I read Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar the summer I was sixteen, in the middle of an August heat wave while suffering a bad case of strep throat—metaphysically wasted and feverish and deeply moved. This song reminds me of her, y’know? I apologized to her as she lay open in my lap; I’m sorry for the world, you were too wonderful for it. I think I still hold that sentiment.
She was a wonderful illustrator, as well—neat black inkings of messy scenes and mundane objects; a junk heap, a discarded pair of kitten heels, a grazing cow.
I have one of her works on my arm, a french wine bottle corked with a burnt out candle. “Melancholy Man” is for the Plaths we miss, and the Cobains, the Elliot Smiths and the Virginia Woolfs—parasocial grief, maybe, but genuine nonetheless. Sympathy pains.
And when no hope was left inside,
All that stardust fell and packed
You took your life, as lovers often do
But I could have told you this, too
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
(As beautiful as you, my melancholy man)
I could tell you about the beautiful, light and seemingly endless guitar track, or the ascending synthesizers, or the breathy sincerity in leading man Caesar McNulty’s voice—but you can find all that yourself when you listen, on the bus, in your car, on the sidewalk coming down off a hill. Enjoy.