i'll make something good.

a navel-gaze in 3 acts

something comforting

A little more than a while ago, I contracted the brain disease that labelled myself an “artist”. But not a tortured one - never a tortured one, I told myself, because it’s a damaging stereotype that assumes you must suffer for your art. I definitely told myself that. So I didn’t exactly know what to make of the suffering that came without me even trying to find it.

It was supposed to be the other way around. I find meaning, art, and soul in life, and then capture it in the conceptual canvas to the best of my ability - what (allegedly) Hideaki Anno admired about the “men that went out into the world and put it back into anime in the 80s”, in contrast with what he saw as his generation of “manbabies raised on television”. Instead, I’ve spent most of my time here staring my angst and frustration dead in the face, trying to make some semblance of meaning from it, and failing again and again. But no matter how many times I failed, I could never stop, because even considering an alternative was the worst thing I could possibly think of. There’s gotta be something I can get out of this, right? It can’t be that my pain had no point. That they just seem to have simply happened one day - it can’t be. I’m just not good enough at my craft to be Real yet. When I pen that story, play that song or make that video perfectly, brilliantly encapsulating what I feel, then everything would’ve meant something. It would’ve been worth it.

I had started interpreting the world in art. “This would be good in my story”, “I can make a video about this”, so on and so forth. It made me insulated in the realm of media, and it disconnected me from real things/problems. People, events, history, culture. Eventually I got so used to it, it became my reflexive instinct to compartmentalize the self-loathing in the world of words; hence most of everything I’ve put out on the blog so far. Even now, after recognizing how unhealthy this behavior was - oh yeah, by the way, this shit is unhealthy as all hell - I still catch myself doing it. My last blog post was written in 3 hours, after a day where various factors and events compounded into me feeling isolated, stupid and incompetent. I would be lying if I said my only intention with that essay was to write about something interesting - it was also a way, the only way I could think of, for me prove my self-worth, to comfort myself. Too bad most of the time, it didn’t work.

Bear in mind, I got lucky that the aforementioned essay even came out intact, instead of rotting in my drafts after I’ve bashed my head against it over and over. Whenever I tried to make my pain into art in order to comfort myself, I never could make anything I liked and didn’t know why. Why I would always stop around 1000 words in, hate every word, and delete it, only to realize I didn’t want to let go and repeat the same process the next day. Now, the answer seems a bit more clear: basically, I never had anything to Say. I wanted to put my life, my experiences and feelings down to a page, to show myself I could, and that was the end of it. When I realized it didn’t comfort me in the way I’d hoped, I would always feel bad and lose interest.

I think we, or at least I, have romanticized the idea of expressing yourself - to a generation of radical subjectivity it was, in of itself, valuable. Maybe it’s a general infatuation with ART as an idea, maybe it’s social media urging us to upload every thought we have into the digital mainframe to be consumed, who knows. But eventually, one has to float up to the surface and open their eyes. Art isn’t and has never simply been about pouring your brain slosh everywhere - or else Tumblr vent posts would be in the Louvre. The degree of deliberation required to make good, even presentable art, is something nobody likes to think about until they have to do it.

I personally have always underestimated how much the translating of an idea takes. First, you have to bring the idea - free-willing, perfect and precious in your mind - into concrete, limited expression. Then, you mangle the idea and arduously drag it through the depths of your lack of ability, until it penetrates the Earth and comes out on the other side. I’ve very recently come to a point where I can’t even look at my initial outline anymore, because whatever thing I’ve written has gone so off the trails that it feels disrespectful to my previous ideas. That aside, it also just feels wrong on a human level. It’s supposed to be an authentic expression of the self, but through this deliberate process, it feels like a distance is created between the creator and the work. For example, in this essay, I don’t just string out whatever stream of consciousness I happen to have. I’ve carefully chosen my words and structure it in a way that (hopefully) both emotionally resonates and makes sense. All of this makes sense. Art is, to generalize for the sake of defeating romantic ideation, about translating idea through form, a common form that is understood socially on some level. It’s not just endless navel-gazing and venting that results in “authenticity”, if that concept even means anything. This is how it should be. But still.

It pains me immensely that I seemingly can’t express my true feelings in a way that doesn’t sound/feel completely garbage. It sucks so, so bad to accept that my angst is just that- unproductive, pointless angst. In the long term, doing that is probably for the better, but right now now, I just don’t know what to do about this. That self-loathing, that frustration is still there, and now you’re telling me the only medium through which I could make any meaning out of those emotions, the way I’ve largely defined myself, is not The Right Way To Do Things (in so far as making something people will actually care about)? What then?

i’ll be alive next year

Nurture by Porter Robinson is going to save somebody’s life. It’s just not mine.

The album’s lush, immense and beautiful: Robinson’s knack for writing melodic emotional gut punches becomes both more intimate and more otherworldly with an impressive blend of organic and electronic textures. But the larger form it’s presented in - video game/anime soundtrack inspired EDM, just makes it hard for me to fully get into it. I like the album the most when it’s not being what it is: songs that deviate from EDM’s trademark overblown synths and loops like Wind Tempos and Blossom are standouts, while the breakdowns on tracks like Look at the Sky, Something Comforting, Get Your Wish and Mirror just bring back horrible memories of playing osu!. I swear to god, that opening synth lead on Get Your Wish is so anime rhythm game coded, it’s insane.

That being said, the reason why I still call Nurture a life-changing piece of art is the vulnerability Robinson displays across the record, which is so incredibly sincere and heart-warming/wrenching that I’m able to look not only past most of the production, but see its less palatable qualities as a quirk.

With hyper-processed and pitched up vocals, the first proper track Look at the Sky’s chorus delivers these words -

Look at the sky, I'm still here I'll be alive next year

I can make something good, oh

Something good

From those words alone, I knew this album was going places that I didn’t want it to, but probably needed it to go. With so much left unsaid, these lyrics so simply but poignantly express an aching, fragile hope and an existential serenity, tied together by a sentiment all creatives can relate to: a desire, a promise to themselves to “make something good”. And sure enough, this album’s lyrics fucking destroyed me.

The particulars of this album concern an American DJ in his late 20s struggling with creative frustrations, feeling empty after achieving what he thought “success” was, and moving out of his mom’s house. And although there are more universal and timeless themes like nature, love and nostalgia, I don't feel like focusing on them because Nurture only thrives because it is unabashedly, authentically specific.

Listening to Nurture can be too much. The often bitter, troubled emotions going into every single song are so genuinely and directly conveyed through the lyrics and vibrant production…a bit too directly conveyed. On bad days it can seem obnoxious and obvious. On good days, I can appreciate it skipping over subtext to speak to a generation of chronically online, irony-laden teens who really just need some compassion to get themselves up for another day (This is why I say its cringey-flashback-inducing production actually contributes to its effectiveness).

That being said, the record manages to never go into the preachy territory by maintaining a warm sense of invitation. What stood out was how many questions came up in the lyrics.

Are you close? Shouldn't it come to you naturally? (Look at the Sky)

So tell me, how it felt when you walked on water? Did you get your wish?
(Get Your Wish)

Take what you want, but you're tied by the tooth Wasn't it meant to relieve you? (Something Comforting)

To live, we're dying Why wouldn't we see our world as dark? (Sweet Time)

"A better song could fix my problems"

I'm tired of your questioning

You're cut down too easily

And I don't know what's good for me

I can't decide (Mirror)

These trepidations persist across almost every song, and constantly paints Porter in an uncertain state. He’s not Kendrick Lamar, sharply criticizing his reality and aiming to guide his people towards a better future - Porter is right in the midst of his emotional fluctuations, and you’re right there with him, listening to him call out into the void, lost about whether he’s ever going to get better. If you’re anything like me, you probably wholly related to him.

And when those words viscerally connected, I found that the lyrics as a whole always came from a place of genuine care and healing. There’s no surprise why people call this album equivalent to going to therapy - it’s an honest but utterly kind dialogue Porter’s having with himself about his deepest fears and faults, which arrive at semi-cliché, uplifting conclusions that still go over perfectly due to their earnestness. The first lyric I showed is still the perfect example of this. I’ll be alive next year. That’s it. All you need to say. Fuck.

One day you choke The urges overflow And obsession wears you down But don't you waste the suffering you've faced It will serve you in due time (Get Your Wish)

Simply put - I’m in awe of this beautiful, passionate piece of art about pain and healing. I’m also envious.

Initially, I had thought that my problem was that I was too self-centered, that I had to look away from my personal failings and angst, into something broader. But here comes Nurture, an album that’s so great precisely because Porter wrapped his entire soul around it. His unabashed, radical self expression was the critical component that made it connect this much with me and so many others. The idea of Expressing Yourself may have seemed futile in its modern fetishization butchered by commodified, decentered algorithms, but on the other side, it just means that there is now more people than ever looking for something to connect with. For something to assure them they’re not alone. And maybe the best way to do that is and has always been just being yourself.

But I’m still lost on exactly how to do that. I can’t just make another Nurture - again, the specifics made the art what it is, and I am not a successful DJ from North Carolina suffering from creative frustration. What is there to orient myself with, if I’ve gone wrong with my self indulgent ramblings?

can’t you feel what i’m feeling?

Well, this is why we do it for the feeling

How do you do music? Well, it's easy

You just face your fears and

You become your heroes

I don't understand why you're freaking out

(Musician) 

The 5th track on Nurture, Musician, is unlike any other song on the album. It trades the naturalistic soundscape its been playing with for a brightly chopped sample (of an unreleased Kero Kero Bonito and Porter Robinson collab track), looped and laid on top of a blissful dance beat. It’s the mid-album euphoria, a brief moment of celebration through all the turmoil (accentuated by the sample in the chorus, which I’m told is some iconic club music sample). What I initially expected to be was just a simple, fun reprieve, however, turned out to be the song that punctured my heart the hardest when I looked into the lyrics.

While the topic has been somewhere in most of the tracks on Nurture, Musician focuses entirely on the experience of being an artist, more specifically, “that feeling when I start a musical idea, and I see the potential”, as Porter said in the interview with Fantano. “When I see the promise of that initial idea…I just want to live in that world.”

No, I don't wanna lose it, this emotion

Yeah, I just wanna do everything

I get so excited

When I finally find it

It just gets brighter from now on

It’s a song that the artist themselves has called childish. An irrational, uncontrolled lunge towards hope. What he’s been struggling with across the whole album: his past (I was so nostalgic/But I'm fine without it), his fears and doubts, as well as the doubts of others ("You know I love you, so I think I should tell you, Porter/This life, well isn't it time that you grow up??”), all dissipate away for the sheer desire to create, to realize this feeling in his chest. No matter what happens.

Oh, it's calling

I just can't stop, I'm sorry

I can feel a new day dawning

I burn up, burn out 

I shouldn't do this to myself

The introspective, personable lyricism still remains, but instead of being purely self-critical, Porter acknowledges his indulgent tendencies while fully embracing them, in a tongue-in-cheek but brilliant turn of phrase that I put in the beginning of this segment. How do you do music? Just become the best version of yourself. Be the people that inspired you. It’s that simple. Why are you panicking? Is it hard?

The sincerity, truth, and hope of those words struck me exactly when I needed it. When I was wondering if doing this was even my calling, if I’ve been misguided the whole time, Porter pat me on my back and honestly told me: It’s supposed to be hard. It’s supposed to be a radical act of self-love, of growth. It’s supposed to be radiant.

And maybe it’s unsustainable to cling onto this romantic idea of creating something. Maybe it’s stupid. But I’ve felt what he’s describing. The exhilaration of finding that spark, that idea with real promise and value - the countless nights stayed up writing, editing, pacing around my room, talking to myself, and feeling my heart pound faster than any exercise has made me. I want to live in that world too.

But sincerely

Can't you feel what I'm feeling?

I can see my life so clearly

And I know it doesn't last

But I don't mind at all anymore

And really, that’s what we’re all looking for at the end of the day, probably. None of us have our shit figured out - we’re just looking for a moment of clarity, a sense of purpose, in this muddled existence we didn’t ask for. Making art - as it so happens to be for me and Porter Robinson - is just the thing we’ve dedicated ourselves to that helps, just a little bit.

I’m not wrong for wanting to make art that encapsulated my feelings, even if it reaches into self-indulgent territory - because as Nurture and like, all of the art I’ve ever loved demonstrates, the line between self-indulgent and incredibly personally evoking is always carefully straddled. I just have to keep in mind that what artists have to be loyal to is not themselves, but the desire to strive for greatness and hope. And, if I dare to be faux spiritual for a second, the process of refining your craft, paradoxically communicating by abstracting yourself from authentic emotions and reaching the unexplainable state of beauty, is maybe the closest humans can get to indescribable brilliance - transcendence.

An avid interview watcher, I always scoff at musicians giving the same “never give up on your dreams” speech every time they’re asked to deliver an inspirational speech, but now I think I get it. The wisdom may sound cliché, but to boil down years of tears, sweat and brutal conversations with yourself, the only thing that probably stood out to them was the fact that they’re still here. Look at the sky - I can make something good.

That line’s really, really great, y’know. Its meaning changes based on your emphasis. Do you want to focus on “I can” - your ability of self-expression, your confidence in delivering on the expectations of yourself and others? Or do you want to focus on “something good” - the art you want to create, the mark you want to leave on the world? Just remember: whichever you choose, the two will always coexist, standing by each other in the same lyric of your life. It’s hard, embracing and balancing both of these drives, but we only live once - why not try to become your heroes?

I’ll make something good.