The Dangerzone of Slow Songs
Do you ever feel like a burnt chicken nugget? The five-alarm on the fryer for me is when I find serenity in non-aggressive, soft, distilled tunage.
A couple of weeks ago, I explained on my podcast how helpful starting a newsletter has been for me.
It has fueled my creative side when it comes to storytelling and multi-media projects while challenging me to write every week in one way or another. The first few times rolled out like a brand new rug being laid on restored wood flooring in a multi-million dollar HGTV home. The rest? It’s been like trying to break down a wall that holds up the structure of that multi-million dollar HGTV home.
Some of these topics need more research to be written, in my perspective. Or audio incorporated. Which takes up a lot of outside prep time. Curating interviews, editing, transcription, finding the narrative-angle that should be displayed, finding more interviewees, editing the words while crying about an imaginary deadline I’ve given myself in a sick way to set the tone of “structure” in a flaccid ecosystem. It’s the forced perfectionist in me, I suppose.
However, this week at least, an abundance of topics resurrected to the surface; sexual assault allegations, protests, BLM, journalism ethics, taking care of oneself, sobriety, so there shouldn’t be an issue choosing something to articulate a complete thought about, right?
My brain is a bit of a fried up egg; similar to what those old PSA billboards and ads spewed out about “this is how your brain looks on drugs.” The combination rice of working in news, dancing through school, scraping through the daily doomsday paper that is social media without a break is wildling my sanity to a numb nub. The guilt I feel is insurmountable because I’m not encountering anywhere near as bad as experiences as others. Not only is this a phenomenon I’ve been working through therapy with feeling that my emotions are valid, no matter what the circumstance, plus not devaluing myself, but it’s been difficult to continue on that mindset for without assuming the selfish pose.
During a required zoom meeting with my professor for the summer editing course, I chose to take in attempts to graduate early. She asked me how I was, knowing I worked in a newsroom. She was the first person I ever mentioned to that I feel overwhelmed, heartbroken, and desensitized from covering, living through these events through the eyes of someone who’s supposed to stay “objective.” After that, and reviewing my progress in the class, she forwarded me tips for journalists on how to handle stress, PTSD, and trauma from reporting/working through a quickly evolving world. That following weekend, one of the overnight anchors I work with mentioned to me that people don’t realize people working in a newsroom can also develop trauma from working on these stories. I nearly cried when she said that; I felt validated and no longer alone in my frustration on how to sort my reactions.
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Hopefully, this doesn’t sound too much like Melania Trump’s speech, meaning: bouncing around to different hot button issues to try to make a point that never hit a direct bullseye. Attempting to search for comfort out of all of this in music hasn’t been easy, either. It’s been triggering at times. Nothing fits the situation any longer but I’m too scared to ask for suggestions.
A weighing thought I’ve had, too, is what my title is. Am I a music journalist? Or a music writer? A podcaster? Or just an egregious host vying for good attention? Am I a newsroom producer, or a radio aficionado? A hard-news journalist? What even is the state of that right now?
An internal identity crisis is being raged inside my scrambled head. The one way I attempted to cope was going for a drive and put on “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge” by MCR. It wasn’t hitting right. Nothing upbeat, aggressive, poppy could mildly decompress me. I’ve been looming in the fog like Slenderman waiting for his next kill, idling in place unsure of where to go next.
Much like how I feel in the division of my career, personal worth/perception akin with constant self-retaliation and imposter syndrome. Fun stuff, ya know? Keeps ya fresh.
Future Teens “Sensitive Sessions” nailed me into place. Typically, I don’t listen to slower tempo music unless I’m listening during an early morning commute or trying to wind down and take my after-work train nap. Most of the time it bores me (I know that’s a huge WTF? But that’s just how it’s always been for me) or I shuffle my trance/house music playlist to help me relax before going to bed since it makes me sleepy, so when slowed down tunes help me unwind, I know I’m in a danger zone of stress.
Thinking back, one of my coworkers asked me how I liked a studio session of Local Natives that we had watched earlier that day.
“It was fun, a sorta sleepy vibe though like I would listen to them while getting ready to head to work in the morning to ease me into the day.”
He said (as much I can remember to pre-COVID times) that he found it interesting and funny about my perspective on different music. In the moment, I wasn’t sure how to feel. Quite often, within the music scene, I feel like a weird outsider because of it; not really an adult who can nonchalantly vibe to the newest Pheobe Bridgers, for example, without getting into a different mindset. But knows it’s a good album and can discuss it when it comes up in the conversation. On the other hand, the only type of music I enjoy listening to, on the daily without fail, is the loud, aggressive, rambunctious, upbeat music playing in my earbuds since adolescence and similar, yet new, emissions of it. Even so, the slower music I listen to still is “high energy” to some; there’s still screams, some override guitars thrown in with some fun electro-beats for the hell of it.
Needless to say: I feel consistently out of place.
So, I thought of writing this out, for the newsletter. To keep consistent and accountable for this new hobby of mine which, come to think of it, is my first non-job-related hobby since I started my undergraduate degree more than seven years ago; wild. Perhaps others share the depleted energy of not being able to look away from their socials because of their work or social duty, or maybe it resonates for those wadding through compounding triggers that seem to multiply without notice; it could be those or anything else. The power of feeling unrestricted from this newsletter is a small blessing among the tired streets that are imprinted in my mind that lead to tethered trails of tedious tasks.
Without even trying to be witty, poignant, or in a turn of trying to make a statement: I’m an overcooked, burnt chicken nugget.
Sincerely, I hope everyone is taking care in whatever way they can while fighting against injustice. Your burnt ends are valid.
You can check out this playlist of slow songs that help me chill out when I’m in the super-power draining steel chamber aka the danger zone: