The Living Music List #7: On Processing and Catharsis

When confronting fear unleashes unexpected, pent-up darkness, lean into it to let it go. Plus, the first Melted Form demo track to hit Substack and new music recommendations.

Just want to see the new music recommendations? Scroll down or click the button below to check out the Living Music List. Otherwise, read on for this week’s reflection and the full list of new additions to the LML summarized.

Read the previous issue of The Living Music List:

The Living Music List #6: On Music's Role in a Cynical World

Currently listening to: Night Sailing (Demo) by Melted Form

Reflection

Hello, friend.

Have you recently done something that forced you to face a fear, then come out the other side feeling entirely new?

Last weekend, I went to Six Flags, an amusement park known for its partnership with Warner Brothers and its daunting lineup of roller coasters.

I hate roller coasters. Or, at least, I used to hate them. I learned last Saturday that I can actually tolerate and even enjoy some of the more moderately thrilling coasters like the Runaway Mine Train or Skull Mountain—the kind that don’t make you do the stupid stuff, like loop de loops, corkscrews, or butterfly-inducing drops from ridiculous heights.

The Six Flags trip was the first time that my fiancée, Christine, and I have visited an amusement park after more than 5 years together. She’s a coaster fan, but she’s always understood that I wasn’t, so she never pressed me to go. But a few weeks ago, I impulsively bought tickets for us—for her—without really considering how many years it had been since I had last spent time standing scared beneath the metal monstrosities.

It wasn’t until the morning of the trip that the weight of my decision struck me like a Looney Tunes character smashing into a rock wall falsely painted to look like a tunnel.

As the two of us ate our breakfast of cheesy eggs and toast, Christine looked across the table at me and, smirking, asked how many coasters I was willing to try. Earlier in the month, we had celebrated my birthday with omakase at a sushi restaurant in New York City. Christine tried six pieces of sushi with raw fish—food that she typically can’t fathom. Turns out, she really enjoyed the raw fish.

And now, she was convinced that the same would happen with me and roller coasters. Suddenly, she was lightly suggesting the idea that I would go on six roller coaster with her, to make it even with her sushi sacrifice. I looked at her and then down at my eggs.

“I don’t think you understand how much I hate roller coasters,” I said with a half-laugh.

Almost immediately, my stomach dropped, as if I was already on Superman. A crack appeared in the dam within me, then splintered and spread, then burst. The tears and anxiety it had been holding back—unbenownst to me in their volume and severity—poured out.

It started with a whimper, a sound I’m not sure Christine had heard my body make before. She quickly realized what was happening and leaned over to touch me as I put both of my hands to my eyes in a futile attempt to stop the cry from coming. More tears and sound broke through and I was in a full-on breakdown.

It felt like an hour passed after that. I transitioned from crying to panic to breathing slowly, trying to bring myself back down to my usual state of calm. As many who experience anxiety attacks or bouts of intense crying can attest, sometimes your breathing begins to slow and you feel as though you’ve made it thorugh the worst bit, and then the wave of fear and lost control crashes over you again, sending you back under the current spinning and gasping for air.

In reality, the whole experience lasted probably about 15 minutes. When the fluttering in my chest finally subsided, and I wiped my nose and dried my red eyes, Christine repeated something I hadn’t really heard amid my crying, which was the offer of not going to the park.

I shook my head and embraced her. We got our things together and drove the hour to Six Flags, and then I rode four roller coasters—I even did one of them twice—laughing and screaming and raising my arms along the way.

The Unexpected Remembering

Sometimes, it all comes rushing back.

Your childhood trauma. Your anxieties. Your moments of feeling powerless and afraid.

The day after the confrontation with the coasters, Christine asked me if I had thought more about my attack. I realized that I hadn’t really, not purposefully. I was subtly processing it all in the background, perhaps, but I had still been avoiding any analysis of why that emotional release took place and why it happened so suddenly.

Considering it all in that moment, I explained that, growing up, I spent several trips to amusement parks with friends, family, and classmates frozen in fear and anxiety. These places titled for their ability to amuse instead felt like their intention was to abuse.

Friend, do you understand what it feels like to hold yourself back from an experience while everyone else around you is enjoying it? Have you, like me, sat on a bench, maybe beside a mildly frustrated but caring parent or teacher, while everyone else went on the big coaster, all because your feet felt glued in place at the prospect of feeling uncomfortable for thirty seconds?

I admitted, it wasn’t just that my childhood self hated the feeling of roller coasters, with the butterflies and the anticipation and the speed—it was the isolating shame and embarrassment of being the only one who couldn’t just have a good time like everyone else.

I also acknowledged that these brief experiences of coaster anxiety in my childhood compounded with the constant anxiety I experienced at baseline as a kid who had witnessed domestic violence and divorce at home—but that’s a story for another reflection.

Regardless, it didn’t take many trips to the abusement parks to taint the rides for what seemed like it would be the rest of my life. I had a similar experience during my senior year of high school on a class trip, and who the fuck wants to be 17 years old and on the verge of tears in front of your entire senior class because of a ride that’s supposed to be fun?

All of this came back to me in that moment I sobbed on Saturday. And I let it all go over the course of five roller coaster rides and the days following them, as I processed my grief over a childhood spent faltering at the final hurdle of every roller coaster line I refused to join.

Letting The Darkness Loose in Our Music

You may have noticed that I included a demo of my own music at the top of this week’s post—a track called Night Sailing. It’s rather dark and dissonant at times. It reminds me of some sort of imaginary machinery, its gears turning and clicking in cycles together as the humming tone echoes through some great factory hall.

When I make music, it feels a bit like hobbling in the dark. I can typically only see the shadows of what’s in front of me, amorphous dark blobs of ideas or intentions. I lift a foot and hope it finds even ground rather than an unexpected stair.

What results is more often than not a rather dark piece of ambient or experimental music somewhere in the realm of the piece I’ve shared today. Even the older pieces that I created when I first began to make music as a hobby fell into this category.

I’ve come to understand and appreciate music as a tool for dealing with my anxieties and traumas like the experiences I’ve described above.

It’s weird, because I generally run pretty cool as a person—my resting heart rate is usually just under 60 BPM and most people who know me personally would probably say that I have among the more consistently even deameanors of folks they know. Even Christine says that she sometimes feels like I don’t show any emotion 90% of the time and rarely appear unhappy or uneasy.

I suppose I’m one of those people who just feels a lot more than I show. And for some reason, music draws the darkness out of me like venom from a bite wound.

And I like it. I enjoy listening to music like this—the stuff that feels eerie and unsettling, like the artist behind it was letting their painful memories go (maybe without knowing it).

In last week’s post, I said:

“Music is sound, but it is also light… music is one of the most important tools we use to dispel the darkness.”

While I meant that much of the music we listen to and make is a light we can gather around to feel better during moments when the external world around us appears dark, I recall it here for a different interpretation: music itself can be dark and a tool we use to expel the darkness living inside.

It can bring up unexpected feelings—you can make something that unsettles you, the person who made it, and wonder: why did that come out of me? If you are willing, you may view it as a reason to turn inward and question that dam inside of you.

What’s behind it? Why did I build it and when? How might I feel if I let the darkness trapped behind it out into the world?

This brings me back to the view that many share, including myself, which is that art is sometimes a form of escapism. I recently read a brilliant piece on A24’s film Civil War (2024, dir. Alex Garland) by Cole Haddon of 5AM Story Talk. In his article, Haddon dissects the critical reception to the somewhat controversial film about a near-future America bloodsoaked in civil war where it’s not immediately obvious who’s on what side. Haddon criticizes the critics frustrated by the supposed lack of a clear stance (as for me, who saw the film twice in theaters, I think it was rather obvious what Garland was getting at in terms of why the war was happening and who was responsible).

From Haddon:

“We don’t want to think anymore - God forbid, that sounds so hard. Film should instead just give us warm and fuzzy feelings — the opium that is nostalgia, which I’ve written about here — or, perhaps worse, validate our already deeply held beliefs regardless of how toxic these might be.”

This is a crucial reminder with which I wholeheartedly agree—art is not always about validation or escapism. In fact, most of the time, it is the opposite.

Art can be meant to challenge, to question, and to brave the depths of our souls, to wade through our darkness and come out stronger for it.

One last quote from Haddon’s piece (and please go give the full post a read):

“Most of all, I want you to feel uncomfortable. The world needs more people uncomfortable, unsettled, ready to question everything. And artists are one of our culture’s best tools to do that - Garland included.”

This is something I didn’t realize I intended to do with my music. As I gather my courage to share more of it with the world, whether that be through demos like the one in this post or proper releases on streaming services (stay tuned), I don’t want to be afraid to let my darkness show.

It may be uncomfortable for some. It may turn some people off.

But for some of us, music, like any art, can confront our darkest emotions and give them form. It can take our fears and anxieties and make them real and tangible, allowing us to look at them or listen to them and say:

I’m not holding myself back because of you any more.

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Music Recommendations

Hello again, friend.

Thank you for reading today’s post. I hope you enjoyed the reflection—I would love to hear what is a fear of yours, however rational or not, that you have begun to conquer. Let me know by leaving a comment.

I hope you enjoyed the demo, too. I hope to release that officially in the future, perhaps as a b-side of my forthcoming album that will arrive… at some point.

Anyways, now that I’ve gotten all of that off my chest, it’s time to listen to some music. Some new recommendations for you below, as usual.

Happy listening.

The Living Music List—Ambient

Note: All of the below ambient projects are available on Bandcamp.

1. Sunrise at the Summit (Extended Version) by Astropilot (EP / drone, minimalist)

2. Kantetu by Michiru Aoyama (album / chill-out, downtempo)

3. The Kingom is Ours by Erang (album / dungeon synth, fantasy [note: some lyrics present, mainly spoken word and chanting + other non-ambient elements like occasional drums and more traditional acoustic instruments]

4. Music For Healing - Freetones July by Richard Norris (album / drone, minimalist)

5. Angel by Eguana (single / electronica, chill-out)

6. This Day by Gregroy Paul Mineeff (single / neoclassical, ambient piano)

7. Flora by PJS (album / drone, minimalist)

8. Return to Madadeni by Expugnantis (album / experimental, techno)

9. Asleep in Twilight’s Coffin by Tomb Wizard (album / dungeon synth, fantasy [note: drums])

10. ONTOS IX by The Corrupting Sea (single / drone, noise [note: single from a forthcoming album])

11. Recipe for Calm by Plexus Music (album / experimental, electronica [note: a lot to unpack with this one genre-wise—noise, drones, some percussion, occasional vocals]

12. Deadpool & Wolverine (Original Score) by Rob Simonsen (album / film score [note: not all ambient, some tracks contain more traditional cinema effects and motifs]

The Living Music List—All Genres

Note: All of the below projects are available on major streaming services.

1. Faith of a Mustard Seed by Mustard (album / hip-hop/rap)

2. SMILE! :D by Porter Robinson (album / alt pop)

3. Rite Here Rite Now (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) by Ghost (album / metal)

4. G.O.Ds NETWORK - REB7RTH by Rakim (album / hip-hop/rap)

5. Quincey by Quincey White (album / hip-hop/rap)

6. To the Ghosts by Cults (album / alternative)

7. Alex Izenberg & the Exiles by Alex Izenberg (album / alternative)

8. Locomotiva Ibiza 2099 I by Mochakk (single / dance)

9. Decima by Stef Mendesidis (album / dance)

10. Final Quest by Space Dimension Controller (EP / electronica)

11. DOWNTURN RHITHMS by Tom Carruthers (album / electronic)

12. Deathwork by Kamixlo (album / electronic)

13. Exhale Va005 by Various Artists (compilation / electronic)

14. Segmente by JakoJako (EP / dance)

15. Step Free / Blessed by Pigmnt (single / house)

16. Hypnotics by Lisa Oakes (single / dance)

17. Contemporary Part Two by Oliver Dollar (EP / dance)

18. I Write To You, My Darling Decay by A Wake in Providence (album / death metal/black metal)

19. Wormwitch by Wormwitch (album / death metal/black metal)

20. Aigul by Aigul Akhmetshina, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, & Daniele Rustioni (album / classical)

21. Vera by The Hanseroth Twins (album / singer/songwriter)

22. Painted Shield 3 by Painted Shield (album / alternative)

23. Enough of the Sweet Talk by Lime Cordiale (album / alternative)

24. Song and Dance by Joy Again (album / alternative)

25. Made by These Moments by The Red Clay Strays (album / country)

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In the News

Before I go, here are a few things happening in music:

• Brian Eno said that he regrets turning down a request from Joni Mitchell to collaborate on an ambient album. While that is already a notable connection (and I regret it too, Eno!), what may be more interesting is the fact that he said this during a screening of a new “generative” film Eno by Gary Hustwit. You can watch the trailer for Eno here. Per Exclaim!:

  “The first generative feature film, according to its creators, Eno's screenings feature a different version of [the] film each time it is shown — a reported 52 quintillion possible versions of the film able to be created from 30 hours of new interviews and over 500 hours of archival footage.”

• A new experimental music festival called Talk Low Music Festival will take place in Cinncinati this September. The festival is being organized by the experimental/ambient label Whited Sepulchre Records. Early bird tickets now available.

  “According to a press release, the artists performing at the Talk Low Music Festival represent a number of genres, including ambient, jazz, indie rock, electronic and ‘all the genre shadings in between.’ The festival features acts from all over the world (including many from Cincinnati), like new-age/ambient artist Laraaji, Kenyan electronic artist KMRU, Peruvian turntablist/sound artist Maria Chavez and “emo-ambient” pioneer claire rousay.”

• [From the Archives] I recently stumbled on this article in The Guardian about Michiru Aoyama, a Japanese ambient artist who had, as of December 5, 2023, released an album every single day since December 31, 2021. I can’t 100% verify if he has continued to do so every day since then, but at a glance of his Apple Music page, it appears he is still as prolific. I would like to know… how??? I recommended Aoyama’s release Kantetu from today (July 26, 2024) in today’s list.

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Thanks again for reading. Until next time.

Your friend,

Melted Form

Remember to listen to the hum, buzz, & hiss of the world around you—there is music to be heard there.

Want to suggest music for me to listen to? Have questions? Leave a comment or email me at meltedform@gmail.com. You can also join my chat on Substack.