Jesus Christ Superstar
I have been getting into the habit of asking myself questions about long standing curiosities. You know, those strange but persistent oddities. The ones you’ve long ago brushed off with an accepting shrug.
Ever since I was a teenager I have been obsessed with Jesus Christ Superstar. I’ve been a well adjusted agnostic since I was about 11. How does this telling, of this story fit so perfectly in me? I knew it wasn’t a subconscious yearning for faith. I was OK with my place in the universe. Yet Superstar has always brought me to tears.
Last night while washing up “Gethsemane (I Only Want to Say)” slipped into the shuffle. I switched to the full album and relished every word. It was time to ask why.
I am astonished by how quickly answers emerge when you actually engage with the question. I’ve read directors have based their interpretation on the prevalence of “Why?”. And it does seem to permeate it.
But the question that screams at me is Who was he? Of course I gravitated towards the search to pinpoint an identity. At 16, I appeared to be a stoner draped in flannel and dirty jeans. But at every chance I could steal, I would shimmy into a shiny shirt and head into town. The sounds of Donna Summer drifting onto the street marked my gay turf. I was excellent at being who I needed to be in the circumstance. But that was always a ruse to deflect everyone. Mirrored in the title track I got to ask who the hell was I?
As I listened again I thought about the male voices. Jesus & Judas sound hot, politely rough. But there was more. They are drenched in anguish? Up against death and despair they gave it song. I knew those feelings. Damn it, once again a simple question leads me back to the trauma. Believing I could have died, could been killed was too big to deal with. This opera gave a way for all of that to leak out of me.
Finally understanding I suspect I will continue to fondly remember walking down empty highways. In the dark, alone, I sang these songs. I cried and screamed and no one was there to know why. Today those secrets are open, I have my own words.
Next question.
Ever since I was a teenager I have been obsessed with Jesus Christ Superstar. I’ve been a well adjusted agnostic since I was about 11. How does this telling, of this story fit so perfectly in me? I knew it wasn’t a subconscious yearning for faith. I was OK with my place in the universe. Yet Superstar has always brought me to tears.
Last night while washing up “Gethsemane (I Only Want to Say)” slipped into the shuffle. I switched to the full album and relished every word. It was time to ask why.
I am astonished by how quickly answers emerge when you actually engage with the question. I’ve read directors have based their interpretation on the prevalence of “Why?”. And it does seem to permeate it.
But the question that screams at me is Who was he? Of course I gravitated towards the search to pinpoint an identity. At 16, I appeared to be a stoner draped in flannel and dirty jeans. But at every chance I could steal, I would shimmy into a shiny shirt and head into town. The sounds of Donna Summer drifting onto the street marked my gay turf. I was excellent at being who I needed to be in the circumstance. But that was always a ruse to deflect everyone. Mirrored in the title track I got to ask who the hell was I?
As I listened again I thought about the male voices. Jesus & Judas sound hot, politely rough. But there was more. They are drenched in anguish? Up against death and despair they gave it song. I knew those feelings. Damn it, once again a simple question leads me back to the trauma. Believing I could have died, could been killed was too big to deal with. This opera gave a way for all of that to leak out of me.
Finally understanding I suspect I will continue to fondly remember walking down empty highways. In the dark, alone, I sang these songs. I cried and screamed and no one was there to know why. Today those secrets are open, I have my own words.
Next question.