much a Dollar Cost”

Rap: not my genre. Kendrick Lamar, however, is a genius, and this is the album that brought me to his work. There’s consistent development of themes throughout, but a fascinating variety of styles to the music: he raps over free jazz(!), he raps over a funk track (featuring George Clinton), he raps a politically-charged banger (“The Blacker the Berry,” the first Kendrick track that blew my mind). There is other-level wordplay here, and I really want to talk about “King Kunta,” but I committed to avoiding hit singles, so… “How Much a Dollar Cost” is a fable with slow-paced music that belies the building intensity of Lamar’s flow. Wealthy as he is, he meets a homeless beggar (“Guilt trippin’ and feelin’ resentment / I never met a transient who demanded attention”) but doubts the man’s sincerity. He accuses him of drug and alcohol abuse (“I comprehend, I smell grandpa’s old medicine / Reekin’ from your skin, moonshine and gin”) and putting on an act (“I’m imaginin’ / Denzel but lookin’ at O’Neal, Kazaam is sad / Thrills, your gimmick is mediocre”). But as happens in fables, the haughty man who refuses to help the poor pays for his arrogance. It’s good storytelling. The whole album is good storytelling, with Kendrick’s signature wit, flow, depth, and ability to dramatize the tensions in his life. There’s more than just a portrayal of conflict across Kendrick’s albums: there’s a complex and brilliant man’s whole thought process laid bare in all its nuanced, searching glory.

5. The Smashing Pumpkins, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness – “Thru the Eyes of Ruby”

My favorite song of all time by anybody is “Muzzle” because the poetic lyrics have brought me comfort on more occasions than I can count; the greatest Smashing Pumpkins song is “1979.” Both are here, but since my goal is to show others why I love this glorious double album, I want to write about the overlooked “Thru the Eyes of Ruby.” The song is gentle, and the song repeatedly builds into a swirling mass of distorted guitars, and there is no contradiction in those characteristics. Billy Corgan’s pinched singing voice is similarly distorted and complements the music perfectly. The lyrics are worth the trouble, though: the album was packaged with a booklet containing all of them, and I spent many fond hours in my teenage years pondering them. “Thru the Eyes of Ruby” has some characteristic gems. “Your innocence is treasure, your innocence is death / Your innocence is all I have.” In the song’s final lines, Corgan repeats, “The night has come to hold us young.” The words invite thought.

The album’s first disc is titled Dawn to Dusk, and the second Twilight to Starlight. Some evening when you’ll be driving the interstate into the night, put the Smashing Pumpkins on and let them carry you where you’re going.

4. Joy Division, Unknown Pleasures – “Shadowplay”

Some of the songs on this album evidence the “punk” in “post-punk,” and some are moody dreamscapes, but all of them combine to create an atmosphere like no other band’s work. “She’s Lost Control” is the headliner, but I have long considered “Shadowplay” a highlight. It’s impossible to separate the music from the tragedy that ended Joy Division, but even if you don’t know the story, there’s always something menacing just outside the edges as you listen. Nonetheless, the album feels like a melancholy embrace, in no small part because Ian Curtis’s haunting, earnest baritone vocals. Turn the lights and volume low, close your eyes and play Unknown Pleasures through. The feelings run deep.

3. Arcade Fire, The Suburbs – “The Suburbs”

You’ll find many who say Arcade Fire’s first album, Funeral, is the alpha and omega, but for all that debut’s greatness, I love The Suburbs more. When driving home to the town of my birth, this album rises inevitably from the car stereo. Youth, maturation, change, loss, struggle, nostalgia – the lyrics have a lot to unpack, and the music just as much. “The Suburbs” was, technically, a single, but since its Wikipedia entry opens with a note that it “reached number 94 on the Canadian Hot 100,” I feel that it’s still a valid option for my low-recognition song choices. I use the lilting opening chords for my ringtone, and if I’m not too quick to pick up, I hear the opening lines that instantly transport listeners to a time of life: “In the suburbs I / I learned to drive, / And you told me we’d never survive / Grab your mother’s keys, we’re leaving.” And with that, the journey to the past begins.

2. Nirvana, Unplugged in New York – “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam”

Nirvana is the legend of the 90s. Name the band and nine people out of ten probably think of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” first. But if you want to hear the beating heart within the iconoclast, listen to Unplugged straight through. Of all the songs the band played that night, the cover of “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam” fits most strangely into their oeuvre, and that’s why it’s an essential listen.

1. Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon – “Us and Them”

It’s omnipresent in our culture, one of the bestselling albums of all time, and near the top of virtually every great album list ever created—and there’s a reason for that. Ask anyone in the world to name songs on Dark Side of the Moon, and I’ll guarantee that person will list “Us and Them” fourth at the earliest; it’s the sixth track in order, and “Time,” “Money,” and “Brain Damage/Eclipse” all get more radio play. But what a magical song it is. What a magical album it is. Not many artists in any medium have attempted to encapsulate the human experience in a single work. If anyone has ever succeeded, Pink Floyd pulled it off on Dark Side of the Moon.

We have been running,

to and from what-

God only knows.

We can slow down now,

cracked open ribs

bearing what pieces we have left.

Safety feels foreign,

we snarl at any threat.

Protective of what is now ours,

we make promises and plans.

When the dust settles,

and our pulses slow down,

meet me under our stars,

in this new season

of our sleepy beach town.

Doctor heal thyself

A benediction and a prayer.

You are sick

I see it

This is the dark side of an endless summer

You shake

But I am packing. My case

Anyway.

“Don’t go.” You say

Holding up the keys.

We both know I will

Anyway.

Sometimes when I was a child I would wish to be someone else

And when I was older I would.

But now those things are

No more.

Now I call it envy. And sorrow.

To chase another self.

Instead, the reflection of the traffic meter

“Your speed is”

Causes instant adjustment.

And who really understands speed

Trajectory...

Or its consequences.

There are certain rules of living

In a city, and one of them is

“Don’t clutter

Public spaces."

I don’t clutter

Public spaces

Of your mind.

I have my own way to go,

Anyway.

There is a bridge of gold shimmering across the sea

Which no man may walk upon, for men are faithless

And to them all truth is illusion, all beauty a suffering.

But what a grace it is to watch the waters dance,

To watch the white doves dive and sail,

To see the dusk bloom red like a lover's kiss upon the earth,

And to behold in a tender hour

How the golden bridge burns like a million lanterns,

Like a thousand perishing souls upon a hundred homebound ships

Voyaging, sinking unto the eternal West,

Where only Christ might lay his bare feet upon Her

On the day of Judgement when the Beast will rise

And by the tongues of false prophets

Will etch his mark on the breasts of nations.

But the righteous will be received upon that bridge,

Hand in hand with that same light and that same truth,

Rejoicing in warmth and love

Over the bridge of gold.

___________________________________

Rotting in solitude,

I was gradually tearing down

Piece by piece,

Flesh by flesh

Neglected and rejected,

to nothing I shall be subjected

I'm just a mist of a woman,

of the one who was free

I'm all that is left,

bare bones for all to see

Yet no one can see me,

No one might even try

Some have skeletons in their closet,

I'm the one in mine

Tango of shame

I am to blame

words carving

life slot starving

magic pluck

no such luck

dip into soft jar

weary hand from afar

widen the road

madness unload

stomp into ground

solution not found

naked words

hushed birds

molten breath

sudden death

skeletons strung

clotheslines flung

slice the wind

cover sin

tense echoes

lined in rows

no elbow room

certain doom

long reach

I beseech

infinite sky

let words fly

unhinge the strings

free thought rings.

cool, lush and green.

where the wild things grow and the free things run.

the wind rushing through the trees, and the air whishing past ears ever alert and ready for any sound to reach them.

there is peace in the unknown, calm and collected.

silence rushes over everything like a thick blanket, with the occasional rush of the wind piercing it sharply, but it soon settles again. back into the silent covering that rests above the trees.

the holes of light slipping through the leaves, spilling out onto the ground.

illuminating the floor, covered with sticks, and dirt.

the birds chirping up above singing a chorus of the beauty of the wood, causing one to look up, only to see the sun spilling out over the leaves once again

the moon shone lightly down on their faces, hands entwined, and bodies close, wishing to be closer. their conversation dwindled, and soon she found herself longing for a quiet place where they could talk more deeply, and he thought the same, yet both were too afraid to speak. for they both longed intimacy-but not of the kind that was 1 a.m. at night, sneakily wandering into a house and linking bodies closer. no, they wanted a deeper connection-she wanted to know his soul. the deep dark depths of his mind where nobody else had been....he wanted to give her the dark depths. and they learned the beauty of a soul.

The drive is only supposed to take an hour, but traffic is bad today. Granted, traffic is always bad in the city, but today, it's especially bad.

We don't mind much, though -- in fact, the drive, despite being longer than normal, seems to fly by in minutes. We're drinking our Starbucks strawberry refreshers and listening to Marshall's "oldies" Spotify playlist, which is nearly entirely Beatles music. Marshall thinks he's John Lennon reincarnated.

Halfway through the drive, Bonnie pulls over to take the convertible top off, and when we start driving again, natures air conditioning tickles us, sending locks of hair flying back into tangles as we sing along to "Here Comes The Sun".

You can smell the beach before you get there, you know. I'm not sure if non-Californians would know that, but it's true. The air gets salty, and for a moment, you debate with yourself as to whether you're smelling the ocean or the sweat of homeless people camping out on Santa Monica Boulevard. You decide it's the smell of the ocean, since that's more romantic.

Parking is hell, like always, and the sand burns your feet as your trudge down to the waterline, ice chests and camp chairs behind you, surfboards marking your trail in the ground.

And then suddenly you're there, at the place where America meets the Pacific Ocean, which is surreal to think about, so you decide not to think about it for too long, and instead dip your toes into the icy cold water, ready to experience one of God's many gifts to the world.