brief guide to summer depressed
Most people do not associate with summer sadness. Certainly, grief is often preferred for winter landscapes, where there is enough time at home to take shelter in a self-loathing that takes us out of the cold or the monotony. For the summer, people usually prefer to happier topics, or at least a earfriendly sound, so it is no coincidence that the radios have particular predilection for the most lobotomized possible (something like a shut the fuck up and dance! ). But there are days in February when one walks with a desire to hear the Nirvana's In Utero or Pornography The Cure and yet at any bowling alley, bar or bus murgas sound, as Cordera pachanguero peeling, or latter one and pedorrísimo theme Sean Kingston (whose story behind jugosísimo censorship is another separate issue.) You also want to be walking with a film of Bergman, Antonioni or some Czech delight us three hours with a movie full of planes sepia sequence of fifteen minutes, and yet bulletin board in the options is only reinvented superheroes diet, frat animal movies and sports films. Even for those who want to dress in black, the reflection of sun threatens to calcine alive and we are forced to put on our sweaters more colorinches. The world forgets that the summer can also be a fairly miserable, full of bounce back and sweaty trip on a bus crowded. Look at one person working at two in the afternoon on a Callcenter without air conditioning and tell me if this is not the most reliable face of depression. Or watch the sun being swallowed again and again in the red horizon as gluttony studied fifteen hours a day, lamenting all what was not studied in the year. In summer, the sadness is left aside, as a nasty excretion in the middle of a corridor from which no one wants to be responsible. In summer there is a dictatorship of happiness. That's why this constant disregard to escape the sadness, claim our right to be sweaty and sad at this time of year. To this was going to do a small list of some records and films that might not make you jump off the building, but that's sure to make you succeed you feel a little more miserable. The establishment of the list was more complicated (and long) than I thought, and only mentions four albums and four films, and discarding the literary section was also prepared (but which have included it, this post would have been twelve-veneers to single spacing and Times New Roman 12). Discussions about the band more perfectly sad are very long and are enclosed by the subjective world of each one, full of recodes down from the après coup past experiences, or genealogical research on how to hit a issue at some point. Some people always look at the sad song the correlative of the author's life, in which category typically include suicidal fanatics necrophiliac rockstars. In the latter case, the suicide of someone often raise their latest albums to the fetish of the last words, where you try to search line by line, which semiologists the unspeakable, or literary detectives, the reconstruction of the scene, the evidence of the tragic end. Still, even if the worst emotional moments of musicians and filmmakers often give us the best artistic gems, but not always the case, giving the example of Kerouac, when he was in his last work was not, in general, of the same quality as what was done in his best years should be recognized that the aesthetics of resentment and have been inconceivable downturn shoots, which can be traced from the beautiful and Morrisey personal letters to the emo track sung by teens worst makeup of the house more packets from Orange County. It is true that it is unfair to evaluate the parents for their children, but somehow the Smiths with songs like I know it's over may be in trouble in paternity testing of emo, the genre that we love to hate today . At the same time, many people resort to pure solipsism and measurement of the sadness of a song, it does so with a rod of her own experiences, this being a method too imprecise to assess (in certain conditions, suffering unbearably song Xiu Xiu could be considered a holiday theme.) But reaching song is more complicated than the sum of ingredients. As an example of how this search can be deliberate, we can find Funeral Doom, a genre of metal that tries to recreate the bleak and desperate landscapes that can be created with lethargic riffs and dark, as if trying to find the epitome of the song or just depressive funeral. Personally, what I find so exceedingly deliberate as a pornography of the emotions. Still, there are things that are absolutely dismal in disks that are not as homogeneous a manner as may be some of Blood on the Tracks Bob Dylan or even some of Third Sister Lovers Big Star With of the films is exactly the same, you're always on the tightrope between a drop worth Bergman and Venezuelan soap opera.
In short (and in a post which seem to be anything but short), this is a short list of albums and movies that can have a devastating effect if someone is listening on the right place at the right time. Administered in small doses. In case of overexposure, go to this post:
Albums (download four tracks, Colors and the Kids, The eternal, The Kids and Lack-, first, in a single file. Rar)
The Moon Pix of Cat Power is one of those "disks of the author, following the line of Pink Moon the The boatman's call or If I could only remember my name , ie disks too personal, almost like a snapshot of a moment in which the beneficiary or the band. All that was Chan Marshall in those days can be found on the disk, and if you pull the thread will find all what is left of the screen. Even at the very top, Chan is made ball, as it was when you burn the disc. In interviews at that time said that after What Would the community think , por un tiempo creyó que su abandono de la escena iba a ser definitivo. Se fue de Nueva York, y se alojó en Portland, oficiando un tiempo de niñera. En esa época tenía serios problemas de alcohol, pero no de esos de rock stars cabalgando la serpiente entre toda la gente linda de la escena, sino algo más bien triste y tan poco glamoroso como dormirse cagando en el baño de un boliche de cumbia. Cuenta la historia que agobiada por malas juntas y ataques de pánico, luego de vivir durante un tiempo en una granja (un back to the roots que más que placentero estuvo plagado por ataques de pánico y pesadillas –dice que fue precisamente a partir de una pesadilla que pergeñó most of their songs-) was exiled in Australia, where he conducted the recording of this album. The result is chillingly beautiful. A round disc, possibly the best of Cat Power (if only for fetish personally prefer the Dear Sir ), an album that breathes a It's now or never , with what little remains of confidence as puny as a nest in a gale. Among the major themes-the way, terribly depressing, flooding the disk, including You May know him and Say are two priceless jewels. On the one hand, Metal Heart, a subject of unexpected and disconcerting beauty like the eye of a duck, a theme which contrasts sharply in letter unthinkably with the soft, velvety sweet voice of Chan Marshall. Any femme rockstar that otherwise would have become combative defiance song (a very bad singers expanded over the fans of PJ Harvey), yet sluggishly Chan makes sweet time, as an animal that does not mind being prey, which offers serene antre the sight of the hunter. It is for this reason that fails reinterpretation Chan made this theme on his new album Jukebox: with a new vocal expressiveness much more versatile, you lose that languor which gives true meaning to the theme of separation and any other topic of love written corresponded by someone. But the brilliance of the album does not end there, and on the new theme comes through the stifling beautiful Colors and the kids What about this? Must be deeply melancholic themes are more beautiful than in the past half made fifty years. While in the Closer albums feel like a descent into hell, this is just the opposite, is a sweet melancholy and serene, but tragically true, as the violent discovery to realize that nothing will be as it was before, that past is just a fleeting frame assembly in which we can never again live in or where the same this is unattainable for some decisions are not taken past (I built a shack with an old friend / I WAS I Could learn from someone / Someone I Could Become ). This desire of living things past, that frustration and desperate attempt to rebuild a life that was lost as an arrow misses the target, these tiny but important details of life revealed, and roll up the jeans so they do not get wet on the shore , is the most genuine, deeply moving, yet sad that I heard in my life. It's a song whose lyrics is perfect, all images inexplicably stuck intravenously, and how hopeless and desperate time in which Chan says, "I Could stay here / Become Different someone / I Could Stay here / Become someone better "made me a lump in my throat that I never felt with any song.
Rivers of ink have been written about it as the first act of the suicide of Ian Curtis, and beyond that trend necrophiliac who is more like celebrating the death to celebrate someone's life, you can not deny that if it is hard to emerge unscathed from the listener, much more difficult must it be for those who made the disc. It is never good to draw conclusions from one's life from his artistic material (if so, with my poems and stories my parents I probably would have admitted to a clinic to treat a severe depression with electroconvulsive therapy), but listening to this album, you really can make the worst predictions. Where to begin? It is amazing how hard homogeneous in terms of darkness. The structure of the songs are barely differentiated tumor among all the same tissue that covers the disc. After an incredible production like Martin Hannet on this record, it is quite cute consider the fact that Trent Reznor as the master of the dark in terms of production. The sublime weather is handling the battery monotonous Atrocity Exhibition a drum that sounds like a tribal ritual cannibalistic, hypnotic synths Heart and soul, Hook's bass is a candiru waiting in the cold waters of Passover, the "Where They Have Been" final Decades Curtis and his voice faltering, almost in a last breath in The eternal . Particularly, I think this last song is the most depressing theme of the story. There is nothing that can match it, since those synths that are mad as snakes, to the minimalist piano and slow but totally perfect, through the monotonous bass line as the pulse of a sinking heart and voice of Curtis, reciting verses annihilating dark ever written. No, when you hear "Played by the gate at the foot of the garden / stretch out my view from the fence to the wall / Could not Explain words, no actions determine / Just watching the trees and the leaves as They Fall" can not continue with their lives, eating the same patties, watching the same sun, talk to the people themselves, as if none of that happened.
Lou Reed-Berlin (1973) There is something strange with Berlin Lou Reed. If one listens without hitting particular attention to the letter, a disc can actually be sad, but not "The saddest album of all time", proud award more than a specialized ascribed to Lou Reed. Moreover, in concordance with the simple melody Sad Song not seem in itself a sad song, and yet it is a cog in the monstrous animal is this conceptual work of the old Lou. And indeed, the issue of Berlin is not to be taken by a dissection song to song, they all work from a narrative in which the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The story of Jim and Caroline more than one has put his heart in a meat grinder, the story of a bohemian couple berlinense, where no detail is spared on how the man beats his wife (Caroline Says 2 ), which removed him their children (The kids) and commit suicide (The bed). The methodical vocalist Lou Reed, with the same coldness of the music, or rather the lack of correspondence between the melody and lyrics (especially Caroline Says ) produce a strange effect similar to those childhood images that supposedly candid enclose a horror that floats in front of that facade. This can be seen painfully in The Kids, which is heard in a tone not gay, but not tragic "They're Taking her Children Hawaii / Because They Said She Was not a good mother / Children They're Taking her away / Because of the Things That They Heard Had she done ". To make matters worse, in the end theme, rhythm guitar behind a playful and low, you hear a crying baby and mom ? of children who weep hopelessly. The musical equivalent to the Tsubasa final alternative that through the complaints was completed disposal (where Oliver woke up and realized that all his meteoric career in football had been a dream, and in fact had both legs amputated after being hit by a truck)
Sr.Chinarro-The first vacuum-packed opera (2001) always wanted to write about Sr.Chinarro, and just talking about this dismal record is my chance. Antonio Luque is one of the most interesting composers of the English language, with a style that sounds like a hybrid of the Smiths, New Order and Red House Painters, along with some of the more strangely suggestive lyrics ever heard in my life. Even grace me enter certain band forums and read people who actually performs the surrealism of the songs from a conventional narrative. For example, how to interpret from the perspective of a true metaphor waiting behind lines like " tapes to pull / of old bows that are / flood that end in the sea / underground guide foot and thumb / If a trip / one after other black in the car / that is wood and lets you see the shore / and tar, and still, the girls ...
No, Luque's poetry is pure sound and pure images, impassive to be transferred to a transmittable language. Everything is interchangeable, the words take on a new dimension after the thick and usually monotone voice of Seville. In an interview conducted by Feedback -zine , Luque, when asked what his status at the time of recording the album, he replied "At that time I was forced to stop seeing a girl wearing a time and then she or, rather, she disappeared was the maturity ... But I do not know, was a time very messy and so the album came out, it is clear, your mental state is reflected in everything we do. My house, for example, was full of lint, and when he composed out everything like that. " Indeed, everything seems to be full of lint, is a dense disk, mostly stifling, dusty and small stumps of things and ideas floating in a thick air. As Ezekiel said in this post curiously items are engraved around a room full of drums and reverb, a battery that is usually on only one channel and chaotic inputs and outputs are a direct attack on the gestalts of songs. Everything is too confusing and intrusive, the sharp and monorrítmicas acoustic, electric guitars loaded with reverb and delay that sounds like a forgotten church organs, and the voice of Antonio Luque, elevated to the dignity of an instrument, a living being indefinable creeps beneath the tangled mesh vomiting truths like little bunnies. But certainly, after the layers, layers and layers of sound, what stands out in this work are the great arrangements of strings, strings that become claustrophobic issues, with a uneasyness similar to that achieved cellos and violins The Drift by Scott Walker. This can be seen in areas such as stealing worms, possibly disturbingly track Set the disk, with a background sound that seems to have been recorded conversations molasses loose a bar, where a moment's come to suggest danger violins as those that invade the shower scene in Psycho . And right after this issue comes missing, one of the most oppressive in recent years. What is great is that this issue can be buried alive in a strange nameless grief, unable even to discern the reason for our feelings. On the album it seems as if Antonio Luque passing off issues are disembodied, and everything is swallowed by a black hole where we have no idea where we are. And so it goes missing, listen to the lethargic "missing a couple of lines / in every step of zebra / missing a couple of lines / on the shirt that I borrow", we feel the violins and do not understand why these palpitations why this solidified saliva in the throat, which are these excretions aqueous out of our eyes.
Movies:
(note, I have a nasty habit of revealing final)
Dancer in the Dark, Lars von Trier (2000) Lars von Trier is a sadistic son of a bitch. In the world of the misanthropes, the Dane comes second, after Solondz, a poorly taken penalty on 90 minutes. " The film kind movie embodies the true dimension of a God who tends the threads from another part of the world. In his films he is Yahweh in the style Old Testament: harsh, vindictive, voyeur, puppeteer. Has a real penchant for soft targets, little people as insects of a flea circus where no air and where the user changes the world according to its darker pleasures, with the ever-present option to crush the little finger. For example, we have to Dogville, where the poor Nicole Kidman is endlessly raped by an entire people, from the Osco and orange picker drunk, blind to the weak and pathetic. There comes a point where the end of the film, when it gives way to revenge Kidman, and self is made requires that medieval dimensions. A real pleasure fills us as viewers to be slaughtered all those villagers of shit who took advantage of the need of the protagonist, from the same man who at first was his faithful ally, even the younger children bothered her when she was chained. We want blood, and that's when we realize that somewhere distant and cold in Denmark, Lars von Trier is smiling, happy as a devil does tempt.
Of all the female characters in leading roles, the director-could fetish to a condensation between the delayed Breaking the waves and the quasi-blind played by Björk Dancer in the Dark . Just for a formality choose the last movie as depressing material par excellence -indeed, the two idiots mentioned up what has been called the Golden Heart trilogy - having in mind that the Braking waves is also distressing and insanely cruel. I will not do a synopsis of the film, whoever can see her quietly in your video store to rent friend, but I will point out a number of aspects of the film. No be a huge fan of the Icelandic, in a way that captures the innocence in the film, similar to what also makes Emily Watson, strongly emphasizes the tragic and undeserved of their destiny. In a way, Dancer in the Dark is one of a kind, by virtue of being a musical and at the same time the most depressing drama. Selma is a Czech immigrant with a degenerative eye damage, misuse, which also shares with her son, for which silver board for an operation that could reverse the genetic karma. At the same time, the world that does not access his eyes Selma is complemented by touches of her ears, imagining or hallucinating, choreography, where everything is colored by a candor worthy of musicals of the forties. Indeed, music is a real thermostat in the life of the Czech, and any situation, no matter how horrible and sad it is, is processed via a hallucinatory state full of dancers, tap and sound collages. This contrast of dangerously depressing moments interspersed or reinterpreted by dance film made of a velvet reverse spiral toward the more sadistic ingenuity of von Trier. In the Golden Heart trilogy, almost exactly the negative of his new trilogy of Dogville, Manderlay and still unused, is a predilection for making the main character a martyr to a cause that rises ethics over morals. Thus, after an accident involving death of a man who had stolen his savings, the thing is more complex, but I suggest you watch the movie, instead they literally count them, "Selma, according to a promise I had done to the dead, a secret that the conviction not to be material to defend himself at his trial. The result: Selma is found guilty, may even be accused of communist affiliation. Despite being sentenced to death, refused to appeal for not revealing the secret of who initially put in place where it is. Lars von Trier is not sufficiently satisfied with the potential depression of the film, which leads him to choose the final fully graphical the cold process of the gallows. The final scene consists of a choreography in which it is a song featuring Björk steps on its way to the gallows, comfort that lasts for a while until the abrupt ending, clumsy and pathetic, that starts to that woman last imaginary function, screaming, kicking and even passing out momentarily, until the screams were silent for the lever, crack and the sound of the rope taut, invading a new silence in the room could observe the serene pendulum suspended corpse's feet soil. Fulfilling
karma of many of the puppets of Lars von Trier, Björk decided to cut their threads, aborting its short film career from this film.
Lovers of the Arctic Circle, Julio Medem (1998) 
Dekalog, Krzysztof Kieslowski-I (1989) remember seeing this chapter in a film library copy was so worn that seemed to have been dipped in caustic soda. It was one of the harshest days of August, and was protected with an old newspaper partial Gale had us like dogs in order of year most students of psychology. There was so much time consumed by the study that any activity outside reading material was timed, to the point where the bathroom was considered a mini break. Forced to walk the dog in front of a heavy rain which had not prepared me, I decided to rent two chapters of the Decalogue Polish. He had seen the trilogy of the three colors, and embarked on full kieslowskimanía, was sure that would be good movies. The issue is that after I came home soaked, I read until two in the morning, I dried and prepared to sleep, activity also was considered a luxury at that time. I put the movie to accompany the dream-I can hardly sleep in the dark and quiet. I threw to sleep with a jogging. Still shaking a bit, I took the two blankets up to his cheek. Thinking I was going to sleep right away, I ended up watching the sixty minutes that lasted the film, making this one of the most depressing nights memory.
Kieslowski knows colors and textures to choose, and in this film abound muted tones, like the opaque snow that pervades throughout Poland, including green monitor the father, as the walls, as the gray color block of buildings where people live not only characters in this chapter, but most of the series. Colors are very sad, Soviet and eighties, prompting a withdrawal autistic about yourself. And do not forget the music. The credits music, both at home employment and at the end, next to the image blur plus a copy of the tape, is as depressing as fifteen Mufasa killed by antelopes in the eyes of a child. And when it aesthetically enough to make us cry out for such a little Prozac, the issue bajoneante not far behind. Since the beginning of the film puts us squarely with the death, being a child Pawel-recognized as the son of Krzysztof (not the director, but the name of a character) - with a stray dog \u200b\u200bfrozen in Snow-dog image is shockingly sad, especially for someone abuse animals affects you more than people. Distraught, he goes to Krzystof and this explains the issues of death in a rather cold and methodical, revelándosenos soon as this speech is a reflection of the scientific education of the father. The child is perfect in his role, and soon the relationship of the two is shown with a beautiful complementarity, the two engaged in the same projects and making science a third party who joins (we never talk about Pawel's mother, although itself from an aunt who is concerned about their spiritual formation.) The thing is that your computer measure everything, and one day Krzystof gives his son a pair of skates, to skate-which is usually worth redundancy, in a frozen lake. One night the boy asks his father if he can go skating and, after a graphic set on ice thickness, gives his permission. The fact is that the child does not appear and her father begins to worry. Nobody knows anything, but deep down, Krzystof clings to the fact that the ice is thick enough so that has not passed no disgrace. As we feared, the ice cracked and this finding just finished when the parent approaches the frozen lake and is a crowd of people and firefighters. Awfulness of the scene is still there the guy seems pretty sure that according to the results of your computer, it is impossible that such misfortune has passed, making the fall even more precipitously. Indeed, your child is one of the victims of the ice cracking. Faced with this sudden death, the story leads to the type outraged going to church, to try to get the answers that the green eye on your computer if it was not, or you can give. Ending the film with the credits and music über depressant principle are confirmed, with the excruciating sacrifice for that child how well we fell, the logic of parallelism between the chapters and the second of the Ten Commandments: "Do not manufacture any idol (...) For me, the Lord your God am a jealous God, and punishment for the sins of the fathers on their children. " In this case, it is clear that the idol is none other than the computer. And there is no lullaby, no lesson to learn, once again the fist of God falls upon us, and we can not do anything but watch the TV bereaved as Krzystof eye gets staked on your computer.
Grave of the Fireflies, Isao Takahata (1988) Grave of the Fireflies is the saddest thing that can exist in the world. I do not think anyone has managed to destroy the viewer in any other artistic medium as it does in this film Isao Takahata. The devastating potential of this film who focus is equivalent to a sudden death of an acquaintance of flesh and blood which never came to establish a lasting friendship, but which always remained good deal. Because Takahata leaves us naked, stripping andaribeles several of us attended to sink into depression any harmful product. This action succeeded brilliantly perverse is carried out by a series of subtractions that leave us with a spoon on the battlefield of our sadness. The first thing is to remove uncertainty about the future. The film starts from the end, and we know that the character ends up dead against the spine of a train station. Is completely shattered, with the bones attached to the skin, dirty, pissed, God knows what else. Thus, knowing the end, the film is nothing to try to build the bridge between present and happy that devastating finish, a bridge that does not want to build, but what we inevitably move, terrified at our approach to the other side. Any image that inspires a conciliatory or welfare will be just a white patch in the chiaroscuro of that tragic existence. And now I say tragic, tragic also lost. The way they are in charge of the underground never comes to us to think that that body is or was human. It is a body, such as a broken bottle container, a condom tied in the wet corner a public restroom, as many anonymous homeless who die on the streets in the mornings in winter, obscured by their dogs. Those who once were homeless end up being named test bodies for medical students. The dissected, we analyzed the lungs, heart, you see the yellow face, penis flaccid and wrinkled. Some students will put their glasses, laugh at them, keep a fuck body hidden in the wallet of a friend. And so are friends with the dead, they put a funny name, "Ulysses", "Ansina" and so the tramp, as it is emptied and inspected, begins to have the family she never had. Something is the death of this anonymous vagabond that appears at the beginning of the film. As much as we tell their story, that body will remain anonymous. Is lost because there is the tragic pathos , there is a winding road that leads to catharsis, resolution, moral book in clean, all the death and violence is unable to restore something lost, is death for its own sake, without rationale. And finally, there is no romantic death. The romantic death found in the natural order in which everything was rearranged. The lovers meet again, anything was possible in a world further than ours. Laws or conditions that had prevented materialize to be knocked down an impossible love completely and set to the sweet romantic death as the land of infinite possibilities. But Grave of the Fireflies not, though the character continues to have her sister's can not be reunited with her, gives the feeling that everything is being lost forever.
There is a specific scene that completely destroys you, is perhaps the saddest scene in movie history, perhaps even more than the desperate eyes of Meryl Streep in "Sophie's Choice." Reviewing: Second World War, Seita, the guy who found him dead at the beginning of the film is the brother of Setsuko, having to take her in after bombing Americans in Japan ends with the death of his mother. By the way, struck by the crudeness of the body of the woman, almost mummified by bands, on the verge of breakdown and full of maggots. After that, after an interim of living in someone else's house, Seita decides to leave with his sister to live in an abandoned mine, where they try to survive on what little they have. But the post-war food are very scarce and drive slowly around the devastating fate that surrounds them. All this leads to the scene where the girl is aware of the death of fireflies. These had served as a truce constellations and flashlight not only the darkness of the den where they sleep, but as a truce to everything that surrounds terribly painful. Thus, the child sees Seita buries them, and at that time confirmed the occult knowledge of the death of his mother that the girl had always maintained, a fact that Seita stoically tried to hide almost all of the film. That "always knew" is a real kick in the balls, and if that seemed too much to see and try to resist the time Seita returns to the cave to discover that the girl had died after feeding on rocks wanted to escape their desperate hunger. I remember seeing
Grave of the fireflies in a claustrophobic stay in Guadalajara, where not only missed my girlfriend and friends, but my country, and his life in it, facing the horror vacui a quiet suburb in which no birds was quiet and the neighbors raised their own feuds behind walls Spartan proportions and garages. I remember seeing the movie and have to pause every so often to untangle the throat. I remember watching the end credits and have the imperative to call my girlfriend, only to realize, looking at my watch when Montevideo, that there were four in the morning. It was there I walked down the stairs and sat taking a can of Coca-Cola, in the dark immensity of the kitchen, imagining Mary away, sleeping in a world outside that night without fetters, that world without graves of fireflies.
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