It was only days ago that I was contacted by a listener of Wayne Szalinski, who kindly complemented “These are the Layers of Bandages,” mentioning how he and his girlfriend enjoyed listened to it every time they hung out. Months earlier, upon the song’s initial release, I entered into an extensive dialogue with a friend who, to my dismay, gathered that the lyrics promoted abusive and sexually hegemonic relationships. Upon first listen the song’s upbeat nature can perhaps obscure the darker and more painful reality within. Without making light of the juxtaposition of these two analyses, I find it perhaps necessary to bridge that divide between artist and audience. I must apologize for the vagueity; I find comfort in translucence and can’t quite convince myself to divulge each excruciating detail.

Afternoon-gazing in the darkened window reflection pane; I wish I could explore such vanity. Instead I find myself ugly and opaque; veiled and obscured from even the most well intentioned efforts of self-exploration. I write plundering the vulnerability one can perhaps only find between the damp hours of three and five a.m. Aiming to be transparent and true in chronology; I could only ever hope for translucency.

I am always approaching some inaugurally memorial occasion. Recurrent and infinite is the perceptual daydream of moments past. Most of my writing and lyricism derives its meaning in these periods of time.  It is greatly regrettable, that in writing, I have only been able to capture one perspective of these moments. Despite my obsessive reductionism of ethical actions unpleasantly common, when I put pen to paper, I haven’t quite been able to capture the totality of any one experience. Upon recording these lyrical and musical workings, I discovered the torture of permanency. Whatever traumatism of the past, is suddenly made constant.mp3. Songs and lyrics lose all plasticity and set themselves concretely. As those three debut tracks of “Wayne Szalinski” came to completion, I found myself at the mercy of a number of necessary unpleasantries: the reliving of moments particular and painful, the doubt in choosing which perspective to display lyrically, and permanency of those decisions. I find myself most dismayed in “These are the Layers of Bandages” in particular. Though this may be a hopeless attempt in wetting cement already set, I feel a need to remold that which is perhaps ill-formed. For not all words once written reflect my current state of opinion; yet they were true in the moment.

These are the Layers of Bandages finds its namesake in the music of Michigan’s own, Anathallo–a song called “Don’t Kid Yourself, You Need a Physician” (I believe they were my favourite artist at the time of it’s writing). I found the two parallel in their regretfulness and introspection, Anathallo’s work perhaps being the impetus for the melancholy I felt in writing, and deemed it apropos to name Bandages after its sparking.

I wrote (Bandages) during one of those inaugural experiences of reliving. In that moment of lyrical inception, I felt very much the victim of sexual manipulation. The song began as a reflection of unfaithfulness. Anyone who has ever felt that great stomach ache, the unending queasiness, the sickeningly recurrent daydream of a loved one with someone else, will understand this song better than I can ever express in words. A year later, churning unsubsided, I decided to write “These are the Layers of Bandages.” Though originally intended to express the personalized pain of that experience, I’m finding that in writing I perhaps exposed more pertinent flaws within myself. Despite Bandages’ initial intention, I realized I was writing some autobiographical tale of two people who found themselves in an abusive relationship mutually perpetuated

There’s an inherent disconnect between artist and audience in any form of communication. Though I think upon examination the song doesn’t retain any promotion of sexual abuse, as I distance myself from the time and context of writing those lyrics, I see the potential for another darker and unintended interpretation. The situation was multifaceted to begin with. I would rephrase if I could. It’s not that I can’t commit to lyric consistency, but that the words exist in so many combinations and interpretations that they can never suffice to contain the essence and entirety of such experience. It’s impossible to forget such memory and too late to reconfigure its expression.  While I don’t regret the viewpoint I chose to explore, I question whether it was the one I should have chosen to communicate.

Written by Andy Milad.

*You can find more Wayne Szalinski HERE.

BREAKING!

I haven’t “just heard” anything per say. I have this tendency to purchase new music and then attach myself to it for absurd periods of time. The end of January/early February showered me with four great releases, that I’ve been hooked on. Toro y Moi’s “Anything in Return” and “13.0.0.0.0″ by TTNG were both released on January 22nd. Darwin Deez and Frontier Ruckus released “Songs for Imaginative People” and “Eternity of Dimming” respectively in the first week of February.

Frontier Ruckus’s latest album “Eternity of Dimming” was released on January 29th

Toro y Moi has long been a staple of mine; it’s so very danceable. The R&B influence is particularly charming. I have mixed feelings about “Eternity of Dimming” but it’s probably the strongest of the four releases I’ve mentioned. It’s early in 2013, even so, regardless of whatever else is released, “Eternity of Dimming” deserves to be named one of the best albums of the year. I’ve found myself particularly affectionate towards “Thermostat” and “Birthday Girl.” The lyricism of Matthew Milia is remarkably impressive, and rather intimidating. Especially when you consider that he’s an MSU alumnus.

NEW!

Most recently I’ve been groovin’ to King Krule and Darwin Deez. It’s taken me awhile to get into “Songs for Imaginative People” but I’ve finally done it. Darwin Deez is redefining the boundaries of indie-pop, mixing his electric guitar with programmed electronics. His lyrics are fairly hilarious at times; the lightheartedness is a much needed reprieve. King Krule (formerly known as Zoo Kid) is roughly my age–maybe even younger, which also proves to be horrifyingly intimidating. This kid is making incredible music, it has a wonderful vibe to it, and the jazz/bluesy influence is something I can identify with strongly. King Krule has probably been my favorite upcoming artist of the year; he seems to be blowing up and he definitely deserves serious recognition.

To be honest though, I’ve been returning to some childhood staples lately, John Mayer in particular. There’s an art to pop music that is so deliciously unfathomable. Room for Squares and Continuum will always have a place in my heart. I’ve been learning so much from playing his songs–the jazz chords he uses are absolutely unreal. I’m returning to my childhood love of jazz and it’s quite exciting.

CORE!

I won’t even bother to talk about Radiohead–I know Andrew will. They’re an incredibly inspirational force. Nude, off In Rainbows, is probably my favorite song of all time although; it’ll always be contested by Knives Out, from Amnesiac. I can never quite decide between the two. Look at me, accidentally talking about Radiohead, when I said I wouldn’t.

Sufjan Stevens’ 2010 album “The Age of Adz” was also incredibly impactful on me. It’s been some time since I listened to it; it’s such an incredibly exhaustive experience emotionally. “I Want to Be Well” is among the best songs ever made IMHO. People always talk about how a song got them through a tough time emotionally. “I Want to Be Well” sort of, smashed me to the floor and left me feeling rather helpless, but at least I had the companionship of the song. I’ve developed a rather complicated relationship with the tune, I suppose. Anathallo, The Smiths, Breathe Owl Breathe, all incredible artists, two from Michigan. It might be my personal bias, but we have some really amazing music coming out of the state at the moment.

I just have to pause a moment and talk about Jens Lekman, whom I haven’t mentioned yet. He has a number of great albums, but “I Know What Love Isn’t” was unquestionably my favorite album of 2012. He’s perhaps one of the best lyricists in the musical world and his songwriting embraces a simplicity that is rather liberating. The album as a collective piece promotes this beautiful aesthetic embrace of sadness that I couldn’t help but fall in love with. While “Night Falls Over Kortedala” is probably poppier and contains more hits, it doesn’t have the strength that “I Know What Love isn’t” does as a collective piece. My favorite song off the album is “She Just Don’t Want to Be With You Anymore.” What a terrifyingly true sentiment! Sometimes the greatest beauty can be found in simplicity. I’m listening to it again now and it’s just as heartbreaking as it was when I first heard it. Here’s a link to my last.fm if you have any questions. You can see every song I’ve listened to since I arrived at Michigan State. I’m capable of some transparency.

Written by Michelai Graham