#442: The Weeknd, ‘Beauty Behind the Madness’
XO, 2015
Every once in a while, I listen to an album that dissolves the doors that keeps the feelings attached to memories locked up in my mind. The first ten seconds of the song melt the memory down through my veins into each limb. The gooey paste that once sealed shut these memory doors oozes down to my chest, sticking to the top of my heart.
As I inhale and exhale slowly through my nose and out my mouth, the paste dissolves, the clog is unplugged and I am able to breathe again.
Then the chorus comes. The goo gets stuck again. It piles up on my chest, pushing down out of step against my heartbeat.
I inhale and exhale.
Slowly in.
Pause.
Slowly out.
Pause.
I am brought back to an industrial kitchen. I am wearing my catering clothes. I am 23 years old. I am the only girl in the warehouse. I don’t know the two boys who are searching frantically for a cord to hook their phones up to the speakers. They both remove their white dress shirts and reveal sweat-stained white tees. One boy with a shaved head finally gets the right cord and he plays this album, The Weeknd, ‘Beauty Behind The Madness.’
It is loud. I don’t know what my job is. So I just stand there trying to figure out who is singing. The voice crawls towards 80s Michael Jackson tones and then he walks it back and does some whisper singing.
All of the songs are dark and stressful to me.
I hated that catering job. I hated that I was always the new person and that it felt like everyone was named Craig.
I hated that I was so broke. I was barely affording rent, I couldn’t find a job with my sociology degree and my mom had to buy my catering uniform for me.
There were long hours serving newly minted Utah tech kings who treated the staff like Dickensian paupers.
I was transitioning out of an unhealthy relationship, against my will, and my heart was broken. I was directionless. Alone. Scared. Stressed. Broke. And sick with my chronic illness.
Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Pause.
I remember just grabbing bowls and spoons and pretending to dry them off even though they had probably been on that drying rack for the past week. Anything to avoid more small talk at 3 am.
This album kept playing and those two boys kept singing along to it.
This was the album that featured the 50 Shades of Grey theme which would haunt all of us for the next two years. Did radio DJs collectively decide to forever play this thing? Gosh. This was the album that reminded us all that having a toxic relationship is supposed to be “sexy.” That being unhealthy and codependent and treating your partner like a drug is “romantic.”
Now forever when any of these songs play, I return to that kitchen. I return to that feeling of desperation, working 15-hour days at two jobs and being paid less than minimum wage.
Nothing has broken my will to live more than working so hard and still not making enough to pay my very cheap rent.
Things did work out. I did find direction and peace and joy. I am still afraid of small talk but I can hold my ground with classist sales guys and I now have the words for when people dismiss class struggle.
Top songs: Real Life, Losers, Prisoner, Shameless, Tell Your Friends