#14 year old me was so real for declaring him my favorite composer

[iamthemaestro]

sometimes it surprises me to know that vivaldi was a priest because his music is absolutely sexy. forgive me father but your music fucks and someone has to say it

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — maestro

summary: a song written in 2016. an angry boy says fuck you to the people that doubted his talents, again. warnings: none wc: 1820 (not including lyrics)

he touches a real piano for the first time in years.

the set of ivory keys lined up, sparse increments of black filling the void. eighty-eight keys, fifty two white thirty six black. he’s always favored the b and e from first glance when he realized the onyx keys weren’t the only casualty of a flat or sharp. it takes him all but three seconds to line up the technical keys — first the octave progressions that start with basic fingering. four fingers, spanning eight keys. it starts at octave one, breaches to octave seven.

he remembers the first time he played a piano.

five years old at the mercy of his mother — pianos make pretty hands, and my son will have pretty hands. in hindsight, he doesn’t know what the fuck she meant then, and still doesn’t know when he’s twenty-seven severed ties from a family long gone. yet, he remembers the prosperious beginnings of a formidable boy at age eight — playing along the tunes of chopin, schubert and mendelsson. 

for old times sake, he plays the etudes. and like muscle memory, schubert and the hours invested into each tick on the clock and mark against the practice sheet take its toll — it plays smoothly, and the smirk curved on his face tells otherwise of the distaste that subsides inside his stomach.

he leaves, places his hand on the side arm before folding himself ninety degrees (muscle memory takes him there too).

-

the taste of a grand piano becomes addicting on his fingers like an insatiable itch by the time it’s three days pass. he waits another two.

addiction doesn’t pass, and impulsitivity ensues. his name marked on the reservation sheet placed in the recording room with the grand piano, he marches straight through combatted for war with the lingering ties of his past.

it starts when he mimics the beginnings of beethoven and mozart — the first names he learns when he’s sitting on edge scrawled across the piano with the sheet music at bay. it’s the first of two pieces juxtaposed together, inside the minor keys (he remembers, he hated the minors. too many damn sharps to account for). it starts with a two note combination — flits past two octaves. it’s here it becomes an ode, a death march to the things he’s buried under.

but his creativity ceases when he’s struck at a standstill.

no beethoven or bach — there’s nothing that budges past the iteration of the same baseline he’s concocted. no codas composing one break into the next — instead, it’s a repeat measure when he finds solace inside. clicks of the mouth amassing it, only to string it out past the span of three minutes.

it’s the ode to classics and the greatest: the bare standard he manages when he’s thrown the years of promising futures to a life underground and the classics washed away into the easy floating beats of hip hop and rap. yet, he never loses respect — the morsel of respect left for the era that kept him afloat all those years. and he suspects, it must be an effect of music. the keys that leave him jarred and marred with years of memories he can’t forget nor bury. call him a hypocrite — he doesn’t fall out of love with the classics. not when he’s eight and not when he’s twenty-two on the verge of relenting adulthood.

-

he takes the notes for what it’s worth — the repetition on loop in the background. and if he’s had to guess, he gives it to his favorite period: the romantic era where chopin and brahms take him by storm. 

yet, the contrast takes him when the black screen reflects his own image — the contours of his face, sullen and pulled empty by the ties of schedules. stretched to his core where music no longer hovers along lonely bodies and disassociations. a scandal a dozen, and he’s stripped bare void of any creative freedom or outlet. (this becomes his outlet).

when his pen mars the empty pages, and he’s left with telling the story untold. a history he’s never spoken — the question looms: who is chung gyujeong. like a nightmare, he can’t give the answer. instead, what he knows is that the piano became a life hold when he was five. fawns over his small frame and sways to the movement of his fingers — talent encompassing. now, he makes bodies sway to the shitty rhymes and pop-drenched beats of a sell-out inundating him heavy.

sunbaes, and he has to fold himself over. speak the formalities to same fucking round of people trapped in the vicious cycle. it’s here, he understands. his escape started at fourteen, inside late nights with nothing more than a side lamp and the tawdry note pad — lyrics. sounds of his mother shaking her head, yanking him into obedience inside the four walls of hakwons saying the carbon-printed sayings of ‘there’s no future in lyrics. time for piano.’ 

he shakes his head, laughs. the ripple effect coming inside a wash of memories when he tells her to look at him now — a lost son, cut and tied with a cold shoulder faced to his family inside a marble house. “call me maestro.” his voice whispers out loud.

i played the piano since i was 5, i was a musical genius beethoven, mozart, bach and chopin were my predecessors however at 14, i put them aside and started writing lyrics i quite like this, you can’t make money that way — they all can shove it unlimited refills of versace drink — that was my first movement maserati car, white marble house — that was my second. the mic is my baton, call me maestro

there’s parallelisms he sees in clear sight, visceral and vibrant. the sounds of people telling him that he’d fuck up the second he cut his money string in family roots in tune with the rancid talks of idols pinpointing an inflated ego with no talent. gyujeong huffs a laugh, raises a middle finger in lieu of the words held down without a punch. there’s no gentleness here, no. not when the world opens into clarity — the divide between him and them. he’s not a fucking sell out, not when he’s still put his art on the line. traded in the suit pants of the events for his distressed pants and the years of lessons into amassing his own small empire.

he flicks a middle finger at his family — fuck you all for never seeing me for my work. and fuck you to the underground facades guising themselves as a temporary home only to rip out the benefits the second he stepped onto a big stage. this song becomes his mic drop — a fuck you to everyone because it’s chung gyujeong against the world. a twenty something with his pride tattered, he salvages the remains and puts them right here.

truthfully, distressed pants are way better than suit pants i can’t be gentle, i just scream and the money piles up the wealthy are all on the gentle side mr. geonhee give up your ceo title to me mr. nochang should give me his “genius name”* (천재노창 / genius nochang is a real rapper, but i’m using it as a npc point for gyu for the sake of verifications)

there’s stares inside every hallway he walks across. the scowl permanently engraved along his face when he passes by the hopefuls with innocence drowning their eyes in starry-wide visions. then, the whispers back stage of crude avoidance (he hears them all. hears all the shit, sees all the shit they say). a no-good nothing, spoiled and satiated by the fame handed to him on a silver platter — a talentless nothing, starved by nothing. they call him fucked, he calls them pathetic.

you listen to my line just now and say i’m fucked up.

his family’s pathetic when their on their last lifeline. a stern warning coming in volatile shouts, repeating in steps — you’ll never make it, so stop the act now. teenage rebellion stopped at fourteen, and that’s when he takes a plunge into the risks. by then, he’d been a boy with high hopes and higher expectations, a cesspool of goals and the ambition bursting the seams of his heart. an image with the name ‘haon’, a gentle rich boy nestled inside the heart of han-nam (he tells the underground kids, choke on your words when we’re on different levels).

but rather than being locked up by life i’d rather plunge right into the risks i knew my voice would be my moneymaker i dug a huge pit in the neighborhood ground with music and declared that my confidence was my classic image “to me, a sonata is just a car.” i’ll never think anything like that.

no expectations now, he tells it all to eat the shit he’s sowed. choke on their sacred words and cheap laughs, mocking his state. a sell-out, maybe — but he doesn’t take that to his grave. not when his pen still flows against the paper inside each verse and rhyme matching clear. it’s not da capo, and never the beginning. from here, he crawls his way out — fingers pressed and clawing for the taste of his name for everyone to choke on.

he writes the last few statements in a farewell to the harrowing thoughts that kept him restless for so many nights. the pen, dwindling on the last remains of ink — he stops caring, and lets the imprints carry the words he’ll take to heart.

fuck da capo, ill never go back to the beginning no applause, no, play the second movement, hallelujah the normal kids can fuck off but i don’t give a fuck son here is your tombstone with your name written on it. my art hall is the club, call me maestro.

the loop plays in the back, and he repeats the words written back. it flows, uncertain and heady when he doesn’t get it straight the first time.

frustration comes when he grabs onto his hair, pacing back and forth inside an echoing studio booming only the same chords from the start — beethoven’s madness, he thinks to himself. it’s a taste of mirroring an art form, and here, he must be doing something right.

headphones solidified back into his ears, he goes fueled this time. fueled by each memory and word shot back at him like weaponry, aimed straight for his gut. it comes in the billows of his voice, blaring when he shouts and places a piece of his soul into the chords played. there’s no repercussions here, not when it’s just him and the keys in a dead-eye match of past, present and future.

(he takes this, keeps it till the eighth take fulfills).

and what lacks, he sees when his ears perk up the void that lays subtle inside the track. he doesn’t want the hollowness of the piano — not when he sits upon as a maestro of an orchestra. 

the keyboard comes out — this time fine tuned settings poised towards the deep cellos coming in at the two minute mark. it sets the baseline once more for the breach into the bridge. he sits there, doesn’t want it to linger longer than it’s enough to get the punch of meaning into frame. because he’s no longer the classist perched against the walls of a lonely room with no windows and the piano’s not the only voice he speaks to. instead, it’s the frame of a closing in on an attack he’s ready to dig deep in.

no longer a pianist, he picks up friend through the loose mic. the traverse into hip hop where the kick drum and reverbs become solace (he adds those too). adds in each of beat at the end of each iteration. the chords become hugged by the bellowing arches of the reverb, and he finds — this becomes his new sound of home. the one replayed at the hands of his martyrdom. except, he doesn’t fall at the hands of so many loose words. fragility, it doesn’t exist when he’s built himself a skin of armor like a shell encasing a boy no longer molded or mangled.

he’s been strung thin long enough. heard enough empty words. it’s a lesson learned — fuck everyone who’s ever doubted him. 

[royz-yade]

Royz Kuina Rock and Read 073 (English Translation)

Magazine: Rock&Read 073 Release Date: August 2017 Type of Interview: Personal Interview Translator: VerwelktesGedicht for Royz-yade Scans: A very kind anon who sent the scans via ask! (If you want me to give credits here, please let me know your name/blog/whatever xD) Note: Please, no reposting! I was asked if it’s okay to translate my interview into another language and as long as you give proper credit (= a link to this post) it’s okay.

Black and White

- You didn’t appear in this magazine for 3 years but I’d like to talk about some recent things first. At the release date of this issue it has already ended but the 2nd half of your 3rd 47 prefecture tour is about to start (this interview has been held in the end of June [2017]). Looking back at the first half, how was it? In the end, since we’re doing this every year it became some kind of habit without us realizing it. We try to do new things and try to let [our fans] see new shapes but there are also many moments when I think that we are not able to do that.

- You mean, as if you’ve completed the way to hold concerts as Royz? Yes. Without realizing it I think we’ve completed what we call „Royz“.

- Which means, as Kuina you have to destroy this habit? Well, actually, I don’t really say such a thing to the members but…. (laughs)

- Just like we’ve talked about last time you appeared in this magazine, you don’t really let people see your real intentions and thoughts. But this is about to change. Royz’ members are people who are easily influenced by other people – in a good and bad way. Especially Subaru and Koudai are easy to influence. Their characters accept and react on things right away that they get told by others. They are quite naïve.

- You mean they are unsuspicious? Yes. Way too much. That’s why I try to tell them things not straight to their faces. When there are difficulties I rather say „Wouldn’t it be better this way?“ That’s what I started doing.

- Just, when you felt it becoming a habit Subaru-san had to pause activities due to vocal polyps. Kuina-san, what did you feel when Subaru-san’s hiatus had been decided? I didn’t really think about it in particular. He said he wants to do it, so the other 3 of us had no other choice but to think about what to make out of it.

- It happened quite quickly. You had to decide right away what to do with your concerts, hadn’t you? Yes. We had lives and instore events, so we had to focus on that. I think it turned out well. Better than having free time due to such a matter.

- The three of you sang at the concerts. Was that decision also made quickly? Actually, there was no other way than doing that. Concerts are occasions where you perform live. We did think about playing a record of Subaru’s vocals but we definitely didn’t want to do that. We thought if we wanted to do part change with the instruments but we had no time for that, so we thought that just all three of us will sing.

- How was the first live with only the three of you? [May 14th, 2017 at Okayama IMAGE] I didn’t remember anything at all (bitter laugh). I didn’t remember the lyrics and while singing I also didn’t know how to play the guitar or even the meaning. The day ended with a big question mark.

- It was the first time you did something like this, so you couldn’t prepare for it. That’s why in the beginning the whole atmosphere was like “It ended…”. But the lives continued. I think I do have a bad character but however, I thought that I want to stand there, showing the good side of myself.

- You mean…? To put it simple, I wanted to put my focus on learning the songs I barely sang, on remembering the lyrics and the parts the other members didn’t really sing. To make progress and grow… sometimes that is hard and I came to know that.

- But when you say that it means that you want to do the things you can do. That doesn’t mean your character is “good” or “bad”, I think it’s simply “right”. How did Koudai-san and Tomoya-san feel while Subaru-san was taking a break? I wonder, too. I think we all became stronger but also didn’t think too much about it. We thought that it can’t be helped. That’s why we all had to live with it and make the best out of it. I can’t properly sing but I still like singing, so by songs and time I started to enjoy it.

- Did it take a lot of time to enjoy it? About 2-3 concerts. It took some time.

- I see…. Well, probably because this is how you are… I don’t know if you don’t want to worry people or if you don’t want to show your weakness but it was probably pretty hard. ….. It was hard.

- It was, wasn’t it (laughs). Probably for everyone. Hahahahaha. It was pretty hard. Mentally it was definitely fine but I just couldn’t remember the lyrics at all. And until that time I didn’t even think of lyrics as being that super important. Recently I came to think of it as more important but before that I thought the melody and music is really important. I also don’t really know much about sheet music, I didn’t know how to read lyrics.

- So you reconsidered your opinion about lyrics? Was there something else you realized? On this tour we’re playing old and new songs. I realized the progress when it comes to lyrics and also I think that the thoughts Subaru put into writing are deeper now.

- Which lyrics for example? Which one….? I’ve already forgotten all of them (laughs)

- Because you learned it in a rush, didn’t you? (laughs) We had to do that really in a rush. But, we did this song only once but I thought that the lyrics of “Always” are seriously good. This is strange but there is something that has been created when the three of us did that. A feeling was born inside of me that didn’t exist until that time. Maybe it’s connected to that?

- What kind of feeling was born? I thought: For Royz and for Royz’ Kuina, our fans are really necessary, aren’t they? But if this band disappeared and I would live my life as usual human being I wondered if those people would be necessary for me or not. And I thought they probably wouldn’t be. They are necessary for me because I am in a band and I feel gratitude towards them. That’s… how shall I say it… I have to protect this place where everyone has fun. That kind of feeling was born.

- And you didn’t have that feeling until now? If I threw this feeling away, I could accept it if we decided that our band would disband tomorrow. Rather than by rationality I’m living by feelings towards something, so if I think that this band isn’t fun anymore, I would say the next day „I’ll pass“. That doesn’t mean I hate the fans or the members. It’s because I think a band is the way to ultimate self-satisfaction. I’m doing the things I want to do, so I don’t see this band as work. The moment I start to see this as work I don’t want it anymore. That’s why I think as soon as I start to see it as work I will quit. But since this other feeing has been born which hasn’t been there before I’m really confused now.

- So you’re making progress recently? Yes, I am (laughs). It’s strange to say that it’s like this for many years now but I think that you are the one who understands your own character the best. I think about this a lot now.

- But not in a bad way? No, not in a bad way. But until now I had this fear of wondering if all this is really necessary. I don’t want to go astray.

- The reason for this feeling being born inside of you was the big strength of the fans, wasn’t it? It was all thanks to our fans’ influence. Mainly Subaru’s fans. Subaru was taking a break and the fans that aren’t Subaru’s fans were able to see a part of their favorite member they usually can’t see. That’s why, regarding that, I also think there’s the feeling of them being “lucky” at least a very bit. But when it comes to Subaru’s fans… Even though for them their favorite members wasn’t on stage they came to see Royz, the band they like, and it seemed like they were having fun.

- Even though there was still the feeling of sadness and being afraid. That definitely was there. But seeing Subaru’s fans still coming to our live and enjoying it made me think that they are really good people.

- You have some pretty awesome fans. We do.

- And thanks to that, aren’t you happy that you can go on your 3rd 47 prefecture tour within 3 years? Well, I think it’s alright. I think if Subaru didn’t take a break this feeling wouldn’t have been born. I think all members have noticed something they haven’t noticed before.

- I just remembered another change. When Subaru appeared in this magazine [Feb 2017] I heard that you contacted someone who’s writing lyrics and composing. That surprised me a lot. I can’t imagine that. (laughs) Well, that’s because until now there wasn’t really anyone I admire. But that person [I contact] has done that beyond compare.

- Who is it? Sugigawa Katsuhiko-san (杉川勝彦). He was responsible for songs of many popular artists such as Arashi,san, AKB-san, Nogizaka46-san, Keyakizaka46-san, Koda Kumi-san, Nakajima Miyuki-san and  Ebichu-san (Shiritsu Ebichu). I like his songs a lot.

- What do you like about them? It’s hard to explain but when I listen to them it makes me getting excited. The melodies are nice. This kind is popular now but I love the way he changes from one key to another. Also, the way he uses the guitar is pretty good. It’s good how he adds the guitar only a bit after creating the song. That is all thought through. It’s exactly the way I like it, so I really wanted to meet him and he let me contact him.

- This wasn’t like meeting him by chance. You contacted him by yourself. Yes. I told him via Social Media “I have so much respect for you.” I didn’t want him to think of me as just being a random normal person, that’s why I started to use Royz as declaration and also used technical terms regarding music that people from this industry understand. I also added that I’m properly active in the music industry.

- That’s important. Back then it ended with “I support you” and “Please give your best”, but then I got a reply. It seems like he really did some research on us and told me “You go on tour pretty much and seem to be busy…” After the message that we should definitely meet and talk the contact broke.  I thought that this is really bad! I had to take that chance and started contacting him again.

- I can’t imagine that… Hahahahahaha. It was really the first time I did that. It was something like “Shall we go out for dinner?”

- In the end it was successful. And when you met him, how was it to talk to him about various things? Somehow, I didn’t really understand it. We had conversations like “Do you know why Picasso is so popular?” – “Sorry, I don’t know…” (laughs) We had conversations that were different from my own dimension of conversations.

- It was a motivation, wasn’t it? Yes, it really was! From that point on we did word games via LINE. I went to meet him quite often.

- But how did you come that far? I don’t know! (laughs) I don’t even know myself. But it was kind of motivation I had to do.

- I see. You don’t know the reason but somehow it has changed something inside of you. That’s so scary (laughs) I’m scared of that!

- But I think that’s a really good thing! Hearing this, also the concept of this time’s photoshooting is quite different. Yes. A new feeling inside of me has been born and without thinking about anything I want to approach the people who are respecting me. That pure part is what I think of as “white”. But everyone has also a black part inside of themselves, so to be honest, I think I’m black. I don’t want to hide that. But I want to take a picture of that black being washed away. That’s why I want to make the things I talk about today being the concept [of this interview].

- You showed your current self properly on the photos. I think you are a person that wants to show more of the white as well as of the black. Aah, definitely, yes.

- Speaking of the meaning that you don’t want to show your inner self that much, rather than black and white, isn’t it transparent? How do you think about it? Were there times when you thought that you don’t want to show any black or white? Also now, it’s still true that I don’t want other people to know too much about myself. But isn’t it often like that? I want to be a mysterious person wrapped in secrets.

- The black came to light. Hahahahaha. It’s not like that! It’s natural for me to not talk that much. It’s not like I don’t want to hear anything about other people but it’s also not that I’m super much interested in other people. So I don’t really feel like talking about myself. But there’s also the good points you can notice in other people [when you’re having conversations] and the good things they notice about me. Well, that’s what I think.

- But if you have this opinion for many years, don’t you sometimes have the feeling that you want to try change that habit of thinking? It’s not like I’m tired of myself. But towards habits of the band, I do think like that. Recently it got better and I think it has changed but personally I already did think that this, and this band is useless. There were times then I didn’t think “It might be useless.” but “It IS useless.”. But even if I said it, it’s not like a band is something that belongs only to yourself, is it? I didn’t really have the feeling of pulling it along anymore. But because I thought that the way it was was not good I started to speak about it properly.

- When was the time when you thought “It’s useless.”? That was pretty early. The moment I started to think that this might be not good was around the time we released “INNOCENCE”. [note: around October 2012]

- Eh!? That was early!? Hahahahaha! There was no content [in the band] and it felt like it was only the band name that went on alone. I came to think that this might be not good. Back then I think we were a band that lived only from the energy we had left that moment.

- It was when you had your oneman at Shibuya AX [note: January 5th, 2013]. How did you overcome that situation? I didn’t have the feeling that we could overcome it. I think all we could do was bury it. And also around the time of ANTITHESIS (note: release was in November 2016) I thought that it might be not good.

- What happened at that time? I wasn’t satisfied and we had to push in more and more. For a lead track we need to shoot a PV. I think a PV has to connect all: the lyrics, song and topic. But to tell the truth, until now Royz was like this: We somehow created a cool song, then gave it lyrics that conveyed a particular image, then shot a cool video. But that doesn’t really convey [the whole feeling].

- You’ve lost the feeling that made you think “It’s fine if people somehow stuck with the songs we’ve composed.” The feeling that I want to create songs that properly convey something got stronger and stronger. People say that often but the songs I compose are my children. You create their faces, their figure, they have the genes of their parents. Isn’t it the power of the parents to bring these children to life and also to kill them? Isn’t it sad if you bring children to life that aren’t loved? That’s why I want to leave good genes behind.

- By the way, when did you start contacting Sugigawa-san? It was during our ANTITHESIS time. The first time I met him was the day before our PV shooting (laughs). I received many advices. I didn’t think that the quality of our songs was bad and I don’t want to say something bad but it made me think that there are still so many things we need to work on. Until that moment I didn’t really compare our music to other artists but I realized that we have to try even harder.

- I think there are still many songs that will be born. Do you think there were times when the other members thought as well, just like you, that this band is useless? It seems like they did. To tell the truth, we had conversations about it. But since it [the band] is everyone’s, let’s not do it [disbanding] for now. That’s what I thought. And if we��re always together, then they probably know my character. Like… “He said that but does he really mean it?”

- That probably won’t change. Speaking frankly, how do you see this band? I think that feeling is really important but turning around without any reason is also a waste. If something happens then it has happened and you can’t change it anymore. You have to think about what to do next.

- In that kind of person, recently, a sprout of emotion came to light. It did…….. It also showed up at a live some time ago.

- What do you mean? The other day, when we performed at an event [June 24th, 2017 at Shinjuku ReNY], I lost control during a live (laughs)

- Eh!? Why? Events are important, aren’t they? There are many popular bands [he uses the word for “strong enemies”] and I always wonder if we’re able to show our strong points. We were the last band performing and I thought that makes us being the most important band and we have to be the best. At that timing the shield [some technical device for the guitar?] failed. The sound disappeared, so I kicked the microphone stand and throw my guitar on the ground.

- But the song continued? It did (laughs). The fans’ “Kuina!” got louder and louder (laughs) It was noticeably loud!

- At such an event there’s a lot of enthusiasm and passion, isn’t it? Yes, there are people who think so and people who don’t think so. Even if I was being told stuff like “That poor guitar” or “He did that even though it’s expensive!” I think, from my point of view, there is a higher worth than this guitar. It’s giving a good live. I thought that live was definitely victory or defeat, that’s why it was really painful for me.

- How do you think of that emotional self? I’m surprisingly calm when I think of that. The gap between that calmness and losing control is tiny. I always wonder which one it will be. But I get into trouble and it’s painful… It’s a very thin line. (laughs)

- Until which extent were you calm? (laughs) Hahahahaha. This guitar was important to me and there were also people who seriously look at me and appreciate every single live. Even if I let them see my emotional self there is no risk for myself. Maybe there are even more advantages. That’s what I thought. But I do think that this is rather a black side of me. (laughs)

- But being told that you are „clever“ or „calculating“… Yes, giving expression to the black side.

- Yes but like I said, doesn’t everyone have a black side? Does it make you feel bad when people pointing this out? Don’t you go like “no, you have that side as well!” Actually, I didn’t really think about this. Because I’m aware of [my black side], it doesn’t hit me at all.

- I see (laughs). What influence do you think will have this white side that was born in yourself? I wonder that too. Well, since this feeling was born, it can’t be helped. I will accept it and it would be nice if I can show it through my music.

- But what will happen if the white will eat you up? If that happens I will quit. I hate my white self.

- You won’t even think about it? [= continue your life as white self] I really hate it (laughs). This sounds like a teenager, but well, I want to be the villain. They have more advantages. Doesn’t it make a better impression if a Yankee is throwing away trash than if a good person is throwing away trash? That’s why I want to focus more on reducing my own value [=reducing the opinion that people have of me]. (laughs)

- We’ve already had the conversation about a Yankee throwing away his trash. Maybe this is a turning point. Well, I want to walk into a good direction.

- I’m looking forward to see what change this will bring. So, let’s talk again in three years (laughs).

[depechemodespiritera]

At 56, Depeche Mode bandleader Martin Gore no longer feels the need to pull any lyrical punches. So he gets right to the prickly, political point on the band’s latest Spirit set, starting with its clickety-clacking rhetorical question of a lead single “Where’s the Revolution,” with a grim societal accusation intoned in unusually ominous fashion by frontman Dave Gahan: “You’ve been kept down/ You’ve been pushed ‘round/ You’ve been lied to/ You’ve been fed truths/ Who’s making your decisions?” And the album – in scathing indictments of our corrupt, fossil-fuel-favoring, technology-dependent, extinction-bound culture – just gets angrier from there, in “Fail,” “Scum,” “Poorman,” “The Worst Crime,” and the drone-warfare-damning “Going Backwards,” which posits that “We can track it on a satellite/ See it all in black and white/ Watch men die in real time/ We have nothing inside.”

Gore didn’t set out to pen a set of turbulent protest songs that throb with the dark zeitgeist pulse of our post-Brexit-and-Russian-influenced-Trump-election times. It all arose from an instinctive gut feeling he had two years ago that something had gone wrong with humanity. Something horribly, perhaps irreversibly wrong. When he began composing the Spirit material at the end of 2015, none of these startling global U-turns had happened yet, he recalls. There were serious forebodings, to be sure. “The Syrian crisis was going on, which obviously led to the refugee crisis, the Russians had invaded Crimea, and there was a war going on in the Ukraine,” he sighs, in uncomfortably 20/20 hindsight. “It just seemed like we were getting into bad situations everywhere you looked. And there was that whole spate of police shootings in America – black people getting shot – so maybe I was feeling particularly sensitive or something. But I could feel something in the air that did not feel good.”

Gore also had the unusual vantage point of being a British expatriate who now resides in Santa Barbara, California. Gahan lives in New York, but keyboardist Andy Fletcher has remained in London, where his favorite non-touring activity is going down to his local pub every night and – having been kept up to date on world affairs by the less-biased coverage of BBC News – discussing political frustrations with his good mates. “That’s his thing, and I suppose once you’re a few pints in, those discussions get very lively,” Gore says of his childhood chum, who first formed Composition of Sound with him back in 1980, before adding Gahan (who changed their name to Depeche Mode) and releasing their frothy synth-pop debut Speak & Spell a year later. Whereas in America, he adds, “I do get into discussions with people, but they’re not quite as lively. But I have a 14-month-old and a six-week-old at the moment (with second wife Kerrilee Kaski; he has three kids with first wife Suzanne Boisvert), and the song “Eternal” on the new album I wrote for Johnnie Lee, my 14-month-old daughter, reflecting the EPA and climate change and stuff. And it was kind of serious, but almost meant to be a black comedy, as well, when it mentions the ‘black cloud rising’.” Considering the giant miasma of pollution hovering over China, and the current arms-proliferation posturing of North Korea, he sighs with parental chagrin. “But unfortunately, right now we’re in the middle of that. I mean, I’m not old enough to remember the Cuban missile crisis. But I feel that now we’re in a situation that’s almost as scary as that. Well, scarier because now it’s actually happening.”

When Fletcher first heard his friend’s thought-provoking new compositions, he remembers being somewhat taken aback. Especially considering the fact that Gore traditionally writes on acoustic guitar, which must have made the music sound even more like Dylan-skeletal protest anthems. “At the time, I think me and the producer (multi-instrumentalist James Ford, who also contributed drums on every cut) were a bit worried,” he says. “But then, as we recorded the album, the world situation got worse and worse. We had Brexit. And then Trump actually winning? And then Marine LePen, this hard right-winger, running for election in France, which is not good in a country that is so cosmopolitan? By the time we finished the album, we all thought it was a perfect time to release it. And I’ve always been interested in politics – it’s what I studied at school. So for me, everything that’s happened has been really interesting, and I have to admit that the chatter in the pub has gotten very good because of it.”

Fletcher gets his information from the London Times, the Financial Times, and, of course, the BBC, which he swears by. “The news in Britain is so much better than the news in the States, because you’re really only covering one thing at the moment, and that’s Trump. And all the other things happening in the world? They’re not really covered.” One of the toughest hurdles he ever had to deal with was when Gore relocated to far-off California, and the pair could no longer hang and ruminate on the day’s events, Earth-shattering or otherwise. “It’s weird, because Dave and I sort of connnect as brothers, but – like brothers – you don’t want to be in their company all the time,” he explains of how the Depeche Mode dynamic works. “But Martin is different – he’s been my best friend since age 11, and him moving to America was terrible for me, because it’s difficult, calling someone from London to Santa Barbara, when one person has just woken up and the other’s going to bed.”

What else is in Gore’s livid litany of pet peeves? “Hey – what have you got?” He chuckles. “Trump defunding the EPA and putting a man in charge who doesn’t even believe in climate change? It’s lunacy,” he growls, menacingly. “And unfortunately, he’s not the only one who’s a denier – you find them everywhere you go. And I always say to people, ‘Well, if you don’t believe in climate change, then why don’t we – just for caution’s sake – say that maybe it is happening? What do we have to lose?’” This directly inspired the deceptively gentle Spirit march “The Worst Crime”, which proposes public lynching as penance for ignoring, or harming, the environment (“Once there were solutions/ Now we have no excuses… we are all charged with treason”). “For me, the worst crime is destroying the planet,” Gore declares. “We have this great opportunity to change things, and we’ve had so much evidence, so much scientific proof for so long, but we keep choosing to not do anything about it. And it’s not just destroying the planet for us. It’s destroying it forever. And the system in America is just very, very flawed. I mean, I can’t quite work out when lobbying was a good idea, and why it still exists – and is accepted – I don’t understand, because it’s just so corrupt and so… so wrong. It must happen in other parts of the world, but nowhere near the extent that it does here.”

Even the most sonically-uplifting Spirit number, “Scum,” calls an unspecified antagonist on the carpet for being ‘hollow, shallow, and dead inside.’ Could it be a Wall Street hedge fund manager who bilked the middle class out of millions then walked away, scot free? Gore snickers. “That song is far more powerful if I don’t tell you who my ‘scum’ is,” he elaborates. “Because if I say, ‘It’s this person,’ then it kind of detracts from it, because when a listener hears a song, they put their own imagination to work on it, and then it becomes far more powerful.” But in the “Black Celebration”-ish thrummer “Poorman,” (“Hey, there’s no news/ Poorman’s still has got the blues/ He’s walking around in worn-out shoes/ With nothing to lose,” Gahan murmurs in his classic catacomb-cryptic croon), he demands more accountability. “Again, I think the system is completely screwed and flawed,” Gore says. “People should have gone to jail, but instead they’re getting called into the White House. And the song “Fail” is kind of the synopsis of the whole album, really.” As a species – mistakenly thinking it’s the entitled end product of evolution, “we’re not doing a very good job. We need to start finding the path again.”

Hence the ethereal album title, Gore adds. Some naysayers might describe the record as unequivocally pessimistic, but he respectfully disagrees – pay close attention to what Gahan is singing, and you might fidget uneasily in your seat. “But Spirit is quite realistic – I’m being realistic about what’s going on at the moment, and kind of pointing things out. And by naming it Spirit, I’m hoping that it gets people to think, and maybe somehow rediscover that sense of spirit that we once had, but now seem to have lost.” Mention that DEVO predicted this – humanity’s atavistic de-evolution – four decades ago, and he laughs softly, almost to himself. Everyone’s obsession with their personal device is not only a mass distraction, he believes, but an omen of some kind of impending Apocalypse. “With all of our technological advances and the way we’re using them, it’s, uh, not turning out so well for humankind,” he says. “The only thing that’s headed in the right direction at the moment is medicine. We are getting breakthroughs in medicine, although if we end up in some nuclear holocaust, the medicine’s not going to help us as much.  So I think that if we don’t destroy ourselves, we could get to a point where we’re actually able to live for a lot longer.” He pauses to let out a protracted sigh. “But I don’t know what that would actually do for our species, either.”

Fletcher is more optimistic. From an almost scholarly distance, he analyzes England’s recent Brexit snafu, wherein non-London outliers were roiled into enough of a xenophobic frenzy, they essentially voted against their own self-interest to leave the European Union. “The crazy thing is, it was all the villages across Britain – who don’t have any migrants – who voted for Brexit,” he says. “And the fact is, it was a 50/50 vote, and I think any major constitutional change should be more like 60/40, or even 70/30, not 50/50. But I’m not that doom-y about all this stuff. You get stages where things like this happen, so I don’t think the world is any closer to coming to an end.” He has hope, then? “I do, really,” he replies. I mean, what will Trump be able to achieve? Not much through Congress. The only way he can cause a bit of trouble is as Commander in Chief. So yes, this album is pretty angry, but we do normally write about these subjects, but we usually use sex and religion to get the point across. It’s just that Spirit is very direct, although we had one album, Construction Time Again, which was this direct, as well.”

Fletcher also secretly enjoys all of the intrinsic irony involved. Whereas Depeche Mode began as a percolating danceable outfit, it gradually streamlined itself into a sleek, undulating serpent of a synth-rock machine that purred like a long, black hearse leading a funeral procession, aided immensely by Gahan’s ebony-garbed, drone-voiced stage persona. Gore-sculpted songs like “Strangelove,” “Personal Jesus,” “Behind the Wheel,” and “Shake the Disease” straddled the aesthetic line between Goth, New Wave, and industrial, and the band’s diverse audience grew accordingly. And – no matter how grim the trio gets – Fletcher says, “there’s always a lot of people clapping their hands and singing along. And in fact, we got the best reviews we’ve ever had in our career for Spirit, and Depeche Mode generally doesn’t get good reviews. The way our music is made, you need to listen to it a lot of times – you can’t just listen to it twice and then do a review of it. I remember our album Violator – which is a 10 out of 10 record in anyone’s book – just getting average reviews when it came out.

“But we put on good shows, we make good records,” he continues, “And for some weird reason, we’re in our 50s but we seem to be more popular than we ever were. So we’re in a very lucky position – we’ve got loads of our old fans, and they still buy CDs. And then we’re picking up young fans, as well. I mean, we can’t do anything wrong! This American tour sold out faster than our last two tours, and I can’t work out why – I mean, it’s a similar tour, but it’s just gone through the roof. And we’re not a high-profile band – we’re not on the magazines or in newspapers. I just can’t work it out.” And Depeche Mode is one of the few bands from the post-punk era that’s not currently out on an advertised retro tour, playing some vintage cornerstone from its decades-old past, note for note. The group is as relevant – and thought-provoking – as ever these days.

And the three musicians still work well together as a collective. Gahan – who also put out the occasional solo effort – co-wrote four less-political tracks on Spirit, “You Move,” “Cover Me,” “Poison Heart,” and “No More (This Is the Last Time).” “And I used my usual range of analog synths, guitars, and everything came together really fast – we mixed the record on our third session,” Fletcher says, citing Ford’s studio assistance as crucial. But I think technology makes your job harder, not easier, because it gives you hundreds more options. And now there’s this situation with all the superstar DJs,” adds the musician, who still books old-school DJ gigs himself. “In the old days, a promoter would have gotten some young bands to play, but now it’s some superstar DJ who just uses his laptop. And the fact is, it’s replacing bands now – it’s a very unhealthy situation, and for young bands at the moment, it’s just terrible now. Record sales are embarrassingly low, you’re not given any tour support from record companies, so the income available is almost nonexistent. That’s why we no longer get hundreds of great rock bands around the place.”

Gore has yet to see Mike Judge’s hilarious satire Idiocracy, in which Luke Wilson – playing a man of average intelligence from our era – is accidentally frozen in cryogenic slumber for 500 years, during which so many stupid people keep mindlessly breeding that, when he’s awakened in the Great Landfill Collapse – he’s the smartest man in the world. The director’s vision for the future is as grimly dystopian as Gore’s on Spirit, save the public execution “Worst Crime” part. But he has one thing to thank for the album’s relevance, which increases every scandal-beset day. “The American electoral process is so long, the beginning of it had only just started when I began writing this record,” he says. “And it just takes soooo long over here, doesn’t it? It gets so long and dragged out that everyone’s just completely bored with it by the end.” It gave the dirges time to grow, take on even creepier, bigger metaphorical meaning. Or, as Fletcher succinctly puts it, “it’s not like every one of our albums is like this. But I think it’s good that a band like Depeche Mode does a record like Spirit. And people can’t say that we’re jumping on a bandwagon, because, Hey – the songs were written two years ago!”

– By Tom Lanham

Appearing 8/30 at Hollywood Casino Amphitheater, Tinley Park.