Turn out okay

Unrest - Hey London

The thing I learned yesterday is that Mercury is closer to Earth than it’s ever been and will ever be, at least in our lifetimes. There is a sense that this planetary closeness has an intense impact on our emotional lives, and I will confess that I’ve felt an abstract desire to cry for weeks now. It’s not a sadness relatable to anything, not connected to a disappointment or a loss or heartache; just a pull, a tendency to darkness. This feeling has been steady enough and difficult enough to describe that it’s affected my life, and probably annoyed my friends. I am glad to have Mercury to blame it on, gladder to have a song to think about.

You can still find the soundtrack for “Mod Fuck Explosion” pretty easily, I think it must’ve been sold as a cutout by Shimmy Disc or Dutch East India or whatever because I see sealed copies pretty regularly, always with one corner missing. One side has this really fired up, vicious rock and roll by Japanese band Karyo Tengoku. I guess I’ve never really listened to Guitar Wolf, but I’m sure that Karyo Tengoku are better; the first song “Hiroshima” has the whole band screaming “We never forgive you!” with a snarl and threat that I can’t imagine any cowboy boots or leather jackets ever surpassing.

The other half of the record is by Unrest, who of course are my favorite band. Halfway through their side is the song “London’s Theme” which is okay but the completed version, “Hey London” didn’t turn up until two years later on the B-sides/rarities compilation “B.P.M. 1991-1994” which is also still readily available. The notes on the LP are terse, and all it says is “cut from Mod Fuck Explosion motion picture soundtrack” which is one of those what the fuck? moments, like it’s terrifying to me to imagine this song being lost to history.

I never saw the movie so I don’t know what London’s story is, but when Mark Robinson sings “Hey London/your bedroom is your sanctuary/from all the messed up teenage girls outside” I can immediately imagine the room. The unassuming staircase with family portraits running parallel with the railing leading up to this intensely collaged, magazine and clothing strewn room. Dressers moved to barricade the bed, you could lay in it all day and never be seen from the doorway. Behind Mark, Bridget Cross sings the name “London” in falling tones like stepping down off a chair, it’s not quite stern but there’s a ghostly authority to her voice, something she knows but isn’t telling.

The song is tremendously sophisticated in its simplicity, like a succinct, beautiful culmination of all the brilliant pop songs Unrest ever wrote. The parts are calm and repetitive, almost lulling in their regularity, but the guitar and bass are woven together so cleanly it’s inescapable, forever binding. It’s nice to hear them play slowly, there’s a grace to the song that sets it apart from anything else they ever did; it’s not sleepy like “Angel I’ll Walk You Home” or achy and impatient like “I Do Believe You are Blushing.” It’s as if singing about a teenager made the band recognize that they’re actually adults. But they never condescend, there’s this equalizing honesty, an understanding without comment.

I remember during my darkest and most self-destructive teenage moments my mom was always attentive enough to see that I wasn’t causing irreparable damage but never tried to contradict or patronize me. Years later she told me at age 14 she wore a homemade badge to school everyday that read “LIFE ISN’T FUN ANYMORE” but she never tried to tell me she knew what I was going through or that I wasn’t the first teenager to feel isolated or persecuted. She knew I wouldn’t care what she had to say, and she also knew that I’d figure it out. I’m lucky.

“Hey London” is maybe the prettiest song I know, full of comfort and emotion, but with a distance and coolness that’s unlike any other comfort I’ve known. I always try and think about songs as gestures, you know, “Who Could Win a Rabbit” like an eager child pulling at your hand on the path to the park, or the comforting embrace of “Fade to Black” or “Are You That Somebody?” a burning hand wrapped up in your t-shirt. “Hey London” doesn’t have an easy physical comparison, and the scenarios I have to imagine to approximate it are ridiculously complicated and subtle. Like skinning your knee on the blacktop at recess, jeans ripped to reveal a red wetness, dark with bits of gravel and dirt which you pick at aimlessly, kind of sitting on your other hip, your unhurt leg twisted underneath you, not really willing to stand up or call out. Eventually you look around and see a kid you don’t really know watching you with sympathy but not pity, like she’s partaking in your helplessness, knowing there isn’t much anyone can do to help and that you’re probably better off dealing with it on your own. Or maybe it’s just the feeling of Mercury being so close and making you feel like you want to cry all the time for no reason.