Last night, I was listening to a Christian rock station, as I’m wont to do, because sincerity is terrifying and beauty is nothing but the backwash of terror. (That, and the banal certainty of their discussions of what will happen when things go rapturous, an assuredness that can’t quite explain why the truth about the specific guise in which the Antichrist will reveal himself – hint: from arid regions, albeit ones that also have advanced social democracy and scalable sodomy – is nevertheless relegated to self-publishing.)
On said station, I heard an actually beautiful act: coming off a carefully non-exciting exhaltation to take Him into your heart, they played U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” In other words, they hijacked it into being the inspirational, insipid Christian rock song it’s always been. It’s a flawless instance of sabotage. Not adding anything, not ruining, not changing the words, mashing-up, chopping, looping, or screwing, just performing the minor act of misplacement to reveal the rancid slurry there from the get-go. The pious mediocrity and accompanying monomania. The fact that it sounds like the soundtrack for a car commerical that involves horses running across the tundra with steam curling softly from dappled nostril, whether or not such a commercial exists. The toxicity of grandeur, like guitars come over the horizon, probably on the aforementioned horses. The pre-Scott Stapp throating tossed up an octave or three. Above all, the actually Christological tenor of what borrows the trappings of Christ to get laid, conning not just the intended target of its sentiment but also the run-arounds that make up what gets called, bit tongue hidden from cheek, spiritual.
Here’s to the small step, of our enemies – Christians, pseudo-humanitarian liberals who defend Monsanto – helping consolidate all our enemies into one congealed, spiteful, and guillotinable mass of lame.