Borderlands // Vitalogy

I write in red. Ink. Intimately knowing the smooth touch of paper, its speechlessness before I spill myself on the insides of trees.

—Gloria Anzuldúa Borderlands

One of the reasons I enjoy chapter 6 so much is because it investigates the roles of art in different communities. Anzuldúa contrasts that role of art in western culture with the role of art in tribal and indigenous cultures. Peter noted how her argument is perched on a rather slippery slope, considering art is rather objective in the first place. Mary made the connection between Western culture’s objectification of art with the objectification of women. In any case, I definitely enjoy the examination of art found in the first half of this chapter.

Anzuldúa then goes on to discuss the process of making art. For Anzuldúa, writing is a personal act that involves quite a range of emotions. She admits that the process of writing is often uncomfortable; it "produces anxiety" as she is "looking inside [herself] and [her] experience, looking at [her] conflicts" (94). One element of this anxiety involves boundaries, a concept woven in and out throughout the entire text. On one hand, the process of writing involves "a lot of squirming, coming up against all sorts of walls" (94). Or, as she continues, writing is the "opposite: nothing defined or definite, a boundless, floating state of limbo where I kick my heels, brood, percolate, hibernate and wait for something to happen" (94). So the act of writing itself becomes a metaphor for life in the border lands. It's "an endless cycle of making it worse, making it better, but always making meaning out of the experience, whatever it may be" (95).

And if writing is to truly be transformative, that is, if writing, if art, can have the power to change, enlighten and transform the soul, then, Anzuldúa says, it must arise from both the human body and the earth's body; "From only through the body, through the pulling of flesh, can the soul be transformed" (95). 

Art and Nature unified.

This pulling of flesh, however, is not without sacrifice from the author. It's as though Anzuldúa is tearing herself apart in the name of creation, an "Aztecan blood sacrifice" (97). And if what Anzuldúa is saying is somewhat true, if art can have the power to profoundly affect someone or a group of someones, a community, then the process not only involves the act of creating (by the artist) but also the process of receiving (by the audience). And that the act of receiving, then, must inherently involve some kind of work similar, some kind of sacrifice. I think this is what Anzuldúa meant earlier in the chapter when she talked about how non-western art "spins its energies between the gods and humans" as it aims to "validate humans" (89). When we, as audience members, experience the "pulling of flesh" from a piece of art, it surely must be validating us, our experiences.

For me, the pulling of flesh has been, the transformative power of art has been felt most in music. I wrote in thick black ink Vitalogy at the end of this chapter. Here is a blip I wrote about that record for a project I'm working on. Hopefully it will add some context as to why I feel that album was Pearl Jam's "Aztecan blood sacrifice."

Life is not a collection of greatest hits or radio friendly singles. It’s a single groove that winds through everything—“Corduroy” as well as “Pry, to.” I take the good with the bad. In the end, it’s the only way to truly appreciate life, or a musician, for that matter. So maybe some of my favorite songs are not that great without the context that makes them so special to me. Maybe “Corduroy” isn’t as good without “Pry, To” before it to pave the way and build suspense for its opening riff. Maybe ‘Bugs’ is worthless without knowing anything about the band’s feelings towards society. Maybe ‘Betterman’ is garbage (She loved him, she don’t want to leave this way. She feeds, him, that’s why she’ll be back again) without the plea of “Nothingman” 6 tracks earlier (She won’t feed him after he’s gone away). In so many other ways, the album works just like this. I have always said that, in some respects, this album was an aural Christ. The band had torn themselves apart, sacrifice, to make something for the rest of us to enjoy. Here I have found god. There is where the energy is spun, between this god I have found and the humanity down here, listening. There isn’t a way this band could have produced this album before or after. A confluence—events travelling for decades to arrive, collide and resolve in the space of 14 songs. Each song works with the other 13 to tell a story. Not all of the songs are perfect. But the album is. And it is because of its imperfections. The context of each song, the role that each song plays, makes the whole perfect.

A lot of Pearl Jam fans claim that Vitalogy is their least favorite album. They think it to be garbage hastily put together. They feel the band wasn’t good enough to make a complete album so they had to include these four ‘filler’ tracks to round out the record. They find it to be a desperate and failing attempt at making a record. But let’s get one thing clear: there is not a more authentic Pearl Jam album than this one. It is the most personal album of theirs. It certainly is desperate and in so many ways. Desperate to fulfill the demands of a record company. Desperate to address the successes of “Ten” and “Vs.” Desperate to recede from fame. Desperate to make sense of fallen contemporaries. Desperate to be heard and not misunderstood. Desperate to be innovative. There is a sense, a feeling, palpable and visceral, of desperation—sometimes angry, sometimes frustrated, sometimes resigned, but always genuine—on each track.

The lyrics, the music, they make this desperation very clear. The band hides nothing on this album. This is Pearl Jam at their most honest. From the ephemeral, self-immolating “Last Exit” to the last gasp of “Immortality,” Eddie sheds his skin, at last, over the course of 14 songs to tell a story of fear, anxiety, frustration, dread and desire behind a more mature lyric, the personal contents of which are balanced by a raw grit (musically and vocally) that conveys the urgency of not only 5 guys in a band, but an entire country drifting by the storm. And so it is that the filler tracks become very necessary. Vitalogy depends on them. There is no record without them. When I stand naked in front of a mirror, there are things I don’t like looking at. There’s an ugliness. But I am what I am: the good, the bad and the ugly. The album is similarly honest—a band standing naked in front of millions of people—fans and critics alike—with songs like “Corduroy” and “Not For You” alongside songs like “Bugs” and “Heyfoxymophandlemama, That’s Me.” It’s a twisted, mangled mess of emotion and middle fingers. But it’s honest. After all, the title means “study of life.” And what is life without its imperfect nuances? In so many ways, this album was Pearl Jam’s last exit; they would never be the same after. A swan song singing to anyone willing to listen.

As an audience I think we too often feel entitled to our expectations of perfection. I know I am guilty of just that. In many ways, I’ve waited for Pearl Jam to make a Vitalogy II. But, as I’ve stated (or will state), that album existed in its own time and place, a confluence of contexts various that, simply put, will never again be possible. And let’s face it, sequels are never very good anyway. But as a fan, I’ve always somewhat anticipated a sequel instead of appreciating whatever the band was focusing on and creating in the present. We have to break ourselves of these kinds of expectations; they are inhibitive. Musicians are people, yes, some of them more gifted (as far as music goes) than others. But they are still people, experimenting with ideas. And, at the end of the day, some of these ideas become more successful than others. But that doesn’t mean we can dismiss anything short of our expectations as a failure. Instead, we should embrace the creative process, the possibility of failure, and find ways to appreciate an entire body of work, not just the masterpieces. I’m not sure one is really able to exist without the other, anyway. Anything else, I feel, would be to close off potential opportunities that would have been impossible to foresee.