Musical Musings at Twilight
Smack-dab in the middle of my wife’s workout playlist is Muse’s song "Supermassive Black Hole." That song’s über-catchy, distorted bass beat lays down a groove that’s perfect for aerobics. Evidently it’s also perfect background music for vampires playing baseball. And that, oddly, explains why it’s on my wife’s iPod to begin with.
Muse has been big in Europe for almost a decade now. But I think there’s a reasonably good chance my wife never would have had any Muse songs on her iPod if it weren’t for a certain American Mormon author who developed an appetite for operatic Brit-rock.
I’m talking about Stephenie Meyer, of course, the scribe behind the preternaturally successful vampire saga Twilight. But Meyer isn’t just an in-demand author—she’s become an unlikely arbiter of pop culture chic.
It started, I imagine, when she picked up the habit of writing while listening to music. Then she decided to publicly acknowledge (in her books) the bands she’d grown fond of. Ultimately, on her personal website, she crafted suggested playlists for readers of her books.
And now one of her faves in one of my wife’s faves.
Music Makes the Vampire
"I was in Forks [the Washington town in which Twilight is based] with my sister—before any of the books had come out, just sort of scoping it out," Meyer told MTV News in 2008. "I was working on Eclipse at the time, and I had [Muse’s album] Absolution in, and ’Hysteria’ came on and, in my mind, the kiss scene between [Bella] and Jacob just choreographed itself, down to how many steps he took toward her. So whenever I read that now, I always hear the song in my mind."
That was hardly the first time Meyer had commented on the band’s influence.
Three out of the four Twilight books mention Muse. "Thank you to the talented musicians who inspire me, particularly the band Muse—there are emotions, scenes, and plot threads in this novel that were born from Muse songs and would not exist without their genius," Meyer penned in the acknowledgements of the second book, New Moon.
With each book since, Meyer’s compliments have grown gushier. "I am in your debt, rock gods of Muse, for yet another inspiring album," she wrote in Eclipse. "Thank you for continuing to create my favorite writing music." And in the final book, Breaking Dawn, she moved the band up to the dedication: "And thanks also to my favorite band, the very aptly named Muse, for providing a saga’s worth of inspiration."
Next stop: the movies. Because before Bella can say "I Love Edward" three times fast, "Supermassive Black Hole" turns a Cullen family game of vampire baseball … into the equivalent of the final aria of Carmen—or something like that.
iSoundtrack
Muse has clearly fulfilled its namesake in Stephenie Meyer’s life. The band’s moody, atmospheric rock intersected with the author’s psyche so completely that it inspired similarly moody, atmospheric scenes between the characters she dreamt up. And then she couldn’t wait to tell all her new friends (the rest of the world) about it.
Now, to be sure, most of us don’t have Meyer’s culture-shaping influence when it comes to popularizing certain songs. But that doesn’t mean the music we love doesn’t shape our perspective on the world in some significant ways. Neither does it mean we don’t tell our friends all about it.
Think for a minute about the music that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up the first time you heard it, music that made you say, "Wow, what is that?!" Depending on when you grew up, it could be something from heavyweights like The Beatles, Stones or Led Zeppelin. Or maybe something a bit poppier, say, Beach Boys or Olivia Newton-John.
If you grew up in the ’80s, your list of formative musical influences probably looks pretty different, ranging from Prince and Madonna to The Police and U2. Or maybe even R.E.M. if you were one of the hipsters who discovered them early. Coming of age in the ’90s meant embracing Nirvana or Hootie and The Blowfish or Alanis Morissette. Press forward a bit more and you get Jay-Z, Britney, Miley and the Jonas Brothers, or maybe Death Cab for Cutie, Radiohead and … Muse.
Regardless of when you grew up or what your specific tastes are, one constant remains the same: Music taps into something deep in our souls. And to the extent that we listen to our favorite bands and internalize their sounds and accompanying lyrics, the music we love can become a kind of personalized soundtrack that filters how we see reality.
"Shot Through the Heart"
In August 1986 I’d just turned 16. A brand new driver’s license was burning a hole through my back pocket. And I was in the process of growing a shaggy, shoulder-length (permed) mullet. I had razor-cut jeans and even some black boots—though I lacked the mojo to pull that last part of the ensemble off convincingly. (And I drew the line at gauzy pastel scarves and man-makeup, for what it’s worth.)
Why? Credit the pop metal I had glommed onto during that impressionable season of my life.
But those songs and artists, Bon Jovi and Def Leppard at the top of my list, did more than just influence (I can see in retrospect) dubious fashion choices. They channeled, and you might say narrowed, the ways my adolescent eyes viewed the opposite sex. Women were either sex objects (Leppard’s "Pour Some Sugar on Me") or mysterious creatures with potent power to wound (Jovi’s "You Give Love a Bad Name").
Clearly the music we choose fortifies and reinforces the deepest stuff in our hearts, even as it gives it an outlet of sorts. If we’re wrestling with rejection, as I certainly did over and over again as a teen, I’m pretty sure (now) that spending hours upon hours ruminating on messages about rejection isn’t likely the healthiest outlet.
If I had to zero in on one word that captures what it is that music does—for better or for worse—it’s yearning. And the result of that is like Robert Frost’s diverging roads: It can cause us to remain fixated on what we find inside or prod us to lift our eyes off ourselves and see more clearly what’s going on in the world around us. When U2 invites us to notice the beauty that surrounds us in a song like "Beautiful Day," for example, it elevates our perspective. When The Cure puts haunting sound to these kinds of lyrics, "So delicate lost in the cold you were/Always so lost in the dark/ … For the last time then slip away/Quietly open my eyes but I never see anything," it can freeze up our perspective and spark an inclination to, well, mope.
"You’re the Inspiration"
So what’s on your personal playlist? What artists make the music that speaks most deeply to your heart, and why? If you’ve never spent much time thinking about what you identify with musically, I’m hoping Muse might serve as your inspiration to do a bit of honest reflection on the topic.
Ask yourself how you use music. Is it an outlet when you’re down? If so, how does it connect with your emotions? Does it allow you to exorcise things that might not get released otherwise? Or does it reinforce what’s already going on inside, submerging it further? In short, how is it shaping, molding and influencing the yearnings of your heart?
Proverbs 23:7 says, "As a man thinks in his heart, so is he." And as the songs that serve as soundtracks for our own baseball games and homework sessions and midnight pity parties flit past our eardrums and into our minds and souls, they become what we think in our hearts. Whether we’re aware of it or not, the lyrics we absorb end up molding what we believe is right and true. And that means they are partially responsible for the overall trajectory of our lives—which naturally affects the lives of those around us.
Music helped Stephenie Meyer craft an angst-filled drama about a chivalrous vampire and the girl who so desperately wants to be with him forever that she’ll trade in her very soul for the privilege. And then Meyer eagerly shared her muse with the rest of us.
So what’s music helping you create? And who are you sharing it with?