About three months ago, I was
officially diagnosed with some bizarre hybrid of clinical depression
and generalized anxiety disorder. It's been an issue of varying
severity for a couple of years now, but only became crippling to the
point of interfering with every component of my life earlier this
year. Before this, my innate disbelief in life's meaningfulness was
nothing more than a theoretical consideration. However, as things
unfolded, this once-a priori knowledge began to consume every facet
of my being. Alcohol went from a fun escape, to a slightly worrisome
crutch, to an absolute necessity. My demeanor exponentially
diminished from decreased passion for things I once loved, to neutral
indifference, to active disgust at the thought of waking up. The only
meaningful relationship I've ever been involved in imploded
overnight. I stopped eating; and on the rare occasion I did get to
sleep, I typically woke up prematurely in order to expunge a cocktail
of booze, blood, and bile from my intestines.
So what the fuck does this have to do
with Godflesh? During one particularly awful night, after a few weeks
of flirtation with suicidal ideation, I decided to mix a rather
dangerous concoction of drugs and alcohol. I woke up in the early
morning completely unaware of where I was or how I got there, walked
home, bought more booze, and came the closest I ever have to making
the final leap. Before I knew it, it was 11 AM, I was nearly 20 beers
in, and I'm speaking to my concerned counselor, who contacted me
after a missed appointment for that morning. Somewhere along the
line, I was transferred to what I assume was a suicide prevention
hotline, which insisted on sending someone out to my house to diffuse
the situation of the gun resting in my lap. I assured them everything
was fine and granted them permission to periodically call both myself
and my therapist throughout the day. This moment was undoubtedly the
lowest I had ever been, so I made the decision to blast Streetcleaner
at full volume.
Why I
thought it was a good idea to listen to what is certainly one of the
most venomous, scathing criticisms of any positive outlook on the
world at that point in time bewilders me, but I'm glad I did it. I
used to scoff at the notion that altered states or a deficient
psychological orientation could further illuminate a work when
contrasted with experiencing the work under “normal”
circumstances, but Streetcleaner has
never made more sense to me than it did in that moment; and each
subsequent listen has been an attempt to capture whatever it so
lucidly communicated to me that morning.
The
prevailing interpretation of Streetcleaner seems
to be that it's an iconic ode to misanthropy, agony, and absolute
contempt for pretty much everything in the world. In some sense,
that's true. It's hard to draw any other conclusion when one is
confronted with the atonal, mechanistic, cyclical sound of the album,
or when one examines the despondent, sardonic lyrics to “Like
Rats”, “Life is Easy”, or “Streetcleaner”. However, failing
to go the next step in dissecting just what one should take away from
these aural condemnations of moral purity is a fatal error. Yeah, the
world is shitty and life generally sucks. Nevertheless, we were
thrown into this world and forced to live in it; and instead of
blindly reveling in negativity as so many people tend to do in the
case of Streetcleaner,
we can embrace the senselessness of any ontologically significant
meaning or pervasive positivity in life by treating masterpieces like
this as meditative
aids in coping with all of the bullshit.
If one
views the album under this “meditative” framework, a clear
schematic between two different types of songs within the album
emerges that engenders an active contemplation of the repugnant
external and the tormented internal. However, before delineating
those two broad classes of tracks, I'd like to briefly touch on the
meditative aura that permeates the entire album through the interplay
of guitar, bass, drums, and vocals. Building upon the style so
perfectly showcased on tracks like “Avalanche Master Song” from
the debut EP, the rhythm section of bass and drums persistently align
in recursive patterns for extended periods of time. Over this
rhythmic foundation, Justin Broadrick will typically mimic the bass
line for a few phrases until introducing wailing vocals and free-form
dissonance on guitar that very seldom resembles anything other than
cacophonous feedback. Furthermore, aphoristic lyrics are sparse yet
meticulous in their placement; and at times it seems as if the song
titles themselves are mantras further supplemented by a few lyrics.
Consider “Christbait Rising”:
Don't
hold me back, This is my own hell
Christbait, Slugbait, Rise and bring you down
Christbait Rising, In your own mind
Christbait Rising, Bleed dry mankind
Christbait, Slugbait, Rise and bring you down
Christbait Rising, In your own mind
Christbait Rising, Bleed dry mankind
The
7-minute song itself consists of an intro that is later subtly
transformed as a bridge, two main phrases that proceed alternatively,
and a dirge-like outro. During the first main phrase, the first two
lines of lyrics are bellowed twice, and the next two lines are roared
at a higher, more violent pitch. Following this, the second phrase
proceeds with vocal silence only being broken to drearily moan the
command “RISE”. Much like the entirety of the album, the main
allure of this track is its uncanny ability to disorient the listener
and cause them to get lost in the hypnotic composition. In
meditation, the notion of spatialized temporality (think “clock
time”; see Bergson's Time and Free Will for an excellent
treatment on the inherent limitations of viewing this as the ultimate
standard of “time”) drops out and a spatiotemporal hour may pass
in spite of seeming like a moment or an eternity. Such is the effect
of the undeniably brilliant “Christbait Rising”, and the album
itself when treated as an organic unity.
Earlier,
I spoke of two classes of songs that each track more or less falls
into. One seems to be a diagnostic sort wherein the external world is
scrutinized by a frustrated Broadrick, whereas the other concerns
internal dialogues of self-hatred, gloominess, and an insatiable
death wish. I examine the first class by briefly examining the two
songs I feel embody it best, “Like Rats” and “Locust Furnace”
(the latter of which has a companion track in “Life is Easy”,
which I only mention because I would feel uncomfortable with not
giving it a nod for its wonderfully haunting, nihilistic depiction of
human life).
You
breed, Like Rats
Breeding
Stylized
Deformity
Don't look back
Breeding
Fade out
Lies
Deformity
Stylized
Deformity
Don't look back
You were dead from the beginning
Breeding
Stylized
Deformity
Don't look back
Breeding
Fade out
Lies
Deformity
Stylized
Deformity
Don't look back
You were dead from the beginning
Perhaps
the most unique aspect of this song is the inter-thematic
relationship that is established between the rough, percussive guitar
riff that opens the song and is played during the first line and the
considerably more upbeat riff that accompanies the “Breeding” and
“Stylized” stanzas. The first riff and the four words that
correspond with it feel as if they're coming from the darker part of
Broadrick's mind, whereas the more descriptive lines, while still
dripping with vitriol, possess a more sarcastic tone. It's as if the
song is expressing disgust at the nature in which most of us
senselessly proliferate, then light-heartedly poking fun at the
notion of goodness that many people seem to have successfully
convinced themselves of. Call it puerile if you'd like, but it's an
earnest denunciation of a species that, in spite of possessing
“superior intellect”, manages to commit unspeakable atrocities on
a daily basis on a multitude of levels, even in the age of postmodern
“enlightenment”. Also, it's impossible not to shout along to the
first two lines. See for yourself (yours truly in the Portal shirt,
at Maryland Deathfest 2012):
While
the album opener decries the mindless copulation of humans, the
closer is much more dismal in its depiction of Earth as an inevitable
grave for anyone that has ever existed or will exist.
The
earth, Froze up
One dead, Pale world
And you'll swing, From the reaping hook
And you'll die, By a reaping hook
Locust, Locust
Furnace, Furnace
Corruption, In the goat herd
Flesh crumbles, In the real world
Silence
Barren
My furnace
Appealed
The locust furnace
Earth, Earth
Furnace, Furnace...
One dead, Pale world
And you'll swing, From the reaping hook
And you'll die, By a reaping hook
Locust, Locust
Furnace, Furnace
Corruption, In the goat herd
Flesh crumbles, In the real world
Silence
Barren
My furnace
Appealed
The locust furnace
Earth, Earth
Furnace, Furnace...
Perhaps
more of a noise-rock song akin to Cop-era Swans than
industrial metal, the subdued violence of this song intensifies the
sagacious quality of Broadrick's declaration that we'll all be put on
display as parasitic insects to “swing on the reaping hook” after
we succumb to death by the very same object. The tone of this song is
what fascinates me the most. It contains what are arguably the most
apocalyptic and deranged lyrics of the album, but it's almost
certainly the most serene. This tone anticipates the manner in which
the second class of songs I described excels.
While
the above songs paint a picture of a dreary world unfit to live in,
the title track and “Mighty Trust Krusher” illuminate the
paradoxically life-affirming bent that makes this a complex work
beyond philosophically empty misanthropy.
Vision,
Escape
Vision, This feels right
Hell, Is where I lie
Now take the power, When we all die
We all die
Vision, This feels right
Hell, Is where I lie
Now take the power, When we all die
We all die
After
an unsettling sample from serial killer Henry Lee Lucas, the tempo of
the song picks up to what could very well be the fastest on the
entire album. A sense of urgency typifies this track, which is
further enforced by the noisy guitar leads that are interspersed
throughout. Following this, pitch-shifted vocals add an extra layer
to the oddly empowering overtone of the lyrics. The way I choose to
view this song is as one of an inner dialogue wherein the fatalistic
worldview painted by songs like “Life is Easy” and “Locust
World” is viewed as a source of power, not a source of
self-destruction. Being cognizant of the basic state of the world
we're forced to live in is the first step in simply accepting that
bad things happen a lot and they probably aren't getting better any
time soon. Note the emphasis of the word “right”, which almost
seems to be taking an epistemological stance by asserting a positive
truth-value as opposed to a normative ethical claim. In spite of the
fact that it might not feel the greatest to admit, the truthfulness
of Streetcleaner's worldview is the sensible one that will
lead to getting the most out of this planet.
I
need this, I need you
On your knees
And we'll pray
Together now
Effortless
Mighty Trust Krusher
I need this, It's in my heart
I love you, My trust is evermore
Hate me, Tread on me
And you taught me, and finally slay me...Now
On your knees
And we'll pray
Together now
Effortless
Mighty Trust Krusher
I need this, It's in my heart
I love you, My trust is evermore
Hate me, Tread on me
And you taught me, and finally slay me...Now
The
cryptic style of these lyrics eludes any concrete interpretation, but
a general view can certainly be ascertained if one looks closely
enough. The first stanza emerges amid a dissonant intro, with
Broadrick desperately pleading to this “mighty trust krusher”,
ostensibly in the face of inner turmoil catalyzed by the ugly world
the other diagnostic tracks describe. It's the most thematically
positive of the songs on the album, but it's one of the most
musically jarring and challenging. I've always taken this as a
reinforcement of the album's masterful aesthetic of harnessing, in a
quasi-Lynchian way, the stream-of-consciousness process of the
subject's inner mental machinations.
Make
no mistake, Streetcleaner is a work of uniform unpleasantness.
However, a smart guy named Spinoza once said that “all things noble
are as difficult as they are rare”, and the contents of this album
are no exception. In confronting the bleak decrepitude of Godflesh's
magnum opus head-on, one emerges a stronger, better person in the
face of tumultuous inner uncertainty about an undoubtedly ugly
external world. I know that whenever I feel like life isn't worth
living anymore, I disappear in Streetcleaner for a short
amount of time and realize that things are shitty, but not that
shitty.