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Brent Velting

Apr 4, 2016

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NARRATIVE…

Casablanca. A Mouse. And where to displace them.

Posted on 03/27/2016 by Brent A. Velting

Part One: Casablanca

I want to be forgotten,

and I don’t want to be reminded.

You say “please don’t make this harder.”

No, I won’t yet.

I wanna be beside her.

She wanna be admired.

You say “please don’t make this harder.”

…Nooo. I won’t yet.

Perspective shrinks and expands. On a daily, hourly, and momentary basis our attention can be spread to horrifying occurrences at a Belgium airport thousands of miles away, and seconds later be retracted by a child bumping their knee or a cell phone making one of its several notifying sounds.

This expansion and retraction exists in communication in similar ways. The lyric above is written by Julian Casablanca and performed by the band The Strokes, on their album Room on Fire (2003). The thing I love about a band that was blown WAY out of proportion and lauded far too highly, was their ability to create simple moments of perspective in the midst of one of the most unfair hype and publicity storms that occurred before social media and coverage saturation brought on surprise release dates and popularity shifts that swing on a daily basis. The Strokes were a “love em or hate em” media darling that supposedly were the next “return of rock” saviors along with Interpol, Arcade Fire, and a slue of other indie rock acts.

Here’s the opening line to the song “What Ever Happened” one more time:

“I wanna be forgotten and I don’t want to be reminded. She says please don’t make this harder. No. I won’t yet.”

I’m assuming the song is written after the build of the Strokes’ popularity in the early 2000’s. This is Casablanca sitting with a young woman, a woman who is likely parting ways with him, and his mind drifts to the narrative of himself, his band, and this f’d up fame trip they’ve been on. His perspective expands as the woman shatters the present. This is hyper awareness of an imagined reality, where the self is martyr number one. This is childish heartbreak that incites the knee jerk reaction to find the “woe is me” angle. A white/male/rock star who feels misunderstood is clamoring to be forgotten, and don’t you dare remind him of this fame. It’s funny from the outside listening in. I don’t mean to downplay his pain. Heartbreak is the worst. It is one of the sensations that immediately draws perspective to the immediate…shortness of breath, her/his face in front of the person for the last time, the walls drawing in, and the pain you know he’ll now partner with for the immediate future.

But Casablanca’s persona is somewhat based on this scenario. Make your judgement about sincerity, it is difficult to know the accuracy of the narrative we are being told here. What is easier to understand is the affect the story has on us as an audience. This isn’t just a pompous, stupid rock artist. He is able to write a song that wrestles with the subjects of fame, heartbreak, and self-doubt. He can also write such a song while reinforcing the stereotype of a weathered, tortured artist who creates out of his painful perspective so that an audience can relate to it. This is all of our interiors. It may be the perspective of a white/middle class/rock and roll kid, but the hurt, the confusion, the cynicism etc are perspectives and thoughts many other people can listen and relate to. Whether your partner is male/female, racial minority/majority, straight/LGBTQ, etc etc…rejection, heartbreak, self-importance, momentary hyper self awareness, and moments that bring us to our knees are always effective in art. People will always line up for pieces that channel these themes effectively, and share them in earnest.

Part Two: Of Mice and Boys

Example two.

We have one chance.

One chance. To get everything right.

We have one chance, one chance.

And if we’re lucky we might.

My friends, my habits, my family,

they mean so much to me.

I just don’t think that it’s right.

I’ve seen so many ships sail in,

just to head back out again and go off sinking.

Isaac Brock. Modest Mouse. If you’re looking for existential tension and broad questions of ‘what the f are we doing here?’, it’s hard to choose anyone but this band if you were a middle class American youth in the 90’s and 2000’s. Check that. If you were a book, comic, indie culture nerd during that time then you listened to Modest Mouse. What I’m saying is, if you were me growing up, then you listened to Modest Mouse. Glad you guys can relate.

This lyric does the opposite of what Casablanca’s does. We have no idea what the singers circumstance is. For all we know he is eating a corn-dog in the middle Idaho, with short shorts on, a cowboy hat and boots, and an ice cream sugar cone in his opposite hand. We can imagine that. But the lyrics reveal his thought process, much like Casablanca, but they don’t pertain to Idaho. The words question why Idaho is there and why he only gets one chance to eat a corn dog and an ice cream sugar cone at the same time, in this one moment, one time. (For further explanation on the subject read Kundera’s first chapter of Unbearable Lightness of Being on Nietzsche’s theory of “Eternal Return”). Why did god or the universe only give us one go around? Why was dust made into man? Why do we seem to never get those answers?! Why, Why, Why Why!?!?!? The two lyricists share a mortal dread of impermanence, but perspective communicates a similar angst in two totally different ways. Art works on us effectively either way. The world can come crashing into our present: the sensitivity of touch, the feel of the floor, the touch of your body on your seat, the look of your lovers face a few moments before they leave you. Or it can open us up to the communion of existence: the why why why why question’s that we all share. Why must we hurt, why must we struggle, why do I only get one chance to do it all right? I love that Brock inserts the lyric about friends, habits and family meaning so much to him. You could imagine that Brock’s protagonist is in the scene directly following Casablanca’s break up one. Instead of going insular, instead of feeling sorry for himself and becoming a puddle of emotional shiiite, Brock’s man wraps himself in family, ritual, and friends. The questions of “what the f is going on?” certainly persist, but the connections with loved ones and his own personal tendencies make that small perspective so much more bearable. We might not know why we are here in theory, but support from loved ones, and understanding amongst people has to be a part of it. We don’t know exactly why its set up like this but thank God friends, habits and family are here to absorb some of the falls.

Part Three: Where to displace them.

Art is displacement. Whatever medium you use, you are taking experience and you are communicating it from perspective.

In the span of two weeks I found myself in situations of intense joy and unbearable sorrow. I gained immeasurable experience that had me on a cloud 9 one moment and down on my knees another. I felt the hyper-immediacy of heartbreak, the absorbing arms of loved ones, and the awareness of a tragedy in an international transport station. I felt love from a single mom and her two deaf children, and felt judgement and disregard from a group of Christ-followers. I traveled until my body was spent, and I rested after my heart was shattered.

In and through all of it I wondered how to displace these experiences. Do you the reader gain from any of it?! I keep answering yes. Please tell me if you feel otherwise.

Grace and Peace

Brent

(At the fear of ending relationships, please check my grammar.)

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