As Ben Gibbard sings us his thoughts as only he sings them, you can’t help but think about your own life. Whether you admit it or not, if you’re of this generation, your thoughts probably sound a lot like his. His are literal, they are emotional, and they come after benchmark decisions and encounters. Your lying in your twin sized bed, you are at the Bixby canyon bridge, you think you are drunk enough to drive her home, and you are no closer to any kind of truth.
He’s like the guy who talks to himself when he’s walking alone, and hates walking alone. I get the impression that his life has been a series of relationships that were glorious once and burned away. In a recent essay in Paste magazine he confesses that he thought rock stardom would give him all the answers, but instead he feels just as pulverized by life as ever.
This is what Jack Kerouac felt when he wrote Big Sur. He let utter helplessness, alcohol and the despair of the people he loved consume him on that canyon where so many moneyed people vacation now. What’s worse is when fans were showing up at his door looking for some cheap rub off super Darma cool inspiration, man. Like the kids who walk up to Ben G and say “You know, I know I’m not supposed to…but I really liked your major label album.” So this is what fame really brings, more crap.
The wandering life of Jack Kerouac would be fun to deal with, but for Gibbard at mid 30s it’s the Big Sur that must be address. Kerouac’s latter year soul haunts on Bixby Canyon Bridge, the opening track of the new Death Cab for Cutie album “Narrow Stairs.”
Gibbard wrote these songs at the sight where Kerouac realized he shouldn’t write anymore, Big Sur. That text I have read. And I read it because there was a time in my life where I would follow Jack anywhere. It was summer and Norman was sunny and not populated. I had a bike. And every sparkling pool seemed deserted. I put beers in a book bag and jumped on my bike. This was the routine I kept for a few weeks reading all of Kerouac’s follow-up texts, which never matched that first thrill. Kerouac gave voice to the feelings I felt when I read On the Road. He gave me the ideal and then with Big Sur he crushed it. I put the book down and settled into lethargy.
Thankfully Gibbard went one step further and went to Big Sur. He one upped Jack because he came away from inner arguments, battles with the darker demon thoughts/memories with his creation. It shouldn’t be of any real big surprise. Gibbard’s voice has had, more than many of his contemporaries if not all save James Mercer of The Shins, this quality of nice. You guess his intentions are sincere, each syllable.
And this album touches on dark spots of middle age malaise As a result this is a darker record full of people who stalk girls and guys with insecurities like Bens. There are portents of apocalypse imagined during a California fire. In that track “Grapevine Fires” to fight the doom and gloom, Gibbard offers us young life, a girl dancing against a horizon all ablaze and the girl next to him that he’s drinking wine with in a paper cup, apropos of an early Death Cab song that comes to mind (“Champagne in a Paper Cup is never quite the same”) I guess when you are older and throw away all your illusions about material things bringing you happiness, drinking from the paper cup is even sweeter.
So, in one track you are seeing utter peace and utter destruction in song, which makes for challenging, rewarding art in this case.
In the imaginary conversation with Jack, saying he’s searching “for the place where your soul had died.” After he leaves, he wanders back to his car “no closer to any kind of truth.”
If you are a dimestore existentialist you might say that because each person has a unique life experience. A guy named Kierkegaard once held that instead of dealing in abstract principles (for example THE IDEA OF On the Road which is very fucking abstract and alluring) we should focus on the particularity of experience and its essentially individual nature, and only in this way do we come to realize our utter freedom (I quote from some one else’s summation). You feel fear, but that is okay because the fear is indicating that you realize how utterly free you are.
So Ben says goodbye to Jack, the ideal wandering American troubadour of light, and he starts digging back into his own weird, awkward stories. And voila! It’s a hit record. Surprise, surprise.
I’ve always thought this band original and that thought hasn’t changed.
I credit the unique chemistry of the band. The atmospheres inspire thought, and the words give vivid images. This combination has given plenty of aimless Me Generationers something good to listen to. I’ve been listening to Ben’s little stories since my best friend in high school gave me a top five with DCFC written at the top.
“Which album?” I asked.
“All of them. Photo Album might be the best”
The lunch bell rang.
He gave me Death Cab, which I still have, just as I‘m sure everyone who has has that first time they read On the Road. When our friendship died it was dead. I didn’t realize it and I fought it. Only till we both realized the thing was dead, could we be alive again. Him there and me here. To miss my friend is to be alive. To listen to the music we shared is to be alive…
He’s like the guy who talks to himself when he’s walking alone, and hates walking alone. I get the impression that his life has been a series of relationships that were glorious once and burned away. In a recent essay in Paste magazine he confesses that he thought rock stardom would give him all the answers, but instead he feels just as pulverized by life as ever.
This is what Jack Kerouac felt when he wrote Big Sur. He let utter helplessness, alcohol and the despair of the people he loved consume him on that canyon where so many moneyed people vacation now. What’s worse is when fans were showing up at his door looking for some cheap rub off super Darma cool inspiration, man. Like the kids who walk up to Ben G and say “You know, I know I’m not supposed to…but I really liked your major label album.” So this is what fame really brings, more crap.
The wandering life of Jack Kerouac would be fun to deal with, but for Gibbard at mid 30s it’s the Big Sur that must be address. Kerouac’s latter year soul haunts on Bixby Canyon Bridge, the opening track of the new Death Cab for Cutie album “Narrow Stairs.”
Gibbard wrote these songs at the sight where Kerouac realized he shouldn’t write anymore, Big Sur. That text I have read. And I read it because there was a time in my life where I would follow Jack anywhere. It was summer and Norman was sunny and not populated. I had a bike. And every sparkling pool seemed deserted. I put beers in a book bag and jumped on my bike. This was the routine I kept for a few weeks reading all of Kerouac’s follow-up texts, which never matched that first thrill. Kerouac gave voice to the feelings I felt when I read On the Road. He gave me the ideal and then with Big Sur he crushed it. I put the book down and settled into lethargy.
Thankfully Gibbard went one step further and went to Big Sur. He one upped Jack because he came away from inner arguments, battles with the darker demon thoughts/memories with his creation. It shouldn’t be of any real big surprise. Gibbard’s voice has had, more than many of his contemporaries if not all save James Mercer of The Shins, this quality of nice. You guess his intentions are sincere, each syllable.
And this album touches on dark spots of middle age malaise As a result this is a darker record full of people who stalk girls and guys with insecurities like Bens. There are portents of apocalypse imagined during a California fire. In that track “Grapevine Fires” to fight the doom and gloom, Gibbard offers us young life, a girl dancing against a horizon all ablaze and the girl next to him that he’s drinking wine with in a paper cup, apropos of an early Death Cab song that comes to mind (“Champagne in a Paper Cup is never quite the same”) I guess when you are older and throw away all your illusions about material things bringing you happiness, drinking from the paper cup is even sweeter.
So, in one track you are seeing utter peace and utter destruction in song, which makes for challenging, rewarding art in this case.
In the imaginary conversation with Jack, saying he’s searching “for the place where your soul had died.” After he leaves, he wanders back to his car “no closer to any kind of truth.”
If you are a dimestore existentialist you might say that because each person has a unique life experience. A guy named Kierkegaard once held that instead of dealing in abstract principles (for example THE IDEA OF On the Road which is very fucking abstract and alluring) we should focus on the particularity of experience and its essentially individual nature, and only in this way do we come to realize our utter freedom (I quote from some one else’s summation). You feel fear, but that is okay because the fear is indicating that you realize how utterly free you are.
So Ben says goodbye to Jack, the ideal wandering American troubadour of light, and he starts digging back into his own weird, awkward stories. And voila! It’s a hit record. Surprise, surprise.
I’ve always thought this band original and that thought hasn’t changed.
I credit the unique chemistry of the band. The atmospheres inspire thought, and the words give vivid images. This combination has given plenty of aimless Me Generationers something good to listen to. I’ve been listening to Ben’s little stories since my best friend in high school gave me a top five with DCFC written at the top.
“Which album?” I asked.
“All of them. Photo Album might be the best”
The lunch bell rang.
He gave me Death Cab, which I still have, just as I‘m sure everyone who has has that first time they read On the Road. When our friendship died it was dead. I didn’t realize it and I fought it. Only till we both realized the thing was dead, could we be alive again. Him there and me here. To miss my friend is to be alive. To listen to the music we shared is to be alive…
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Check out: "One Fast Move or I'm Gone: Kerouac's Big Sur" Ben Gibbard participates and Kerouac's book is explored. Watch the trailer
http://www.kerouacfilms.com
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