I don’t know who told us that we are creative, but somebody did. Somebody along the way convinced us of it or we convinced ourselves that we were the creative folk. And along the way we started fitting bits and pieces in our lives that could be pigeonholed as creative.
Deep inside somewhere we knew that our lives were a redundant loop of nothingness. So we glorified our existence with “awesome Vimeo” we stumbled upon, or a great book we read. We romantised albums and then self-congratulated ourselves for picking these gems. We followed blogs, new music albums, watched movies and spoke at length over multitude of topics that competed on what would reflect us as curator of creative gems. The fact that we did not create anything for years, that is so remarkable as music or ad campaign that we like, did not disturb us.
But then there were millions like us, so we had millions of things to talk about.
Like this album.
Dog is Dead is as certain, as real, as expected album as a journey of any creative person. It has aspirations that are elusive and vivid and yet fits perfectly in a mould. Mould that is comfortable and safe.
But it’s from this very mould that the album sounds so brilliant.
The perfectly hammered lyrics, very alternate pop tune, crisp drum beats, an expected chord change – Dog is Dead has the comfort of an album that you can comfortably ignore and yet in essence alter your consciousness with its tune. Music that makes you feel that responsibilities are miles away. Music that encroaches on your soul and yet never leaves its mark. Just like the days lived filling out our 9 to 7 jobs, watching plays and fighting over who is the best guitarist and then engaging in massive link-sharing with our friends.
Considering that we are going to continue to live our mediocre lives, there is little consolation in the fact that we can always gate-crash on creations of writers and poets, from albums, to plays, to books and enrich our lives, nevertheless.