Another song detailing the deep inner pain of the singer comes up on shuffle. Another quivering voice metes messages out for my ear by belt and whisper. Music, really any art form, carries some crazy burdens. Folks cannot go wandering around screaming half mad about anger issues, social tissues eschewed apart, and heavy hang ups. Yet every inch of perplexing shit piles up bit by bit until the break in the middle of the back hits. Music, writing, cathartic expression‰’s a good way to keep depression away.

In the mix of shuffling it all up, all of the on the cusp emotionally rough trod singers come bubbling up with their baggage in hand. Within all that blight something like Flight of The Concords and Weird Al will stick out sore as the one thumb that a hammer never hit. Humor hits like a brick through a small town store window in a landscape formed up far and wide in emotional anthems. Still, my patterns withstand and I return to that endless hectic mesh of messy emotional land. For maybe a month I flirt with The Lonely Island, but in no time the light of the raw fleshed out fury of Modest Mouse, Florence The Machine, and Cold War Kids pull my moth self right back into old ways. I cannot say a word on the way you feel. My tiny bubble in the big blue sea tells me most folk don‰’t stick to songs formed of pure parody.

Satire taken straight does not always stick, but playing endless on problems weighing tons turns un-fun. When a band lets everything go and manages at a mix of heavy and light, that‰’s what gets me now. Interest pins me flat when the tune carries a bit of contrast. That humor has a draw that pulls back and a press that does not lay me out against sea beds.

Man Man made themselves a favorite of mine with an endless interplay of dark and goofy. Tracks told stories outright absurd and wretched, but carried with a playful wit. “Haute Tropique” chimes open with a spread of plodding xylophone strokes. The slow trumpets blare in with the bouncy piano beat. The singer, Honus Honus, twists the half demented half happy tune into the tale of a creative cannibal. The song oozes the angst of the mad man, as Honus Honus clambers out a shaky chorus. “I comb my hair! I brush my teeth! I eat my peas like a good boy’s supposed to‰Û. Each insane act comes laced with layers of dark humor. “The fireman’s an ashtray, The DJ spins as fan blades‰Û. Dark humor serves a nice departure from some of the over-dramas.

Of course, it is not always about twisting humor and horror together. Mother Mother plots playful lyrics out on waves of feeling, backed by cute indie dance beats. A song called “The Stand” reads like a day at the therapist‰’s office mixed with the chatty gossip of a middle school playground. Sickeningly sweet high pitched female vocalists ring questions in on echoes. The protagonist smooths out each answer with odd blends of sophistry, faux philosophy, and anxiety. “Tell me your fears‰” the voices casually ask. The guitar strings out a simply progression, and the drum pats out a light rhythm in the background. “Okay, it’s everyone here‰” the man responds, “Yeah, and all of their peers, and all of their pets, and their chandeliers, and their cigarettes. I haven’t smoked in years!‰” All the while the drums build with each question until a pleasant mesh of synthesized songs explodes out into a chorus endemic with anxiety.

“I can hardly stand the sight of it all,
I can hardly stand the sound of it all,
I can hardly stand the taste of it all,
I can hardly stand the smell of it all‰Û

The songs sounds fun, playful, light and brimming with inane humor the whole way through, in spite of the lyrics. It seems like such a treat, to me at least. I am constantly pounding deep media into the banks of my brain. When I take a trip to see something silly, it floats so light I hardly want to take hold of it. Something feels reassuring about ending up in the middle, where humor and heartache intersect.