Another rough draft, but this one is for the next thing that I’ll publish on From Somewhere out the Back. After getting dumped, the piece on “Neal and Jack and Me” seemed to gain a new context by shaping the two pieces that’ll come after it, with the below being one and another, also on a song, following soon after. Writing has been a struggle, and most of the time spent on this draft was getting to a point where I could put words down.

There’s potential in the below, and it’s time to start editing to help bring that forward.

I hope you enjoy.

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“Gigantium” is a big song. Perhaps… gigantic, even. It’s got big riffs, big drums, big vocals, but more importantly, big emotions. Stuff in there about regret, loss, grief, pain… all the fun things. The song travels slowly, letting its sound sink in, and it is, in a way, very singular, and that’s probably the point.

“Gigantium starts with a drum roll and then moves into its slow, driving motion. It’s already expansive, seemingly constantly growing from a singular moment into an overwhelming wideness. Vocals call out, seemingly strained, seemingly full and strong. Words about wanting to escape from Brann Dailor, which leads to Troy Sanders responding in the chorus in a much calmer voice, almost concerned and worried, and trying to comfort and support. Providing warning.

In that section the song seems to slow a little, take some breathing space. After the first repeat and expanding upon, a solo that seems almost broken, almost like an alarm comes forward, and the vamp continues on.

“Gigantium” is standard Mastodon fare, but it’s also very much not. It’s heavy, overwhelming, intense, but it’s incredibly gentle, and it remains as such after the second main drum roll which leads to the second half of the song, or rather, the second part.

Here melody increases by a significant amount. It moves more toward comfort, perhaps, and Brann keeps singing. “My love, so strong”, and it just hurts. It hurts so much and so bad, and I want to cry when I hear it, because this is a release and acknowledgement. This feels much like an uplifting moment, and it’s all sorts of beautiful.

The second solo comes in and, at first it feels a bit random. It starts slow and then moves into a little bit of shredding, but in reflection it’s really fitting. Everything stays driving, simple, letting the emotions come forward and that solo just builds on and expands, and it all keeps going. When the solo ends, the strings that had joined earlier become apparent. They draw out the last of the mood as they shrink away, and it’s such a moment. The whole song is, really. It has heaviness; it has emotional weight, but it sounds like the band choosing to keep living and to keep on striving to support each other and the people they care about.

Recently I was dumped. Eight years, and I won’t go into it too much. There are problems on both sides, and I think they can be resolved. She doesn’t. It didn’t come at a good time. Never does, really. My job contract is coming to an end and I don’t have much longer to get another one. If I don’t have money coming in soon, I don’t have a place to live. It’s a tough time.

When I first heard “Gigantium” a few weeks ago, I switched it off after hearing a brief snippet. I felt a strong “This isn’t my thing” thing. Something got me to go back to it, listened. Thought it was okay. Listened again. Soon it was on repeat quite a bit. It touched something inside. There was something about it that was getting close to that long stare, where you feel gobsmacked, overwhelmed and you ache, but there’s something positive about it too. There’s something beautiful and comforting, in accepting the pain.

After getting dumped I figured it’d be the song. You know, the one that hits so hard when you’re going through shit. To me it seemed like the timing was apt. Spun it. Felt nothing. It’s just another song.

Now admittedly the why of what Mastodon explore on that song is different to the why of how I’m feeling at the moment, and maybe that’s the reason, but I know I should be feeling something from this song and I’m not. It’s not there. I still think highly of it, but I’m not getting anything from it, and I know I should. I could go back to “Finding You”, which was the song during my last getting dumped eleven years ago, but that doesn’t seem like a good idea.

I did try it though. Didn’t feel anything.

I’m not numb. I’m feeling all the hurt and grief. But I’m feeling nothing at the same time. Maybe it’s Lianne La Havas’ cover of “Weird Fishes”, which I’d argue is better than the original, as much as that might be cause for disagreement. I was sitting in Ewe’s bar room and played it for him, and that made me feel something, but that’s not “Gigantium”.

What I know about “Gigantium” is that I’m going to keep trying to see where it takes me, because even if I’m not feeling anything from it, there’s still something about it that draws me in, and maybe I don’t have to be getting something from it right now. Maybe that can happen later, if it does at all.

But it’s still a song that appeals to me, and even though it’s not about what I’m going through, it’s still nice to know it’s there. And, perhaps I know why.

The thing about “Gigantium” is it does feel quite sad, but by golly it feels uplifting too. It’s one of those big moments that pulls at the heart, and it feels celebratory of friendship. Of bonds, and maybe it is, and that’s why it’s so appealing.

In this whole upending of my life, and dealing with being dumped whilst looking for another job before my current contract runs out, lest I now end up homeless, I’ve had so much support from my friends, and I’m so lucky to have them in my life. Some of us have gone through periods of silence, and we’ve made up. We recognise the issues between us and we keep going. I’ve gotten lucky to have these people who have stuck by me. These people have had my back for a long time, and helped me through some tough stuff, and I’ve been able to keep on going when I’ve needed them.

So I’m not getting the feeling from “Gigantium” that I thought it would give me, and it makes me feel a little sad in other ways. But I hear it, and I think of my friends, and knowing that they’ve got my back makes me feel like it’s all going to be okay, or at least helps me keep going right now.