I Have a Trance

CRIT
05-05-02022

It's Monday evening & I’m running a four-miler along the urban aqueducts that crisscross PHX. I’m in motion, in sunshine, racing plastic bottles floating down duct; the usual euphoria is ebbing in.

There’s a duck in the duct, resting on a half-submerged shopping cart; a chunk of carpet stuck to the handle is undulating hypnotically in the current.

And I am listening to 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝'𝕤 2021 EDM track, 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖.

Someone is preaching in my ear, repeating a cringe-worthy affirmation . . .

“ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!”

“ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!”

“ᴡᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ!”

And the power is more powerful than cringe⁽ᶜʳⁱⁿᵍᵉ*⁾. The sacred first principle–the 𝖔𝖒𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘 called love–has based itself in the profanity of trancey techno sounds.

This 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝 banger has broken, through trance, the trance of modernity. The often easier road of doom and gloom has been artfully dodged; my nation has been momentarily shocked by the power of love.

And all at once, the Godhead is floating down the aqueduct in the form of a plastic bottle. The duck on its shopping cart throne is at rest in holy enterprise; an animal finding peace in the world available to it. So am I, running past abandoned tarp shelters and vaulting discarded lawnmowers, an animal finding peace in what is, loving what is ⁽ᶜʳⁱⁿᵍᵉ*⁾.

I am writing my review of EDM & Trance music, or rather, I am re-viewing Trance. I’m revering it as the dissolver of the false duality of the sacred and the profane, or its more modern maybe/moniker the based and the cringe. It seems like trance has made a resurgence of late, but since the age of 12, it has never left me.

Why? Because it is ＢＡＳＥＤ as hell.

Ah, ＢＡＳＥＤ. The term du’jour for being unapologetically & courageously yourself. I’ll skip a deep dive, it’s outta my depth. I’m concerned with where ＢＡＳＥＤ is, not where it came from. I’ll clarify one thing though, because it’s tempting to synonymize it with contrarianism. I don’t think that's correct. ＢＡＳＥＤ can be contrarian, but contrarianism is not inherently ＢＡＳＥＤ. ＢＡＳＥＤ is based on a personal truth, which can be contrarian, or normative, or neither. Contrarianism gets noticed; it gets flexed by those who want to be noticed, not honest, not ＢＡＳＥＤ. I think ＢＡＳＥＤ is at its most sacred when it stays honest; honest and u͓̽n͓̽d͓̽e͓̽r͓̽g͓̽r͓̽o͓̽u͓̽n͓̽d͓̽.

Trance is in vogue, but it started underground, where it held a sacred love of living ⁽ᶜʳⁱⁿᵍᵉ*⁾ in a safe house, shrouded in profane mist, shielded from uninitiated cynics by its own ‘cringe-worthy’ sentimentality & Jnco Jeans (which are also back in style).

Cringe, on the flip, is what triggers my recoil. I’m going to borrow a definition I rez from Nathan Sloan’s article, Beyond Based and Cringe: “Technically an abbreviation of ‘cringeworthy,’ the specialized usage of the term in these environments tended to describe an overly-sincere naïveté.”

It is “overly-sincere naïveté” that the environment of Trance & EDM has used to veil a sincerity that allows it to expound capital L Love in the darkest of days. From this I don’t recoil.

The track that sprung this reviewing into motion was 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖, by 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝. It was not lightly done, to name this track after the garden in which 𝕵𝖊𝖘𝖚𝖘 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙 contemplated his impending crucifixion . . .

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖎𝖒 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓, 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖎𝖒.

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓𝖞 𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖞: 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖙 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉.

(𝕷𝖀𝕶𝕰 43-44)

And 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕝'𝕤 song strengthens me.

And I’m not a Christian, and I’m not becoming one. I throw all that pious stuff down just to lay the ley line; to underscore that 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝔾𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕖 is holy shit. There is a striving in this track, and in this style of Trance, for Christ-consciousness, for the Ātman, for the Godhead. It’s based in that ol’ time religion, like real ol’ though, ol’ as ⁽ᶜʳⁱⁿᵍᵉ*⁾ love.

Trance & EDM give me the holy connection that organized religion promised. But organized religion is lousy with over-coding, interlocutors, and extra steps. In Trance, I've found a more personally sustainable through line to love. In the midst of ever accessible existential anxiety and this hum-drum zero-sum race to the grave, I can touch a love of what is, and a love for all fellow humans ⁽ᶜʳⁱⁿᵍᵉ*⁾. I’m seeking for nothing different than 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙 in that dark garden. Occasionally, I find it.

*𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓌 I’m feeling connected. I’m playing 𝔼𝕧𝕚𝕒𝕟 ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥 now. The track is 𝔾𝕠𝕕.

"ɢᴏᴅ ɪꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅʀᴜɢ"

"ɪ'ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ, ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ"

"ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ʟɪɢʜᴛ"

"ᴛᴜʀɴ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ"

The 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝕲𝖔𝖉? Maybe … don’t care. Too sentimental? Maybe … don’t care.

And I’ll quote Nathan Sloan’s piece again . . .

“Christ leans into the emotionality that marks much of Trance as ingenuous and escapist. Recognizing what is ‘cringe’ about Trance, he brings this facet of the genre to its logical conclusion. In this way, by acknowledging and embracing cringe, there arises the possibility of becoming based.”

𝓑𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓞 𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮!

Because I can’t be alone. Are you, dear reader, not on your own search for deep connection to the sacredness of this world? Do you not cringe at your judgments & cynicism? Do you not long to leave them behind? Is there not some part of you that sings & screams, “We’re all on the same fucking team. Why all this alienating toil?”

I feel all this, and I run, and I put 𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕠 ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕩'𝕤 track ℂ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕩 on repeat . . .

“ᴛɪʟ ᴍʏ ꜱᴏᴜʟ'ꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ”

“ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀʏ”

“ᴛɪʟ ᴍʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʀᴜɴꜱ ᴅʀʏ”

“ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʜɪɢʜ”

“ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ”

“ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ”

“ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ”

And I go to a warehouse and dance in the good tidings the LED-clad. I go, following the allure that might bring me to a church: to find connection; honest, sacred, ＢＡＳＥＤ connection.

I didn't know all this high theory till recently. I was listening to Trance & EDM like I listen to that intuitive tug toward sacred alliance with the collective human project of living. I like feeling that I can–we can–shock this nation; shock it out of property, precarity, political subjugation, with the power of our collective love.

And this is how I felt in a parking lot in Oakland in 2010 with a 𝕄𝕠𝕓𝕪 song belting from a bike-trailer-speaker setup:

“ɪ’ᴍ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʀᴇᴇᴇᴇᴀʟ”

“ɪ’ᴍ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʀᴇᴇᴇᴇᴀʟ”

“ɪ’ᴍ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ʀᴇᴇᴇᴇᴀʟ”

Soon, cops would roll the rave, and I would mash out on a fixed gear bike in good company, feeling oh so real. Feeling sacred, in violation of a profane state control apparatus fucking with my good time, ＢＡＳＥＤ before I knew of such a term.

And this is how I felt in 2021, blasting out of Cali through dark desert in a loaded ᴜʜᴀᴜʟ™ . A flight from fire season & a dooming cost of living with the ℂ𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤 blasting through blown out speakers.

“ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ”

“ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ”

“ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ”

“ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ”

And the darkness does disappear. Melting into the glowing green LEDs of the dashboard lights, as I fly, feeling sure, toward neon futures. Whole and connected to the holy vocation of life.

Up to now, in the moments of my re-viewing, I’ve been stone-cold sober. My lived experience bears minimal resemblance to the pill-driven hedonistic fuck-for-all narrative of rave culture. I feel that this is yet another cringe smokescreen that this humanitarian music leverages. I hope to see the day when that smokescreen can lift.

And, more recently, the drugs are a part of it for me. But that is another essay. For now, I’ll say that they shown be how to better stay in love. I won't forget those ways, I can’t. I can find my way back to them with music, dance, motion, nature, human connection, in lieu of the drug. And when I am in my tragedy, I can’t fully surrender because I remember . . .

"ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇꜱ"

I’m running again. Toward no thing but self. The duck is on his cart throne and 𝕀 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 (𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕩) is in my ears.

"ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇꜱ"

"ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴅ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴ ꜱʜᴇᴅꜱ"

"ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴅꜱ ᴏɴ ꜱᴛᴇᴅꜱ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅꜱ"

"ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ʙʏ ᴛᴡᴏ ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴜɴᴋ ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ"

"ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀᴇʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙʟᴏᴋᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ"

"ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴛɪʟ ᴅᴀʏ"

"ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴅᴇꜱ"

"ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴘʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɢʀɪᴘᴇꜱ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀᴄʜɪʟʟᴇꜱ"

"ᴡʜᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ꜰɪɢʜᴛꜱ"

"ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ?"

"ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴅɪᴅ, ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ"

"ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇ"