Keep the Faith
Group Effort
Music is not composed solely by one person. Creating music – true, live music – is an art form expressed by various people. A track is not just the singer's voice; it is not just the words and lyrics sung at a pretty little rhythm. There's the steady bass throbbing in the background; the drums pounding and cymbals crashing. It's the steady rhythm of one guitar and the dulcet melodies of another. Just because the most noticeable aspect in the music is the voice rising above the rest does not mean the rest must be shunned. "Solo artists" aren't even alone; there are always people in the shadows: people that strive to make everything as near perfect as it can possibly be.
A band does not consist solely of the front man. A band is not just one face, one voice, one soul. A band is a group, a collaborative effort made by various people working for one thing: the music. Unfortunately, many people don't realize that the black-haired man spilling his guts on stage each night isn't the only entity in the band. They don't see the men, the grown men sweating and straining themselves behind the scenes. They just don't see how much the other four men work, how they give the band, as a whole, their own.
They don't see because they need a hero. They need a solitary figure they can place on a throne, on a pedestal. It's too flimsy to hold the weight of anyone else. They have selected their victim, the soul they will feed off until he is merely a ravaged mess of bones, picked clean by their ravenous hands. The band as a whole would fall apart. They would fall apart. But the other men would still be there. They would remain there, instruments in hand, continuing to do what they loved, continuing to make music. They could go on to other things, continue to fulfill their dreams.
Would anyone remember them? Would anyone remember the broken men in the shadows, the men that had suffered just as much as their savior? Alas, everyone seems to have already forgotten their role, their pasts. The bands would have never happened, no one would have ever gotten to know that hazel-eyed front man the way they did, had the other men not been there all along the way, had they not accepted the offer to create a band, a piece of art. Their precious savior would have been just another man on the streets, an insignificant passerby to some or perhaps even nothing at all.
The others are suffering too. Abuse doesn't affect just one person: it affects everything around them. It works as a disease, infiltrating the system's defenses and destroying everything it can touch, everything it can pervade. Every malicious word deals them a blow as well. Every lie, every vicious rumor strikes a chord deep in their hearts. They can feel too; they can be hurt as well. They aren't robots, programmed for a specific task and nothing more. They are complex beings, more than capable of thought and feeling.
But it appears as though all the ravenous crowd sees are extras: insignificant characters in a movie, brought in to do one job and one job alone. That is as far from the truth as can be found. They are the vital organs, the ones that hold up the body and make it work. The brain is not the only vital organ and the heart does not work on its own. There are other components that work to fabric this one entity, this one persona. At times it appears the other vital members will never be acknowledged for the work they put through. Sometimes it seems maybe even that doesn't matter.
What matters is that they are there and, although they may sometimes be deprived of the recognition they wholeheartedly deserve, it'll be alright. Because when the lights dim and the crowd disperses – when the last note fades and the arena is empty – the will be there. They will be the ones to pull through, the ones to give help and save lives because it has always been their mission too. They'll be there providing structure, providing warmth and safety, with the music they developed. They are the hidden heroes in the shadows, out of the limelight but always there: saviors in their own way.
A band does not consist solely of the front man. A band is not just one face, one voice, one soul. A band is a group, a collaborative effort made by various people working for one thing: the music. Unfortunately, many people don't realize that the black-haired man spilling his guts on stage each night isn't the only entity in the band. They don't see the men, the grown men sweating and straining themselves behind the scenes. They just don't see how much the other four men work, how they give the band, as a whole, their own.
They don't see because they need a hero. They need a solitary figure they can place on a throne, on a pedestal. It's too flimsy to hold the weight of anyone else. They have selected their victim, the soul they will feed off until he is merely a ravaged mess of bones, picked clean by their ravenous hands. The band as a whole would fall apart. They would fall apart. But the other men would still be there. They would remain there, instruments in hand, continuing to do what they loved, continuing to make music. They could go on to other things, continue to fulfill their dreams.
Would anyone remember them? Would anyone remember the broken men in the shadows, the men that had suffered just as much as their savior? Alas, everyone seems to have already forgotten their role, their pasts. The bands would have never happened, no one would have ever gotten to know that hazel-eyed front man the way they did, had the other men not been there all along the way, had they not accepted the offer to create a band, a piece of art. Their precious savior would have been just another man on the streets, an insignificant passerby to some or perhaps even nothing at all.
The others are suffering too. Abuse doesn't affect just one person: it affects everything around them. It works as a disease, infiltrating the system's defenses and destroying everything it can touch, everything it can pervade. Every malicious word deals them a blow as well. Every lie, every vicious rumor strikes a chord deep in their hearts. They can feel too; they can be hurt as well. They aren't robots, programmed for a specific task and nothing more. They are complex beings, more than capable of thought and feeling.
But it appears as though all the ravenous crowd sees are extras: insignificant characters in a movie, brought in to do one job and one job alone. That is as far from the truth as can be found. They are the vital organs, the ones that hold up the body and make it work. The brain is not the only vital organ and the heart does not work on its own. There are other components that work to fabric this one entity, this one persona. At times it appears the other vital members will never be acknowledged for the work they put through. Sometimes it seems maybe even that doesn't matter.
What matters is that they are there and, although they may sometimes be deprived of the recognition they wholeheartedly deserve, it'll be alright. Because when the lights dim and the crowd disperses – when the last note fades and the arena is empty – the will be there. They will be the ones to pull through, the ones to give help and save lives because it has always been their mission too. They'll be there providing structure, providing warmth and safety, with the music they developed. They are the hidden heroes in the shadows, out of the limelight but always there: saviors in their own way.