by Gabriel Thomas
Creation is something that unites our experience. It expresses some of the most poignant experiences and desires we have as people. When we create, through stories or music, paint or dance, we capture the unique experience of our own humanity and make it accessible to others, building community in the process.
This community, and the expression of humanity, are two of the many reasons why art is so important. But creation and expression are by no means simple or easy, especially within the pressures of modern society and, more specifically, academia. Even students experience an inordinate amount of pressure to create: papers, projects, sculptures, podcasts. All of them are given strict deadlines, yet at the same time the quality of the work is expected to be perennially extraordinary; the demand to produce something that’s worth reading or turning in, that communicates your ideas or your feeling, genuinely remains. While this demand is not always problematic, it can, and does, lead to anxiety that comes from the desire to create something worthwhile is beautifully encapsulated in the first and last songs of AJR’s junior album, “Neotheater.”
These songs, in addition to exploring this very human experience, remind us of the beauty of the human condition: we don’t experience our humanity alone.
The opening song, “Next Up Forever,” explores the anxiety of creation in a really pure and honest way. “I’m kinda scared to drop this album/Let’s push it back another week” the lead singer says as the song begins. Sending a work of art into the world can be terrifying: there is uncertainty about how it will be received, wondering whether or not the intention will come through an anxiety about how a reception might reflect on the artist’s skill. In other words, there’s comfort in the beginning—nothing has been said yet, no one can criticize, all ideas are good ideas. As the lead singer, Jack, so clearly articulates: “I wanna be next up, forever/Find a way to never hit my peak.” When the piece is left in potentiality, there is no risk of failure or humiliation: as Jack sings, “the best is always yet to come.” Living in the potentiality is so much easier, because when we do create, we ascribe ourselves to the value of what’s been created. In creating, we assert the value of the idea or statement. And this often isn’t easy, especially when one might be living in the shadow of an earlier work: “I gotta go so much bigger/So everybody’s proud of me.” The pressure exists not just to create something good, but to create something better.
And then, having overcome the pressure and anxiety, beauty is achieved, but it is often not given a moment to breathe. This is the focus of the closing song: a reflection on the end of the creative process. In the narrator’s overture of the song, they seemingly take on the voice of the audience, saying, “Well, congratulations on your bit of success/We can’t wait to see what you do next.” Already, attention is aimed towards the future. The painstaking process that the artists has just undertaken is given no respite, and they are instead commanded to begin again. The line, “We can’t wait to see what you do next,” is repeated over and over again through the song, giving it a veritable weight. The listener can, in a sense, feel the pressure to start over, and just how overwhelming this can sometimes be. Jack even tells us as much when he says, “They wanted heaven from me, I gave ‘em hell/Now they want something bigger, I’m overwhelmed.” He is almost begging for a moment of reflection, an opportunity to let the piece breathe and be appreciated before the demand to begin again is heard. He even asks, “Can you wait a sec?/Let me catch my breath, let me catch my,” demonstrating the crushing weight of pressure.
But the singer seems to make peace with the pressure, saying “If it’s my final album and if I am forgotten/I hope I made you smile, that’s all I ever wanted.” The finished product can be enough. As long as the piece inspired joy, that would be enough.
When it comes to art, there is a tendency to never sit with the beauty that has been created and truly appreciate it. There always exists the pressure to create the next piece, the next paper, the next album. And this can be incredibly draining. But, as they say, there are no diamonds without pressure.