“Blood” is a tricky one. It’s often sincerely labelled a “funeral song”, and though I think people mean well, it does “Blood” a disservice. “Blood” is a song of death, and not necessarily a song of remembrance, like a good funeral song should be. “Blood”, like any decent death song, is a song of finding peace. Tying together three separate familial fallouts in a dual harmony, the song is a positively relentless chase of the stillness that follows a storm. If you’re going to build allegories of love and life here, I’ll let you.
I know when I first heard this song, I imagined it to be one of the quietest songs of love. I also happen to think cemeteries are the place to really see love, so what do I know? When I’d been reading up on this song, I came across comments of memories. Memories of dead parents, dead friends, dead grandparents, dead lovers, all dead. It was rather morbid in a way, but also uplifting in the way that only memories of the past can be.
In those, it’s always days of sunshine, blue skies, laughter, and togetherness. If I were you, I’d hold on to that for as long you can, because if you’re to believe The Middle East, someday soon you will die. Going out in flourishes, hand claps, chimes and girl-boy harmonies, no less.
The Middle East disbanded in 2011 and we’re all worse for it.
Image by Jacob Walti