An Ode: Icebreaker

Author's Note: Unlike "Stories of Songs", this newest piece is a piece of poetry, inspired by two lines from MLTR's Icebreaker, from the recent album Scandinavia. Again, it is only inspired by the lines, so it does not relate to the song in any way—instead, it is only my disjointed understanding of those two lines independently.

So here goes! By the way, the thing that looks like an small letter "L" is actually an exclamation point. Just in case you think I have terrible punctuation—heaven forbid! And "An Ode" will be another series, so stay tuned. Do, of course, follow and comment if you've got anything to say, and/or if you'd like to hear more from me. :)

An Ode: Icebreaker

The sea around me is frozen, show me where I can sail.

Evermore I Ask Why

Cold and dark a winter’s night

Like the light blue of the ice

Out in the wind,

Here on the hearth;

A sword, a dagger—a fight.

Speak not in words but in your seat

With silence do you greet

The tired form,

The working man;

Trudged in, hoping to meet—

Warm and blazing fire of home

To embrace a soul that roamed;

A word of honey,

A bowl of soup;

But now he’s come to know—

The proud, still form of beauty e’er

Reclining with the air

Of grace and frost,

Of loftiness;

Beauty bringing him despair.

Call her name, then does the man,

“I cannot recall when

You ceased 

To speak, and why—

And how it all began.

“But I can recall the day when first

I came home to this curse

Of silence and 

Your frostiness

And my everlasting thirst.

“My dear—for still you will remain—

Do bless my drought with rain!

Give your troubles,

Your woes to me,

Gladly take I your pain.”

The stately head to him was turned

And the muteness was adjourned;

But the eyes,

The woman’s eyes!

Life and laughter must return.

The lips, though rusty, came to part:

“Blue is the colour of my heart,

And of the world

And of this life—

Though evermore I ask why!

“Why then do we wish to say

Words that are only tossed away,

And never mend,

And live to die—

Evermore do I ask why!”

“If this world is but a sobbing sea,

It is frozen through for me.

I sail nowhere—

I sail to die—

And evermore I ask why!

“If this world is but a barren beach,

It is ever out of my reach.

For I sail nowhere—

I sail to die—

And evermore I ask why!

“Unless you set aright my mast

And keep me e’er out of the grasp

Of cruel death

And bitter life,

Then nevermore ask me why!”

Album Discussion: Scandinavia by MLTR

In June/July, or summer in short, the Danish soft rock/pop band, Michael Learns To Rock, sometimes known as MLTR, released their ninth studio album, Scandinavia. They were, of course, back by popular demand, as their last album, Eternity, was released as long as four years ago, back in 2008.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t a fan in 2008. In fact, I’m quite sure that I had never even heard of them before. But everything changed—it’s true, I’m not exaggerating—when my dad passed his Colours CD to me in, if I’m not wrong, 2009. Since then, I was hooked. I was completely in love with MLTR, and that was why I (shamelessly) asked for their new album for my birthday album this year.

Of course, I wasn’t disappointed. The album was all I could have expected—the familiar soft ballads, slightly more upbeat songs, and even a Wild Women-esque rock song. It wasn’t just the music aspect of it, either—the lyrics have a whole new feel to them—while still retaining the band’s symbolic sound—which is what I’m going to focus on in this discussion, with the exception of some side notes to the music, as, of course, you can’t avoid that in songs!

What struck me most about this album is the motif of space in a few songs. In the fourth track, Heaven Is My Alibi, the symbols of space and stars are used very charmingly. To be honest, I still haven’t figured out just what exactly the title means yet, but that doesn’t change the fact that the song and its lyrics are simply magical. I can’t help but feel that there is an interesting story behind the words, which inspired my first piece in Stories of Songs. This idea of space is more extensively used in the third song, Space Commander, where the speaker compares his relationship with the woman to a journey through space, to another world (“We descend into a magic world, under the purple sky”—this is so lovely it will definitely inspire more writings on my part), and she is his space commander; he seems perfectly willing to have her call the shots. You can feel how much of a crazy, enjoyable ride their love is, which reminds me of You Keep Me Running from Colours. 

Related to space, stars are also brought up in another song, albeit more briefly. In Please Forgive Me, it goes: “A heavy shadow in the light, Daddy’s slipping out of sight, leaving more than just a broken heart, leaving more than just one question for the stars”. I may be over-analysing here, but I think that the involvement of stars in this serves as something of a hyperbole, making the matter at hand more profound. In my opinion, that’s what this motif of space and stars does in the other songs—it engages something that is, to us, more romantic, and beautifies the scenario by giving it a sense of mystique. There’s also another brief reference in Hanging On: “We are lovers beneath the stars, kissing the universe above.” This probably contributes to that aforementioned understanding—that the elements of nature, especially those to do with the heavens, are larger than ourselves, providing a grandeur to the depicted romance.

Well, that’s the larger picture. To zoom in, Renovate My Life is a song whose lyrics I admire greatly. The whole song is a huge metaphor, in which the speaker compares his life to a house, and he asks someone—I don’t know why, but I’m getting the vibe that it’s a woman—to make his life better (“Renovate my life, make it all right, show me that the trees can grow into the skies”). The release is special, too: “I wanna hear empty talking as meaningful poetry, I wanna see aimless walking as another way to be free. Living upon the surface, making you wanna feel some inner space”. The way I interpret it, he’s “demanding some [more] sense to the meaning of life” (if you don’t know, that’s a quote from another song, Crazy World). He’s musing about the deeper meanings of life, and he’s searching for ways to live his life more fully.

There is one song you definitely cannot miss out on in the album—the more rock-style Shanghaid In Tokyo. Isn’t the title just special in itself? When I first heard it during their concert in KL, I thought it was about touring the nations, but I was wrong (fortunately). It’s about the speaker searching for a girl, who’s, I think, just out of his reach, but he’s willing to “keep on travelling, to ease a restless soul”. Many other fans have said that this song resembles Wild Women, and I can see where they’re coming from, with Mikkel’s rocker guitar intro and Kare’s strong drumming. The lyrics, though, written by Mikkel and Marcus Winther-John, are thematically different from the Colours song. The only similarity I see is that they stray a little bit from their usual sensitive-guy-feel, having a more action-based romance (“The whole world is spinning as I’m passing through”). Also, the use of locations around the world is simply charming. On a side note, the way this song is sung by Jascha is really refreshing—he meets the strong music with his identifiable mellow vibe, and we’re reminded that this isn’t just a rock song, it’s MLTR.

And who can forget the titular song, Scandinavia? It’s beautiful song, with lovely lyrics to match the album cover of northern lights. The guys sound delightfully grounded in this one: “You make us wonderful” for one, and “We played a show with great routine, so many places we have seen; and sometimes you wonder, was it just a dream?" Then they sing of flying home to their “little mermaid in Copenhagen”, back to the place where they belong. Seriously, it’s just amazing.

It’s a very special song that I will use to sum up my opinion of the entire album—it’s fresh, but familiar. They’ve definitely never had a song dedicated to their “ould sod” before, but the tune of the song, as well as the style of the lyrics, is soothing and familiar. When we fans hear this song, we’ll no doubt smile and say, “yes, that’s MLTR,” because this is the sound that we know and love. Like I’ve said before, MLTR shouldn’t be defined by other examples, they are a wonder unto themselves, and isn’t their sincerity what we adore? When I went to their concert, Jascha said something I liked: “You know, we’re often criticised for playing slow songs. Well, here’s our slowest one.” (They proceeded to perform Breaking My Heart, which does always break my heart.)

This elegance of sound that I speak of is echoed in the other songs. In Any Way You Want It, there’s a uniquely simple, yet eloquent feel to the words, as is the case in Please Forgive Me. The latter is rather sad, really, and I feel the same love of a father in Crazy World, although that seems to be less on his daughter than of the turbulent, uncertain world we live in, and the insecurity of the lives we lead, although he commends his daughter for being a strong, independent woman. Make Me Feel has a great opening verse: “the sun meets the ocean, extending the shadows, speaking in bold”, while Icebreaker complements it with the poetic lines of “the sea around me is frozen, show me where I can sail.” (Another song about a strong woman in his life.) I won’t say too much about that, as sorely tempted as I am—because if I share every thought I’ve had about these songs, this will continue for ages, and I’ve written much more than I thought I would already.

Well, that’s everything. At first I thought I’d only mention the songs that have struck me the most, but then I realised—honestly—that I love all the songs equally, and there’s no way I could leave any out. Some of them, though, I have more to talk about. Overall, however, I’d say that there is a common thread—although an obscure one—running through the different tracks. It’s that there’s something new to be discovered in life and in love, that there are explorations and subsequent discoveries to be made. It’s as if the underlying message here, intentional or not, is that there is a deeper meaning in certain things, life at large, I’d venture to say, that we need to appreciate, be it by quieting down to feel it—Heaven Is My Alibi—or actively seeking it—Shanghaid In Tokyo. Sometimes, we’d even find it somewhere or in something familiar. I’ll leave you to re-listen to the album and ponder that.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, and please do leave a comment to share your own thoughts about the album. Please follow my blog as well if you’d like to read more from me! (*shameless advertising*) If I’ve gotten anything wrong, I do sincerely apologise, and you guys are welcome to correct me in anything. Finally, I’d like to end off by urging you to buy their new album, if you haven’t already done so. Better yet, if you’ve never heard MLTR—gasp, travesty!—this is a pretty awesome way to start. 

This should be obvious, but MLTR, I love you guys.

Stories of Songs: Renovate My Life

This second story is also inspired by a couple of lines from an MLTR song, Renovate My Life, from the same album as before, Scandinavia. I took it out of context, though, so it isn't at all related to the song!

The aforementioned song is also a very fascinating one, in which a house is used as a metaphor for the speaker's life--but I'm not here to analyse the lyrics. All I'd like to say for now is: I find that the new album brings us to a new level in MLTR's songwriting, particularly as symbols and metaphors are used in the lyrics. At the same time, however, that old familiar feel that us fans have related to over the years is still undeniably present in all the songs, and there aren't many artistes who can strike such a wonderful balance between old and new. But I'm here to post a story! Who knows, maybe I might write a whole post about the new album? Anyway, on we go~

Renovate My Life

The isolation between the walls makes it harder to hear your calls.

She left that night, without a note, a letter, or explanation of any kind. He came back, and she was gone.

She was gone.

It seemed like just yesterday when she had come into his life—wasn’t it? The beer in his hand assured him of the fact.

Just yesterday…she had been fresh. Pretty. The girl of his dreams personified; the beauty of his heart personified. An angel in a summer dress, walking alone along the lonely beach, her long hair waving in the wind and her lips murmuring the words of an old ballad—a dream unto herself.

“Excuse me,” he had said, approaching her, “you look pretty—I mean, pretty familiar. Have I seen you in my dreams before?”

She had laughed, a chiming, youthful laugh. “Cheesy,” she assessed, “but you pull it off well.”

There were dates, dinners, dances—everything to pamper the romance of two young lovers as sugar sweetens coffee. Then, eventually, proposal, engagement and wedding.

Even now, the memory of that painfully breathtaking moment when he watched her come down the aisle towards him was sharp in his mind. It was a vision now in a different way that it was then—clothed in white, she resembled even more closely an angel, lying among the clouds, only she would be his angel, glowing, brilliant, loving, and then—

“I do,” he said. It was surreal.

“I do,” she said. The words themselves were smiles that graced her lips.

“When it’s this good,” someone said to them, “it’s got to be for good.”

And then came the honeymoon, the two happiest weeks of their lives. But neither were prepared for what came afterwards. The vows, after all, sealed a marriage, not a wedding.

“It was good at first,” he groaned, falling back onto the couch with his beer in hand. “She was good. We were good.”

It still echoed in his mind, how sweet the words—

“Honey, I’m home,” he would call evening after evening, tireless of the cliché that lingered over their threshold.

It seemed like a modern fairytale, the way he would come home after a long day of work to find his beautiful young wife preparing dinner for the two of them. The way they would sip a glass of red wine after dinner, just talking. The way they made love, the two of them perfect for each other. Their own little world.

“I couldn’t ask for more,” he mumbled, muffled by his arm, thrown over his face. “I didn’t ask for more.”

More came. She became pregnant.

It was a good thing, of course—they were both ecstatic when she found out, although neither of them had thought of it before. They started looking at maternity books, maternity clothes, even maternity food, and were beginning to think of names when tragedy struck.

He came home one day to find her huddled over in pain and tears, blood dripping down her legs like a scene from a horror movie. Her eyes when she looked up at him were brimming with despair, her hands cold and trembling as he pulled her up, shaken.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured to her on the way to the hospital. “You’re going to be okay.”

But she didn’t want to be okay—she wanted her baby to be okay, more than anything, and it was all she could think about as she lay awake in the darkness, consumed with guilt, sorrow and pain. They came like an avalanche, haunting her till shadows started forming under her eyes and she lost a frightful amount of weight.

“She changed. We changed.”

At first, it was little things like her wanting to stay at home more, refusing to go out for the dinner parties she used to relish. Then she would pull her hand out of his grasp at night, sometimes leaving the bedroom to sit, silent and staring, at the dinner table until he came down to coax her back to bed. There were some fights too—not many, but enough. He didn’t understand, she’d say. He didn’t feel the loss, although it was their baby. Yes, he would argue, rumpling up his hair in frustration, which was precisely why he did understand. But it was different for her, she would end up sobbing.

Finally, she had him move to the guest bedroom.

“It wasn’t right,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The bedroom didn’t feel right at all. The smell of it was different—stale, lonely, frosty…without her scent, her warmth next to him. Night after night of lying awake took its toll on both of them, and they barely talked any more.

But deep into the nights, he could hear her across the hall. Sobs and cries…for him. Almost deliriously, she called out to him, for him, in her sleep. Familiar to him were the sounds of her wrangling with the sheets as she tossed and turned, his name escaping her lips traitorously, each sob a cry of help.

Clear as it was, he didn’t want to hear. The walls between them had created, more than ever, a rift between them, and isolation was the strongest thing they knew. He realized that if he buried himself deep enough in his pillows, it was hard to hear her calls.

“Torture,” he cried, hurling a cushion across the room. “It was torture and we both felt it.”

At the end of it all, she had gone and left. It had all gone horribly wrong—somewhere in his heart, he knew that this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Maybe if they had tried harder, maybe if they had known what to do—

“Maybe this is just a nightmare,” he whispered to himself, holding his head between his hands. Maybe—

One day he would wake up, and she would still be lying there next to him, softly smiling, crooning the words of an old forgotten lullaby.

Stories of Songs: Heaven Is My Alibi

Stories of Songs is a series of my writings that are either based on or inspired by 1-2 lines from various songs. For this first one, it's inspired by Heaven is my Alibi by Michael Learns To Rock (MLTR), a song from their latest album Scandinavia. The line of inspiration is italicised underneath the song title.

The song and its lyrics fascinate me—the motif of space (e.g. heaven and stars) resonates not just throughout this song, but also throughout the album, such as in the songs Space Commander and briefly in Please Forgive Me. I wonder if there's a reason for that? But let's go on to the story.

Heaven is my Alibi

Turn us to dust between the stars, we’ll never be apart.

Her breathing was steady now, her chest rising and falling, gentle as the waves that crash upon a quiet shore. 

She had lived a quiet life.

Held firmly in his own, her hand was warm, but frail. He traced his fingers lightly over her papery skin, revising the lines of green and purple that strained against the surface, crying for help while she lay silently asleep.

“Would you like to rest in the lounge for the night, sir?” asked the nurse kindly as she came to draw the curtains. 

She asked the same question every night, and every night he gave the same smile and the same shake of his head, and said—

“I’m resting very well here, thank you.”

Where she rested was where he would wait.

He had waited for her before. Once, when they were young and dances were in fashion, he had invited her to a charity dance held the day after they first met, hoping to see her again. It was a warm summer’s night that evening of the dance, and he downed iced drink after iced drink as he waited for her to appear.

“She’s not coming, buddy,” said his friend sympathetically.

“Wanna dance?” teased a pretty girl as she flounced past his table.

“You know, the dance is going to end soon.”

“You might as well get one dance.”

Then, finally, with a flustered toss of a brown head, “I’m so sorry! Am I too late?” and they had one dance before the evening ended.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” she laughed as he walked her home.

“Oh, that was my best song,” he confessed. “You can’t judge by it, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Try dancing now,” she challenged, snatching up his hands into hers. “Right now, right here. I’ll prove that you can dance beautifully.”

Her laugh was infectious. He spun her around beneath the twinkling stars, swaying without rhythm to a silent song, turning and turning until they had turned the lonely street into a path of their careless joy, steeped in the depths of warm youth.

It was a good thing he had waited for her that night.

There was another time, too, when waiting had proven to be a happy course of action.

It was a winter’s night, and outside the world was cold, frozen sternly with the frostiness of the season. Inside, the heat was building up along with the chill—they were having their first fight. It was so arbitrary that he couldn't even remember what it had been about, but he did remember some parts—

Him walking out the door, slamming it remorselessly behind him as he trudged out into the cold.

Her sobbing behind the door, muffling with trembling hands her cries that reached his ears just the same.

He stamped down the relentless pavement, hands buried forcefully in his pockets as he kicked the thick snow away. There was nowhere to go, really, and after a while he found himself turning repentantly and heading back home. As he did so, he happened to look to the heavens, and found the white moon gazing down at him, her ethereal glow enveloping the stars around her in a comforting embrace.

Go on, she seemed to urge.

She was waiting for him, curled up by the fireplace with her cheek resting against her knees and a bowl of warm soup on the table.

This was what the stars must feel like then—only a loving, beautiful wife was a million times better.

That was all very long ago.

Now it was his turn to wait for her, as above them someplace better counted off the seconds they had left together. When she was gone, she would wait for him too. No, they had never been apart—they would never be apart. Death would tie the final knot, a vow-less ceremony that would reduce them to dust to meet forevermore in the place where stars dwelled, quiet and glimmering.

“I’m still waiting,” he murmured as he brought her still hand to his lips.