Fellow Feeling, Another Porter Robinson Story/Poem

(Um hi, sorry for the late post, I was quite busy. Also, I bit off more than I could chew again. You'll see that post next week. That has happened multiple times, though, hasn't it? I have to figure out what to do about that. Hmm.

In the meantime, enjoy this thing I wrote a while ago but never posted. I think I might just like some of Porter Robinson's music, what do you think? This one is less about the music of life and more about, well, music, specifically how it is changing and how it will change and whether that is good or bad or just... the same. Because music never really changes, deep down inside, past the surface.)

I hadn’t listened to Fellow Feeling for months. I didn’t remember exactly how it went, but I remembered that the cello part was nice, but there was also an ugly part as well. But recently I reminded myself that all of Porter’s music is good, so I decided to listen again. I didn’t realize…

I had goosebumps by the end. I did not realize that aside from the argument about mainstream EDM in the comment section, the music itself was telling you a story. One too big to put into words. One that I’ve tried to put into words here, but in a slightly different way- like drawing a different cross-section of a cube on paper. Different two-dimensional shape, same three-dimensional source. And, if it is drawn right, it helps you understand the full shape a bit more.

Fellow Feeling starts with a simple melody- one that sounds nostalgic, rather than happy, feeling like it’s lost something important, or maybe hasn’t found it yet. Starting with a mourning cello, it then builds to its full orchestral might. You know it is still not complete. What could be missing?

Before you can ponder much on that question, a drum pad and twanging chords kick in, and “she” starts telling you a story, putting what the music is saying into words:

i cried

for i didn’t think it could be true

but you and i might’ve always felt one another

and that we could not only evoke,

but we could conjure a place of our own

that everywhere

that has ever existed

was always surface forgery

...now please

hear what I hear

Silence.

Then...

Chaos, empty rhythm, gritty texture, erupts violently from the tranquil silence left at the end of “her” voice, like lava out of a mountain. You hear what “she” hears, oh yes you do. This, this is not music. Then “she” starts speaking again.

let me explain

this ugliness

*ccrch*

this cruelty

*shhhhpt*

this repulsiveness

*trrrrsssp*

it will all die out

and now, i cry for all that is beautiful

Back to the theme, again with the cello. After a bit, electric noise comes in again, but now you know it has changed. It is trying to integrate with the music now, not replace it. At first, though, it overpowers the delicate cello almost completely.

let me explain

A bit of piano plays, showing the chords, the melody. Electric joins in with fills, softer this time. The piano stops, having shown the way.

The electric builds up...

then plays the theme. No, it has totally become the theme, melded with the instruments, rhythm, melody, chords, the very identity of the song itself. It has amplified the music, made it stronger and grounded, and now... the music gives you goosebumps with its completeness. You hear who you’re sure is “her” on the piano, playing something of approval. And now you know, certain as the earth below you, that

this is what both were missing since the beginning, pining for like separated lovers.

And now they have found each other, and embraced.

And the world will never be the same.