Amateur Recommendation Hour: 130 Mood TRBL

Today’s recommendation is one that I think a lot (and I mean A LOT) of people would really enjoy. Sure there is a language barrier to contend with (as is the case with most of the works I write about, oops) but I’m a firm believer that genuine emotion can be conveyed through art regardless of whether or not the audience, listener, etc is a fluent speaker of the language it is being conveyed in, not to mention the fact that instrumentation is arguably a larger piece of the puzzle when it comes to music anyways. And thanks to the information age there are lyric translations abound on the internet.

130 Mood: TRBL by Dean, a Korean alternative R&B artist, is intended to narrate a love story through its consecutive tracks. Its title named after the racing number '130', which James Dean had painted on his car, and which embodies the same experimental spirit he feels about music. The instrumentation is as you would expect from an R&B album that being a mixture of electronic and native tones but being a bit more diverse and progressive than you might find in most contemporary pieces while still building itself into a cohesive package. Very smooth and heartfelt in equal measure, Dean’s passion for his artistry shines through his personal and at times melancholic journey of self-discovery.

Allow me to tell you a story, about a young man who never knew love, how to give, how to receive, if it was even a real possibility.

Interestingly enough the beginning is the outro to the record “And You” beginning with aggressive door knocking and police sirens as the policeman outside demands multiple times that the room’s occupant “open the door!” a muffled piano motif accompanied with vinyl imperfection sets an almost hazy, noir-ish tone right from the off. Beginning at the end of any collective work of art is an ambitious proposition. That one could show such blatant of a narrative hand and have such confidence in their ability to rely on dramatic irony for tension is admirable.

“Pour Up” that follows continues in that hazy tradition of the track before, but this haze feels much more controlled, before the escalation began. An intention to have a “good” time, regardless of the fact that has so many variations considering how different we all are, even mutually intelligible definitions could have drastically different interpretations. “Drink, smoke, drink, smoke, drink, smoke, pour up.” The night is just getting started as a simple and steady synth chord plays against minimal percussion. Friends are just having a great time, as they should. We’re all consenting adults, we wanted to be here. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s absolutely not morally corrupt to have fun in this manner.

“We’re sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again.” Any listener would be familiar with that line. “Bonnie And Clyde” haziness begins to thicken. A more uncertain feeling permeates the environment. As a murky tone crescendos and decrescendos in and out at a rapid rate. Our main character is attracted to his new friend’s wilder sides. And that attraction is most certainly mutual. “One night, who cares who cares” little does he know, he is about to be sucked in. The soft claws of attraction dig in. He is hooked. The percussive crashes and synths going up and down the musical scale suggest excitement but a nervous commitment. Is this love?

He hasn’t seen her or even heard from her in days since that fateful night of ecstasy (Literally and figuratively). He should have known better, but this life we live, it’s different. Logic isn’t in full abundance. It’s an emotionally driven stratosphere. “What 2 Do” is a departure, wistful and uncertain string harmonies, a melancholic piano motif takes center stage, the percussive crashes are a bit wearier than expected. “Tell me what to do, I don’t know what to do.” He had never felt anything like this before.  Lost, confused, feeling inadequate “it seems like over to us.” He thought there had been something more going on here, it HAD to be different. These feelings aren’t going away. There’s more to this, there HAS to be.

“D (Half Moon).” An evening spend contemplating, compartmentalizing, waiting. Self-harm of the most intangible yet simultaneously more tangible than any cuts and scars he could shear himself with. The moon lowly illuminating his first floor apartment. He could sing to the moon, possibly? It’s all he’s got after all, just like the last time. But that was different, right? The piano has a slightly optimistic effect to it, the percussion is calmer, is it making more sense? So many questions, no answers. The uncertainty is ruining his already failing mental state. “Love, love the stars, love, love the moon.” The instruments begin to fade out. The muffled inner voice and haziness begin to take effect. Hope for clarity is lost. His voice echoes and trails off into nothingness. The sound of rigid flesh on a wooden door pierces through.

Nobody is home. He stumbles in, crowbar in tow. “I Love It.” “This is what you’ve done to me. This is what everyone does to me. Why doesn’t anyone ever mean it?” He rears back crowbar, the comfortable percussion becomes more pointed, overlaid by a dazed synth progression, as he smashes through the dresser drawers, planks of disembodied wood fly around him in a disco of destruction. What a feeling. Vengeance the intent but the feeling is much more of a mistiness. Reckless abandonment of elation, letting the substances guide him through the anguish he’s too afraid and grown weary of feeling. Each priceless piece, her beloved lipstick, “I always hated girls who wear lipstick.” Her signed EXO poster, torn to shreds. Her fish-tank shattered into pieces, the goldfish’s flopping and gasps for life falling on a deaf mind. “We’re making love” his distorting thoughts becoming more and more unintelligible.

He lays unconscious in the aftermath of the whirlwind of destruction. A somber organ plays as the piercing light of morning sun shines through the ripped up window shades, chimes climb up the musical scale as he heavy-feeling eyelids begin to open. Looking down at his hands he notices the crowbar still in hand as blood trickles down his left cheek. An upbeat clapping begins to take hold as he sees his handiwork, “will she be mad? will she understand?” “I did this because I love you,” he reconciles with himself. “Someone as damaged as me, I really wanna know you!” He hasn’t given up hope. “I can buy it all back for her, she’ll get a much better living space when we live together!” The bass whopping happily along as he sits on the broken bed frame. She is only “21” after all. Wages are hard to come by, and I’ll provide nothing but the best accommodations for her. She’s mine.” 

“Phew,” she thought to herself. “I might as well have taken up residence at the store they have me working so much. I hope he’s not too mad at me for taking so long to reply.” Only a few minutes out from home she notices in her rear view mirror flashing lights as the squad cars quickly approached on her bumper. Easing over aside to let them pass she rolls her eyes, “again?!” she wailed with exasperation, “I hope no one is hurt this time.” As the light turned green she makes the final turn towards the apartment complex, “god damn, I can’t wait to rest.”

“And You?”

My personal interpretation of this work is a reconciliation between his renegade, no-holds-barred lifestyle and his inner circle of loved ones and love interests. Understanding that just because there are people who live and think in similar ways to him does not mean that they will want the best for him as he does for them. Maybe the “right people” doesn’t always necessarily mean same style of living. That such a lifestyle would always necessitate accepting the consequences of it and the filthy moral stew that would ensue as a potential result of those consequences. Heartbreak is as if not more susceptible in the spaces he would inhabit and those who take the risks of such an exciting lifestyle should be always be prepared for whatever might come of it. Good, bad, and otherwise. Where we bare so much of our imperfections to each other, it should be a much healthier, safer, and human way to live than it so often is. Where “having fun” doesn’t mean hurting others in that process. 

While it’s instrumentation, music and composition may be of a simplistic nature that does not disqualify it from being an effective and meaningful work of alternative Korean R&B.