This way, my friend. The doctor will see you now.
If music can heal, perhaps so can song lyrics. There are times when nobody says it quite like Bon Jovi… or Gloria Gaynor, or even the Spice Girls (if that’s what floats your boat). Calling it simply ‘lyrics’ doesn’t truly capture its power. These are exactly the right words coming together in a sublimely perfect way to make one understand the world and its people a little better.
Oh, admit it, we’ve all been there. Who among us hasn’t found solace and comfort, counsel and encouragement from lyrics of songs? Let they who have never cranked up I will survive in their bedroom and sung along, cast the first stone. Or drum stick.
Consider: Crooner of Choice Billy Joel’s companion for the unjustly heartbroken, Innocent Man: Some people stay far away from the door, if there’s a chance of it opening up. They hear a voice in the hall outside and hope that it just passes by. Now take a deep breath and let it all out. There… feel better?
Behold your therapist in flowing blond hair, unsightly tight leather pants, and make up. The Archbishop of Anthem Rock, Bon Jovi made a career by mining singed hearts for inspiration. (Yes, yes, I know there are others too. But the paracetamol of 2021 is just that of 1991 repackaged — oh god, indignant backlash expected!). Shot through the heart and you’re to blame, darling you give love a bad name, is what we hum as we enter the therapist’s office. And hopefully, we emerge to Ms. Gaynor’s eternal hymn of courage and fortitude, Go on go, walk out the door, you’re not welcome any more.
Sartre, Husserl, Heidegger, and other stalwarts of existentialist philosophy looked deep into our hearts and masterfully mapped the landscape of human angst. ‘Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom,’ Kierkegaard wrote. But this simply doesn’t capture — or help — the unbearable agony of a teenager (or a man-child), torn by the forces of retaliation and expectation.
But in the hands of Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins (the erstwhile high priests of teenage-existentialism), the same angst is a thunderstorm of helpless flailing: Despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage. Someone will say, what is lost can never be saved. Word; high-five, Billy.
Obviously, the intent isn’t to list songs whose lyrics can provide sweet succour or give an insight into the machinations of the world. A foolish task if ever there was one, because one woman’s In the End (Linkin Park) is another man’s Last Christmas (Wham!). The intent is to encourage you to pause and acknowledge the soundtrack, as you triumphed-coped-dealt-made-sense-of broken moments.
Words have the power to heal and this healing can arrive in different guises. Lyrics of songs are no less powerful than those that arrive as positive affirmations, in beautifully photoshopped WhatsApp forwards. Yet, the words by themselves have no power. We have to invest it with this power. And this we do — unconsciously — when we sift the words to find meaning. Then, the words become more than just words. Then, they take on the arduous task of making us feel better and the burden of consoling us. And oh, how they rise to the task!
For every mix tape (how I merrily betray my age) featuring Nothing’s gonna change my love for you, everyone needs a Total eclipse of the heart. For every I live my life for you, everyone needs a It’s only words. For every Please forgive me, one needs Slayer’s, Feed me all your hatred, empty all your thoughts to me; I can fill your emptiness with immortality.
(Ouch. What the… that hurts more than heals.) Ciao till your next appointment.
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