Rylan – The National
Rylan – The National
Time is the lens that refracts the spotlight of
meaning. To me, this is most apparent in my relationships with the music I love. On
countless occasions I have found myself clinging to a particular lyric or
melody or instrument on the eleventh time listening to a song because I had yet
to experience, until then, something with which it would strike a chord.
For a long time, Rylan was
merely just another love song to me. Sure, the immaculate and grandiose
production by the Dessner brothers accompanied by the lamenting baritone
singing of Matt Berninger made for adequate ear-candy, but the track failed to
move me. I feared that, unlike a lot of the band’s work, this tune would simply
fail to hold a special place in my heart’s discography.
Never
was I more elated to be proven wrong.
I am
still unsure of why that particular morning bus-ride to school came to be the
stage upon which this parable revealed itself before me, but I am eternally
grateful for it. Sinking into a lull as the bus droned on, the opening drums of
the song wrenched my attention toward the words: “Rylan, you should try to
get some sun.”
In that instant, lyrics that always appeared to yearn
for some enchanting anchorite now seemed like a close friend’s concerned advice
spoken directly at me. I listened intently, and as syllables passed me by, and
the instrumentation swelled and congealed into a cacophony that felt like
liberation, I became Rylan.
I, just
like many, often weave distinct narratives into the music that I hold dear. You
will not be surprised to hear that I find no small joy in intimating these
tales with those willing to lend an ear; and, likewise, listening to them in
return. It is in this spirit, dear reader, that I offer up the image I see in
the mirror that is this song.
…
“Rylan
you should try to get some sun,
You
remind me of everyone.”
If you
were to speak to an individual disinclined to participate in social excursions
with large groups of people (author’s note: “large groups,” i.e. a party of
more than three), such as myself, you’d find them to be entranced within
their rich inner worlds and self-penned narratives. Oftentimes, these stories
cast their writers as a social deviant – a narrative device that only serves to
push oneself further inward and away from genuine connection. It is for this
reason that I find Matt’s opening lines to the song to be an ingenious hook and
poignant reminder for those like me: it is not “me against the world”, nor is
it just me who feels like it is.
…
“Rylan
did you break your mother’s heart?
Every
time you tried to play your part.”
I see the specific invocation of “mother” here
to be a stand-in for the people closest to me. Societies are generally catered
to averages, and most of us can understand the feelings of unworthiness or
loneliness that arise from being an outlier in any aspect of society. These
lyrics, in turn, feel like the song is empathizing with my struggles when it
comes to the social aspect of it, reminding me that I do not disappoint or hurt
those closest to me for simply falling outside the average.
…
“Rylan,
we can take the quick way out.
We can
turn blank white in a blank white house.
Say that
you’re a pervert, you’re a vulture.
Don’t
you wanna be popular culture?”
So far, it is abundantly clear that in my
interpretation of the track, the subject is none other than me. But who do I
imagine singing it? The answer: music itself. This, dear reader, is where I
draw the second major theme of the song from. To me, not only is it a reminder
that I am not alone in my experiences, but it also provides a place for solace
and genuine connection for the times I do choose to look inward. To borrow a
line from the great Jim Morrison, “Music is your special friend.”
This
verse in particular takes on more of a facetious tone for me. The irrational
suggestion of turning blank white in a blank white house as an activity just to
satirize the mundanity of the everyday; the absurd and empty excuses of being a
pervert to brush off pricking questions about being reclusive; the cheeky
rhetorical tone when asking if I wanna be popular culture – the lyrics ring
like passing one-liners exchanged between old mates.
…
“Stay
with me among the strangers.
Change
your mind and nothing changes.
Don’t
let show any emotion,
When you
climb into the ocean.”
Echoing
the previously mentioned notions of the song representing my interpretation of
the purpose and importance of music as a whole, Matt’s words here have provided
me compassion and tranquility whenever I have been caught in a tempest of
unruly emotions. When I feel lost and alone in a crowd of strangers, or
frustrated and scared of my insignificance in the world, I return to the vast
ocean comprised of melody, rhythm, and soul to escape it all.
…
“Is
it easy to keep so quiet?
Everybody
loves a quiet child.
Underwater
you’re almost free.
If you
wanna be alone, come with me.
Is it
easy to live inside yourself?
All the
other kids are high and hazy
Everybody’s
got nowhere to go.
Everybody
wants to be amazing.”
In my opinion, the true prowess of lyricists such as
Matt Berninger lay in their ability to write songs that capture both the
specificity and the universality of human experience. I, for one, am
always left speechless at how succinctly this chorus puts into words sentiments
I have struggled to explain for years. The effect is only amplified by how Matt
annunciates each phrase, singing with such tangible empathy.
The
repeated questions in the chorus reflect others’ inability to understand and
relate to dispositions such as Rylan’s, ironically resulting in them living
more and more of their lives inside themselves. Certainly, I have faced my fair
share of such questions. But, just as the track drives home, there is still
plenty of community and kindness to be found both with others and oneself, no
matter who you are.
Concluding
the (second occurrence of the) chorus are my two favourite lines in the entire
song: “Everybody’s got nowhere to go. Everybody wants to be amazing.” Why
these in particular? Simply due to the fact that they parrot one of my most
intimate fears/frustrations. Just like the character of Holden Caulfield finds his
environment and peers to be “phony”, I am often unsettled and overwhelmed by
the homogeneity of the world around me. The only thing that can break this
paralyzing monotony, I find, is art.
…
“Rylan
you should try to get some sun,
There’s
a little bit of hell in everyone.
Rylan
you should try to get some sun,
You
remind me of everyone.”
The track concludes with a reprise of the opening
lyrics, accompanied by an additional phrase. Although I do not have much to add
here, I would like to point out that on my first few listens of the song, I
misheard this additional phrase as: “There’s a little bit of heaven in everyone.”
Given the song’s significance to me, I find this rather fitting. Even now,
I often sing along with this misheard lyric thrown in; because, of course, there’s
a little bit of heaven and hell in everyone.
Credits and References:
Rylan (from the album: I Am Easy To Find); song by The National.
The National, comprised of: Matt Berninger, Aaron Dessner, Bryce Dessner, Bryan Devendorf, Scott Devendorf.
Jim Morrison, front-man and lyricist of The Doors.
"Music is your special friend," line from When The Music's Over (from the album: Strange Days); song by The Doors.
Holden Caulfield, character from the novel The Catcher In The Rye by J. D. Salinger.
This was a genuine pleasure to read!
ReplyDeleteFascinating thoughts that are well expressed! Can’t wait for your next one :)
ReplyDeleteVery well written...Don't be scared of the monotony and homogeneity of the world...Live your life to your liking...Find joy in what you do...Hurt no one...Nothing else matters...
ReplyDelete