Of Will and His Proliferation to Freedom wrote:
This is an initial draft and will be continued if you like the principle and thesis.
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Out of a self-pitying generation stuttering in the decay of its misfortunate results from a final standardized test, all too appropriately named The ACT, rests the lust for dreams and ideals frustrating to stand on one foot. Music is an art; if you do not believe me then pull your tongue off of the comfortable genre and steal the sampler platter. It is no questionable matter that legendary music arises from the commons area which love, revolution and the death of adolescence continually fuck. Why does that one song bring me from hell to the place where white noise is nothing more than a nightmare in two minutes and forty-three seconds? This work will serve as an exposure of a fourth dimension common to the 21st Century American youth.
Girls at the coffee shop ask “Who is your favorite band?” While scratching to remember the name of some obscure group from two weeks ago I have also forgotten her name. She asks this question with a fleeting glimmer of hope suddenly stifled by a neurotic flash that this conversation will fall victim to blasé results. Please start crying or stand on your chair, eyes closed and sing away my reluctance to be personable. Scare yourself and scare me too. This is all we want.
In common peril, survivors are enchanted by the situation and share a bond otherwise completely foreign. The common peril for those of us growing up in the year 2008 is a silver spoon laden with poison. Induced by garden variety angst blundering through pathways to flooded success, we all turn to injecting synthetic adventures into the arteries of our dreams. Out of the ashes of hung over cocaine nights sings the voice of our music leeching away the broken heart of nineteen year olds from Portland, MN to Portland, OR. Indie proves that failure can persevere into another bridge for kids to reach the seemingly secret euphoria forged by outlawing society with a unified voice. This is the music of our age. Every person growing up with the disappointment that their decade has far too many syllables in its name can connect to the axiom that we too have something of our own.
First it was punk rock, then it was emo, and before throwing in the towel Indie has planted its feet so firm that its denial is not even on the repertoire of things to snob. Give up. There is one scar that I will be grateful to show off in future times – a unified melody of my age. Look, I believe that we have tried to bring rebirth to so many twentieth century fox interpretations of decades past to have an identity that failure had to be the end. The 2000’s were not supposed to be worth a shit. From a revival of ripped jeans to the desperation of turning to all out chaotic trends hoping for novelty to burst into existence, ever-looming doom could not be erased. After recently listening to Vampire Weekend, a wave of relief splashed over me with a grace unreachable by synthesis alone.
Yes, I believe whole heartedly that Indie, which at this point should just simply be referred to as music in general, is the dream that years of smoking pot could never bring about. This idea of a label defeats the genre’s purpose so please do not predispose yourself to believe that I am only referring to the likes of The Postal Service and Metric. The context should be thought of as current music that gets you to that special emotional and spiritual harmony with a source understood and enjoyed by most peers. Today’s youth of America has something which will not be broken down by modernity and its reflection of morbid truth. Cubicle fear is cured by this music any time I let it. I can now connect with that girl in the coffee shop and the astonishing principle is unification. No longer do we need to hide behind the journey for something real. Smile at me, because I feel the same way you do. If you have not yet arrived, then keep listening