I’d rather go blind than be, be this misunderstood. I can sit there on my chair, trying my utmost best to explain myself. How the world relates to me, to all of us, to every little gem around of me. But I can only closely observe it, can’t I? There is really not much I can act upon. And they don’t understand. Understand the meaning of it all. The x number of feelings one can feel, all at once, the x number of things one can think, all at once, no matter your age. Brother knows: I ain’t no wicked child. Whatever I do, I do it out of good intentions – but these never come through. I explain it simply, but my words are only turned into complex pronunciation. Complex thought patterns in someone else’s head. I’m eating dirt all day long. Dirt in the form of small talk. Small talk no one every really listens too. Small talk to fill up your time and your energy. Stupid things people say. Stupid things people do. They’ve got to see it through. And when I finally think ‘yes, I’m finally gonna come through’. I’m doing this. I got this. I’m gonna act. So I act upon myself, day in, day out. I act. And act. And act. I keep on acting what I believe to be correct. Yet, no one understands – and all that’s left is my wicked treachery and how one shouldn’t come too close to me. For if you do, there it will suddenly reveal itself to you: utterly disturbing, deeply disturbing, complexity. But if one could only open up one’s mind. Then thorough understanding might come true.
Director of MV: De Laatste Show
Tomorrow I was nothing. But today is different. Yesterday I’ll be. But today is different. You know that moment you’re about to switch off your thinking gear? Ah, the Brain. The terrible master when in perfectionist-mode. The inspiring leader when in fuck off-mode. Tell me if it’s me holding on and on to love what else is real (a religion that appeals to me). They always say the home is where the heart is, but the Heart, in the real, biological world, is actually right here. Not at your parents’ place, not in your boyfriend’s arms, not at your best friend’s house. Really, it is right here. There comes a time your brain understands that it’s useless without soul, without spice. Because the brain usually just goes off ranting. On and on. And on and on and on and on. And then, as if by mistake: Can you turn me off? Just a second, please. Ding! One brain request coming in. Turn me into something faceless, weightless, mindless, homeless, back your state of peace … ? Yes, I can, you Motherfucker! You don’t know how much I’ve waited for you to say those words! So you start taking action, right? You get all psyched about it, because, finally, after all your hard, deliberate meditation training, Brain is finally leaving. And when you’re almost there, reaching for the “off”-button, something else suddenly goes: Wait for me, I’m nothing on my own. I’m willing to go on, but not alone, not now. Guess who decided to show up too. Heart. And that, my friends, is what is called an “identity crisis”. But here’s what’s key: I believe in me.
Director of MV: K’s Choice
Of course I gotta review the best video ever made. Why the best? Well, for starters, the song kicks ass. Say what you want, but good songs just sound good. To anyone. Specifically if you like contrasts. The sort of musical mood swings some might call manic depression, put on record. Lyrics? Pretty vague, but not so vague that you can’t relate. Video? Well, the overall view is still in the psychiatric area isn’t it? Except that, now, they do seem to imply that anyone, anywhere, is a sort of distorted maniac just living their thoughts under the gloomy layers of that which is labelled “normal”. It’s like what Erasmus claimed: Is anybody really, like, normal? … Food for thought.
Director of MV: Peter Christopherson
Guitar. Suggestive move. Lips. You can look, but you can’t touch. That’s how to properly introduce a sexually tinted rock music video. Dear viewer: you can look, but you can’t touch. How painfully true… Moving on. I think I’m paranoid, and complicated. Ah yes, any free-fought woman can relate to that kind of thinking. I think I’m paranoid, manipulated. Ah yes, any modern man can relate to that. And, overall, drug-users can relate to both… Main themes established. Add a lot of PhotoBooth-effects and nano-second close-ups of the independent punk lady in the front and real sexiness reveals itself. No need for a naked lady on a giant ball. Just some shots of a woman’s lips, a playful sixties-dress, a hint of equally playful underwear, combat shoes, fifty shades of grey and a lot of body language stressing the “I’m paranoid, I know it and, well, that’s me”-attitude and you’ve got a recipe for one VERY sexy video. And, well, the collar helps too. Add a Patti Smith-like bass voice to it and some stuffing of the mouth with one strange hand-move and that’s it. You’ve established yourself a clear combo of sexy punkrock and insanity. Any viewer can relate to that. Ah yes. Please me, tease me.
Director of MV: Matthew Rolston