In Our Lifetime.

It's late; the house is blissfully quiet, and I am alone with my thoughts and computer. I like to stay up late to read and write. I grapple with the rules of 'sleep well', 'follow a routine', 'go to bed early', etc. The world is entirely mine at this hour. Everyone is asleep, there are absolutely no possible distractions. My mind comes alive with ideas.

I am painfully aware that the 'other perspective' is however, likely correct. For my health and mental well-being, a good night's sleep following the order of daylight, and my natural circadian rhythm is a wise move, but when you're enrolled on a PhD, life does turn on its head. You become good at developing mental resilience (or at least trying to), you are strangely precious about your 'me time', you anthropomorphise your computer and gradually become best mates with it, along with your academic journals and digital buddies on X (all of which I firmly believe are bots). I don't yet live in my pyjamas, but I think I used up all those tokens during the pandemic.

In the spirit of not following convention, I thought music would break the ice for my first post. Diving straight into Kierkegaard could be a bit heavy so I figured, '"hmm, something cool and old – maybe Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles or Bob Dylan? Or, maybe I should keep it edgy and different with techno greats such as Ben Klock, Kalkbrenner or Chris Liebing?", (you'll come to learn techno holds a special place in my heart. And techno parties are a very existential place. That’s another post, another time). But no, I figured, let's look at this differently. Life is not predictable. It is entropic. It's mundane. It is the everyday. What band says 'every day' to me more than anyone, at any point in history, than Texas.

Now, I hope that, in choosing Texas, or referring to them as mundane, I don't cause anyone any offence (especially the band themselves). Don't get me wrong, I love them. For me, they represent sitting in my dad's car on the way to school, singing along to innocent love lyrics, a catchy beat and a decent tune. Sharleen's voice is gentle and easy to imitate. Most importantly, Texas kept it simple. They sang about love, relationships and meaningful ones at that. They tended to keep the political out of their music and offer us brief, sultry escapism into a life of idyllic attraction and the frequent complexity of navigating love – something humans have never been able to master since the classical civilisations. There will be times in the future when I discuss the deep, political backgrounds of Rage Against the Machine, Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Run the Jewel, N.W.A., Bruce Springsteen and Leonard Cohen among many, many others, but Texas has something else. Something truly unique. They were pure. They suspended us in a time of innocence. They offered us a reason to momentarily transport from the political sh*t storm that penetrated our media outlets. And, without the perpetual reminder from social media and the information overload so present in our lives today, The Hush playing loud over the radio, with a spring breeze rushing through my hair, was a carefree moment I could freeze in time over and over again.

Now, to be functioning members of the societies we are a part of, we should do our best to maintain a political voice (even slightly). We should responsibly keep ourselves up to date on current affairs and exercise our critical thinking muscles to ensure we are not becoming fanatical about one particular story or position. Keeping ourselves grounded in the process and open to the view of others who cross our path. This is where Texas can teach us. Their simple, ethereal, timeless classics are essential listening as we move through the undulations of life. They transport us out of the dark, twisted crevasses of the human psyche. They make us realise that we are all seriously handicapped when it comes to finding love and keeping it. They help us realise that we can all sing in some way, and we must. But, most of all, they force us to stop. A challenging notion in 2024. When Texas' In Our Lifetime was released in 1999, Tony Blair was prime minister, there were murmurings of the millennium bug, I was aiming to run long distance in the 2008 Olympics (lol), the Discovery Space Shuttle was the first to dock with the ISS, Kosovo was at war, the Euro currency was launched, Tony Hawk landed his first 900 and some idiot invented the bucket hat. Time and our political and social spheres were very different and frighteningly similar to what they are today. Now, the bucket hat is back, Oasis is reforming, Elon Musk has taken over space, war rages on in new forms, we are reconsidering rejoining the Euro, I am considering running to help with my blood pressure, and no, there is no millennium bug, but we do have AI, and it's scaring the sh*t out of everyone.

The point I am making is to ultimately stick with our simple tastes, not let them fall into the cracks of history or our wider lives, and not overshadow them in a quest for ultimate artistic perfection that encompasses political, social, religious, and creative dominance. We need to exist somewhere in the middle, with some flexibility and breathing room and that is okay. In fact, it’s critical as we face our second wave of existential fallout. There is no certainty that we can grasp in our political dogmatic stances. Instead let’s swap X for Texas, Instagram for real cameras and Facebook for actual time with our friends. Let the love songs transport us in love and help us to make love. In the meantime politicians will carry on doing what they do and history will probably repeat itself.

With all of the above in mind, Kierkegaard concludes nicely…

"When one has once fully entered the realm of love, the world — no matter how imperfect — becomes rich and beautiful, it consists solely of opportunities for love."

…and I believe with that, we have Texas to help us navigate it.