Amongst the sparkling piano keys and tucked between the serene spaces that frame their bigger anthems, The 1975 has always had a pension for injecting a bit of philosophy into their lyricism. Just conjure the image of the post-drug-addict “philosirocker” whose live-fast die-young lifestyle turns their own brain inside out and onto the page. Lead singer Matt Healy slots right into that role, but the topics of conversation are a bit more modern, even when influenced by old thought.
The 1975 is known for being a bit self-indulgent and post-ironic – what with their music video for “The Sound” that flashes obnoxious self-aware quotes that might sooner make you cringe more than sympathize. And why look to a white chav from England for a socially aware anthem about the pitfalls of modernity when the truth is perhaps told in greater efficacy by those with a bit more… oppression on their plate?
Well, because lead Matt Healy just has a way with words, and the legions of teenage fans who bang along to “Somebody Else” while in their late night feels is reflective of that. Resting atop the striking piano keys and buried under academia that takes more than a cursory listen to understand, “The Sound” houses the line – “A sycophantic, prophetic, Socratic junkie wannabe, and there’s so much skin to see, a simple epicurean philosophy.”
How the hell did this slip its way into a pop radio anthem? And do people even give a shit? Well, perhaps it wasn’t just a slip, but an intentional way to recognize the distance between the life of pleasure he leads as a rockstar, with access to “girls, food and gear” (as quoted in lead single “People”) and the life of pleasure he truly desires – that is, one where platonic friendships and an appreciation of the simple things are used as the soil for a prosperous life.
And yes – people do give a shit – “People like people, they want alive people, young surprise people, stop fucking with the kids!” Could the angst be anymore obvious? So today we’re going to dive into some of the more cryptically and philosophically written lyrics from Notes On A Conditional Form to keep the intrigue and energy going.
The 1975 / People
Rather than opening the album with their usual fanfare about sex in a car, Notes places Greta Thunburg front and center, speaking directly to the listener about the mother of all problems and the fuel of countless millennial’s and zoomer’s anxiety – climate change. Nothing particularly new is said, other than great change is needed immediately, and that the choice to act should be simple, so simple, that it is presented in black and white.
“You say that nothing in life is black or white, but that is a lie, a very dangerous lie. That is as black or white as it gets, because there are no grey areas when it comes to survival.”
Philosophical topics are almost always presented as two opposing extremes with a sliding scale of possibilities in between. Limited and unlimited, good and evil, at rest and in motion, or in ethics, the difference between consequentialism and Kantianism. Thunburg clearly paints the issue as a matter of consequence, that is, take action now or face “unspoken sufferings for enormous amounts of people.”
Looping back to Healy’s desire to embody Socrates, the effort to give a person no other choice but to accept a position is built into the Socratic method. Have them dismantle their own perspective and come around to the “correct” position by their own volition and out of necessity.
But, as is followed up in the hair-raising punk anthem “People,” that is quite a difficult thing to ask of many who are already sunken into a sense of nihilistic dread.
“Well, I know it feels pointless and you don’t have any money, we’re all just gonna try our fucking best.”
Two opposing forces here – nihilism and absurdism. Nihilism surrenders to the responsibility that a more principled life asks of you – that is, take a stand, give a shit, even if we’re not sure why we should. The answers as to why we should care are right in front of us, when we spend so much time indulging in creative review like this. Why is our responsibility to care and give a shit not evidenced even by the smallest modicum of energy we put into our daily lives – whether appreciating a nice meal, celebrating good conversation with a friend, or witnessing an expansive view at a mountain’s peak?
Streaming / The Birthday Party
From the summit of People we are then plunged into an orchestra that brings the energy down and into the textured “Frail State of Mind,” which has little philosophical underpinnings, and so we will continue on.
“Streaming” contains no lyrics, just the twinkling piano keys that sound like a cold spring’s running waters. But like the other instrumental track “Having No Head,” it’s title invokes a few interesting topics.
First – it recognizes the modern usage of the word, that is, a live but unreal current of information being broadcasted to a user. Second, the physical imagery of a gentle creek, reflected by the delicate instrumentation that would perfectly frame such a view.
Most interestingly, it might recognize another stream – one of consciousness. Meditative practice begins with the recognition that we are merely witnessing reality come and go, a livestream of information that we are presented and left to contend with.
Notes On A Conditional Form certainly feels like a stream of consciousness – ideas, thoughts and concepts float here and there with very little structure or known origin. How could the violent sounding “People” be sitting right next to a loving cinematic orchestra? And why on earth is this behemoth of an album 22 tracks long?
Note’s is a look inside the mind of Healy, who in interviews seems to constantly be grasping for bigger ideas that allude him, but when acquired, are eloquently meditated on. It’s the type of conversation that quenches our thirst for a colloquial woke-pop that isn’t just an empty promise (yes, that was a dig at Katy Perry).
When “Streaming” flows into “The Birthday Party,” a single promoted with a digital-detox center known as “Mindshower,” the greater concept comes into focus. On some level people do desire a return to nature, or at the very least, an escape from the barrage of curated images and fantasies that can only exist on Instagram.
“Let’s go somewhere I’ll be seen, as sad as it seems.”
That somewhere referenced is certainly a digital space, as the music video depicts a uncanny-vallied 3D version of Healy exploring a personified version of the internet populated by 4chan references and memes that exist to distract his busy mind. Unfortunately, if you live in a small town detached from popular culture, or can’t live openly within your family, online spaces are the only place to be seen and receive validation, even if the internet is the worst place to find and acquire it.
Even more on the nose is the section of the music video where Healy kneels down and gazes into a pond that is blue screened and 404ing. Surely this is a nod to Narcissus, a character in Greek myth whose name reveals everything you need to know. Except now instead of a reflection provided by a mirror, it’s provided by the internet, to which Healy succumbs.
Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America / Roadkill
More along the lines of suffocating small-towns and unaccepting social structures, the aptly named “Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America” depicts the conflicted internal dialogue of a Christian believer with a sexual orientation that runs against old dogma. How can a gay Christian depend on God to find their way when that same God is used as justification for the homophobic actions and environment around them?
“Fortunately, I believe, lucky me.” The narrator understands the irony of his faith, doubly so when he continues – “I’m searching for planes in the sea, and that’s irony.” Whether looking for a personal God to guide his way, or the prospect of love in another person, the search is wildly confusing.
But why try to reconcile these incongruencies when life is so short? Maybe some ideas are simply incompatible, and best left behind.
“I’m in love, but I’m feeling low, For I am just a footprint in the snow.”
The Christian poem “Footprints In The Sand” reassures the reader that even when life gets rough, and it seems God has left you, all along he has carried you. In the context of this song, warm sand is instead replaced with icy snow.
And the ice is a tad more painful, especially when it is spiked at you from a gift shop teller in a fly-over state airport.
“Well I touch down and run to my connection, man in the gift shop called me a fag.”
All of this lyrical exploration is juxtaposed against folk and Americana instrumentation not just as a giant fuck you to the homophobic past of this country, but also as a reclamation of a genre and musical history that was partially built by the people it attempted to sideline.
Nothing Revealed / Everything Denied
At this point we have abandoned the idea of adhering to Christianity – but even Atheists still feel a pull to believe in something.
“Life feels like a lie, I need something to be true, is there anybody out there?”
Science is not truth – which might be offensive to the ears of some, but even a well studied subject and hundreds of years of research still hinges on the efforts of epistemological argument. Who cares if we agree that e=mc2, how the fuck does that help my crippling depression?
At the very least, it seems to say that something must be accepted as true, otherwise no relative point of truth is established as a crux to work with, and also that once again, nihilism must be avoided at all costs. Pair that with the soaring church choirs and we are lifted to a heaven we don’t believe in (perhaps it exists down here on earth, and in our own faith in life).
There is something to be said for a faith that exists in spite of Atheism, and with no direct subject, because a pursuit such as this;
“And I get somewhere, I don’t like it, get somewhere, change my mind, eh, get somewhere but don’t find it, I don’t find what I’m looking for.”
recognizes the shifting, illusory sense of purpose we all yearn to find, and continues forward if not for our own benefit, but for the benefit of the ones around us.
Playing on my Mind / Having No Head
In “Playing On My Mind,” Healy notices the random thoughts that drift in and out of his purview. From prescription bottle instructions to the meeting of friend’s friends who say silly things like “Things that interest me exist outside of space and time” (which is no doubt, another personal ironic dig at himself).
In “Conscious: A Brief Guide to the Fundamental Mystery of the Mind,” Annaka Harris looks for answers to the same questions that Healy inquires about here – “My consciousness controls my hand.” Our waking reality is often taken for granted – how the hell are we witnessing all this happening right now, and how do we seem to have a hand in it?
While Harris pushes the reader towards a rather controversial answer – that consciousness exists in different levels as a fundamental property of all matter, a theory known as panpsychism, she also cites a study that shows how easily your mind will identify with a false prosthetic hand if it pulses a light that matches with your heartbeat. The point – our perceptions, like the one’s Healy makes, paint our own personal realities that “seem to predict ourselves into existence.”
Now we are once again pushed downstream into “Having No Head,” which the band recognizes as a soft reference to the frustrating to read book of the same name. Author Douglas Edison attempts to dismantle the barrier between our inner experience and the outer world, an effort that goes back thousands of years and is only fully experienced by a dedicated few.
The track is typical Sigur Rós inspired ambient fanfare – something that would match a meditative state of mind quite well, until it builds to a fulcrum point, where a great balance has been achieved, slipping into a mind numbing deep-house track that would accompany an ecstasy fueled night out quite well.
We can surely imagine someone using this same track to achieve two opposing ends – that is, build oneself back up with a meditative or relaxing experience, a “mindshower” if you will, or to slip away and lose oneself through substance abuse or otherwise, a destructive experience.
Guys
Hereafter the philosophical injections slowdown, but some inferences can be pulled from the aptly titled “Guys,” a track so sentimental and unabashed in its celebration of life that it might physically repel cynics.
“The moment that we started a band, was the best thing that ever happened.”
Just a couple years ago, still struggling with addiction but cognizant of the factors that fuel it, Healy alluded to Epicurus, whose ultimate measure of success in life is the quality and number of platonic friendships acquired. The track is a recognition of the power of sincerity, especially in a world that makes displaying such sentiment so shameful.
“I hear a song and start to cry, pretend it’s smoke that’s in my eye.”
The 1975 weaves a web of internal discussion, where each line seems to empower the next. Of course Healy is ashamed to be seen crying – he has recognized a world in which systems that are supposed to lift people up push them down (Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America), and that when sincere and good intentioned inquiry is made, it is met with scorn and ridicule (Roadkill).
Notes On A Conditional Form sounds like an empty title, something that’d you skip over in a filing cabinet or record store stack. The brutalist album cover certainly isn’t going to attract any attention lest for the neon yellow stripe running along its side.
The zoomer generation seems to identify with such a bright and attention-seeking color, but bubbling under the surface is a fatalistic view of the world. We want help, we just don’t really know how to ask for it, or see solutions materialize in a way that isn’t outright utopic.
But the desire for change is there, and the maxims to nurture such change and interest in the world can be found in the notes on this form. Just remember to give a shit, even when all signs point to the apocalypse.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up, It’s Monday morning and we’ve only got a thousand of them left!”
