Looking for Somebody (To Love)
It’s 8:28 pm at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago, Illinois. I’ve anxiously checked the time every two minutes for the past forty-five. I am still shivering from a day spent waiting outside the venue in clothing severely insufficient for a mid-western December. The excitement in the room is tangible, near suffocating. Before I have time to process the numbers eight, three, zero that appear at the top of my lock-screen, a sudden burst of light and sound lets me know exactly what time it is.
I can scarcely hear those first sixteen repeating chords over the sound of my heart thumping in my ears. “Chicago, are you ready!” Healy shouts, sporting a timeless, top-gun-esque leather jacket and aviators combo, and clutching an awesome red electric-guitar. I am not ready. In fact, I am utterly unprepared for the experience that is about to unfold. There is no time to process the kaleidoscope of fragmented thoughts that overwhelm the momentarily defective pile of grayish mush that is my brain: my favorite band—my favorite song—am I breathing?—fuck, he looks so cool—fuck, I haven’t drank water in so long—it would be so embarassing if I fainted right now—fuck, I’m going to faint! No time. Matty instantly pulls me head-first, at full-speed into his euphoric universe of sound and story that is “Looking for Somebody (To Love).”
Sustaining the vibe of its antecedent, the third track on the album is an explosion of high-energy 80’s synth paired with an intricate lyrical story tantamount to Springsteen. The intro, packed with vibrant instrumental reverb, acts as Healy’s outstretched arm, inviting listeners to tune-in to a dizzying tragic tale of modern masculinity. The juxtaposition of an upbeat melody with the violent anecdote of a gunman’s carnage makes this song the “Pumped up Kicks” of this decade, and offers the same pulsating effect of intermittent distraction and awareness. Albeit a certain sarcasm that The 1975 can’t seem to avoid, this song illustrates a not-so-unrealistic narrative of a man’s fatally melodramatic response to rejection.
The music takes the backseat as the words kick into gear, illustrating freeze-frames of a mass shooting.
“Somebody runnin’ through the field / Somebody shoulda stayed home / Somebody pickin’ up the body of somebody they were gettin’ to know”
The antagonist is a representation of an incel, the picture of loneliness. He puts himself out there but despite a self-proclaimed charm and a ubiquitous sense of entitlement, he is just not desirable. His shotgun risks falling from his limp and shaking hand as he takes in the surrounding scene. He shrugs — if only someone loved him.
“Somebody lackin’ in desire / The type you just don’t fuck / A supreme gentleman with a gun in his hand, lookin’ for somebody to love”
With the introduction of the chorus comes the reentry of the ebullient synthetic guitar and a melody that beckons you in a new direction, as if to say, enough of that, let’s go dance! Fans of The 1975 are no stranger to this nature of duality; the paradoxical blend of lyrics that demand attention with music that begets distraction. Gently fold in a dash of Healy-typical cynicism and there you have it — a dazzling harmony of social commentary and entertainment that leaves you giddy and pensive. This complex pairing is no easy feat and it is what makes this track so brilliant. Beneath the surface of the rather disturbing subject matter lies a more nuanced surveillance of the way society reacts to mass shootings in America. A crisis that has become horrifyingly quotidian and unfortunately desensitized by repetition in the media. The daily massacre of innocent people has become the norm, and Healy shamelessly draws a connection between the gun epidemic and the contemporary implications of toxic masculinity.
“I wanna show him he’s a bitch / I wanna fuck him up good / I wanna smash the competition, go and kill it like a man should”
We live in a society that perpetuates violence, where young men are taught that aggression is acceptable when expectations for what we feel we deserve are not met. This proclamation of the idea that acts of mass murder can be justified by a man’s inability to handle rejection is not so far off from headlines that flood the news every day. On the second verse of the song, Healy shared: “I think what I’m saying is that if the only vocabulary that we give young men to be assertive is one of such destruction and domination and violence, then a toxic masculinity, in some forms, normally in underfunded parts of countries and forgotten parts of countries, is maybe an inevitability.”
We live in a society with a meager attention span and a ferocious appetite for diversion. Repetition is boring and with each incidence of gun violence, society becomes increasingly apathetic. This phenomenon is emphasized in the bridge of the song, where the lyrics progress from purely anecdotal to something akin to a folk tale that has been passed down in oral custom.
“Oh they ran, oh they ran, you should have seen how they ran when I was lookin’ for somebody to love / You should have seen it man, I was all bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! / Lookin’ for somebody to love”
The bridge evokes imagery analogous with a classic Western movie scene — civilians flee the streets of an obsolete cowtown as an arrogant and malevolent villain fires his pistol and threatens to destroy the village. Clap-clap—clap. On stage, Healy aims his guitar at his percussionist and mimics the recoil of a rifle. Like their architect, these words
have an ego. While they do not go so far as to
sympathize with the antagonist, they reflect the
perspective of an interested bystander. What the song provides is a ambiguous sense that something severely fucked up is going on, buried beneath a layer of captivating music and storytelling. It is the active role of the listener to excavate the deeper societal implications. Like repetition, blatant didacticism is unappetizing, so Healy hands us something shiny and forces us to stare at it, really stare, until the reflection becomes grotesque.
So how are you supposed to feel when the song abruptly ends and Healy leaves you on your own, breathless, in the middle of nowhere, without a final delineation. Disturbed? Depressed? Hopeless? What else can you do besides hyperventilate in a crowded mid-western theater or press replay?