The happiest among us wax best about depression. And, of course, the simplest among us throw up obvious contradictions and advertise them as creativity. I am a hack.
There's been a strange thing in me, for a long time. Something has me itching for the pain, reaching for an affinity with the miserable, though most of my misery - like so many others - has been manufactured by vanity and guilt borne of easy comfort. It comes out in the music, and I don't want it unless it is sad, low, or bluntly destitute. When it feels honest, resignation can be a triumph.
A lot of kids hunker behind a Strat, a Marshall stack and a handful of melancholy buzz words - like "melancholy" - but a few of them make some sense, and don't just seem to be trying to sell a waxed casket of aged lamentations. It's the words. Most are so dismissible in their giftless affectations, but when a kid finally grows up enough to recognize the kind of contentedness it takes to have some heartfelt appreciation for the misfortune he manged to get this far without, he can get pretty eloquent about it - without being too defeated. Probably because a sensible soul knows that the recipe for a good brooding involves a dash of hopefulness
Perhaps I am gullible, but some of them seem sincere.
You've heard them here before: