I hadn’t planned on checking in again so soon — I know all eight of my readers are still hungrily digesting the many layers of last week’s post — but in light of the sad, surprising news yesterday of Anthony Bourdain’s passing, it felt somewhat necessary. It’s the second time in less than a month I’ve found myself dealing with the loss of someone whose work I really respected and enjoyed. Who was incredibly talented, loved by thousands worldwide, and seemingly doing great, both professionally and personally. Who was funny, charming, and who’d survived rocky moments in their past and come out stronger and wiser on the other side. Who I found parallels to in myself in terms of personality and approach to life and who part of me wished I could become. And yet unfortunately for the second time in less than a month, none of those things mattered as this person ultimately felt so alone or overwhelmed by their demons that they took their own lives.
Which leaves the rest of us to sit stunned, searching for reasons why or ways to have detected and stopped it. You listen to the music or read the words or watch the footage looking for clues. You try to square the surface appearance with the subterranean turmoil and struggle when there’s no success. You search for reason in the unreasonable, sense in the senseless. And mostly you feel the loss — of a life gone too soon, of a talent that will provide no further offerings, and of an inspirational voice and spirit that will no longer rage against ignorance, intolerance, or the dying of the light.
And that’s the cruelest part, the one that will take the longest to scar over. If Scott Hutchison was the sentimental side of Sunshine, Bourdain was the snarky cerebral one. The one that loved food and the simple pleasures of preparing it for others, that loved learning about new places and people, that loved music, liquor, and the dark, dingy scene where those two so often mingle. He hated pretension, self-importance, and stupidity, and especially loathed the people who showcase or embrace all three. He seemed like the guy you’d love to be stuck in an enclosed space with, be it plane, train, or even an elevator between floors. He just seemed like someone you’d like to get to know — or already sort of did, thanks to his unvarnished books, shows, and interviews. (He also looked pretty similar to my old man, which I’m sure subconsciously heightened the connection.)
And yet — this person still felt like they couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t find the happiness or quiet they needed to get through the night. Couldn’t find that reason to keep trudging forward and trying to do better tomorrow. And so for the second time in less than a month, we find ourselves here. In a week where famed designer Kate Spade also took her own life. Where the CDC released their shocking report on the issue, which notes at least 45,000 Americans die by suicide each year, over half of whom have never shown signs of depression or mental illness. And where another famous artist released a much anticipated EP (I’m not calling something with seven songs and a 24 minute duration an album) almost exclusively about his mental illness.
One whose first track is titled “I Thought About Killing You” and talks about killing both himself and others. Whose cover says “I hate being bi-polar it’s awesome” and whose other tracks reference his bipolarity as his “superpower.” Which, like the rest of the EP-not-album, is both good and bad. The EP-not-album is ye and the artist is, of course, the relentlessly frustrating Kanye West. An undeniably talented person, one who has shown up on multiple year end lists here, and also a person whose narcissistic, at times odious personality gets in the way of that. He also happens to be someone who has had very public struggles with mental illness recently, canceling his sold-out 2016 tour after several on stage meltdowns that ultimately led to his hospitalization.
In this aspect West represents the other side of the coin, the person/icon whose struggles are well-known, in almost excruciating detail. If Hutchison and Bourdain suffered in silence (at least to outsiders like us), West suffers in plain sight, trumpeting his tribulations to the stratosphere, which as I mentioned before is both a good and bad thing. The good part is that he talks so openly about his illness and his struggles. Despite its brevity, West manages to talk about feelings of suicide and harming others, feelings of fear and overwhelming, and feeling that his illness is actually a strength and the source of his brilliance here. Bringing these thoughts, feelings, and conditions into the open and talking about them both removes the stigma around them and highlights how common some/all of them are, which is critical to breaking out of this horrible cycle.
The bad part is how flippant he is about it, celebrating his diagnosis while simultaneously using it as a defense, if not an outright discounting, for the worst of his actions. On tracks like “Yikes” and “Wouldn’t Leave” he references the recent outcry he caused in the news and talks lovingly about his wife’s not leaving him as a result, offering an almost “bros will be bros — I shoulda listened to my wife” rationale. Unfortunately what he’s glossing over were incredibly tone deaf and hurtful comments about slavery being a choice, the #Metoo movement, and defenses of the President’s worst impulses and actions that sparked the uproar in the first place. To use his illness as an excuse for things like this is cheap, inaccurate, and distracts from getting people the help they need. (It also ignores the thousands of people who suffer with this and DON’T do morally/socially repugnant things…)
The rest of the EP-not-album walks a similar line between good and bad, sometimes in the same song — the front half of the opening track is an unvarnished, rather alarming cry for help with West detailing his suicidal/homicidal thoughts, while the back half is a catchy, compelling little trap banger. Tracks like “All Mine” have some of West’s best recent lines (“I love your titties cuz they prove I can focus on two things at once”) and worst (“None of us would be here without cum”). Tracks like “Ghost Town” have great new samples and expansions of West’s soulful style, while also blatantly recycling snippets from his previous work. (The chorus/outro from “Runaway,” for one.) And tracks like “Violent Crimes” and “Wouldn’t Leave” take honest, heartfelt sentiments (love of a daughter and wife, respectively) and taints them with clumsy, clueless, and/or cringe-worthy comments. (In the case of “Crimes” West explores (somewhat uncomfortably) his daughter’s growing up and highlights his new understanding that women are to be nurtured and not conquered, both of which leave you asking “what the fuck, dude?”)
The EP-not-album perfectly reflects the mind of the person who made it, showing the rough edges and almost chaotic sensibility alongside some characteristic brilliance (caveats aside, “Yikes” and “Ghost Town are pretty fantastic, and the rest of the tracks have grown on me over the course of repeated listens this week), its warts and winners duality serving as a solid sonic example of its author’s bipolarity. Which gets back to the central question of what are we to do with people who are suffering like this to get them the help they need? Whether it’s people like West with his in your face struggles or those like Hutchison and Bourdain who fall in the other half of the population, potentially showing no signs at all despite grappling with the same feelings.
There’s hotlines and help groups and those are wonderful, critical things. There’s also a piece that falls to us, though — to be more aware of those around us and how our words/actions affect them. To ask more questions and listen to the answers instead of talking at or over people. To live up to slogans like “Do Unto Others” and “If You See Something, Say (/Do) Something.” And just generally to give a shit about the people passing their days in your town/country/planet. Remember that for every soft-spoken sweetheart like Scott Hutchison there’s a loudmouthed narcissist like Kanye West — both people can deliver brilliant, beautiful things and still be dealing with demons and therefore need your help. So channel your inner Bourdain — be curious, be kind, and learn about those around you, so maybe one day we won’t find ourselves here quite so often: struggling to explain the inexplicable and the loss of another individual who felt they had nothing left to live for.
–BS