Obsessions often drive us to do utterly ridiculous things, like flinging ourselves against the sky, metaphorically speaking. Sometimes it’s literal, though, if you’re Laurie Anderson, who channels Amelia Earhart’s final avian adventure in an album so atmospheric, you might just feel like you’ve ascended into the stratosphere without ever leaving your living room. But let’s backtrack a bit. How exactly does one get obsessed with hurtling oneself into the great blue yonder? More importantly, why do we keep doing it?
Laurie Anderson’s song “Fly into the Sun” is a prime example of music that makes you question your sanity. What kind of person finds themselves drawn to a song about defying gravity, both literally and figuratively, by following in the flight path of an aviatrix who vanished into thin air? Well, that kind of person might be me, and possibly you, since you’re reading this drawn in by such a bizarre article title. Perhaps we both share a mutual desire to escape the mundane drudgery of Earth-bound existence—a kind of existential escape velocity, if you will.
But let’s not romanticize it too much. The urge to throw oneself against the sky could just as easily be a symptom of something a bit darker. Maybe that’s a midlife crisis, a desperate need for validation, or the ever-present dread of impending doom that accompanies any awareness of mortality. It’s not all rainbows and high-flying dreams up there in the clouds. There’s always the threat of turbulence, and you might not land safely. In fact, the chances are high you won’t, but isn’t that part of the thrill?
Laurie Anderson’s Amelia album, which I didn’t know I needed until it landed in my auditory space like a rogue comet, encapsulates this perfectly. Here we have the story of a woman who, in 1937, decided that the best way to deal with the limitations of her time was to literally rise above them. Well, rise she did, until she didn’t. But before the world lost sight of her, Earhart became a symbol of audacity, of a kind of stubbornness that says, “I’ll throw myself against the sky, and maybe I’ll stick the landing.” While she didn’t succeed at the latter, her attempt was nothing short of legendary.
The album’s atmospheric quality pulls you in, wraps you in clouds of synth and eerie vocal modulations, and sends you spiraling into the unknown, much like Earhart herself. It’s the kind of music that makes you want to close your eyes and imagine that you, too, could take off into the wild blue, with nothing but a wing and a prayer. If you dare follow in her footsteps, though, hopefully you’ll do with a bit more in the way of modern navigational equipment.
So, where does this obsession come from? It might be a cocktail of ambition, dissatisfaction, and a perverse curiosity about what lies beyond the horizon. It could be as simple as the human condition—a restless itch to transcend, to push boundaries, even when those boundaries are made of air and the ground is a long, long way down. It’s both absurd and profound, like trying to surf a wave made of thin air. If you think about it too much, it seems insane. So, perhaps it’s better not to think too much about it—just feel it wash over you.
In a way, Laurie Anderson’s Amelia is the soundtrack to every foolish, daring, ill-advised leap we take in life, whether it’s skyward or otherwise. It reminds us that the obsession to throw oneself against the sky isn’t necessarily about reaching some lofty destination. Sometimes, it’s about the sheer audacity of the leap itself, the madcap thrill of letting go of the ground, even if only for a moment. Perhaps, in that brief suspension between up and down, we find a bit of what we’re looking for—before gravity reclaims us and we return to the earth, a little more bruised, a little wiser, but not yet cured of that itch to rise again.
So, where did I get my own obsession to throw myself against the sky? Well, from the same place we all do—the uncharted territory of the human psyche, where the skies are always just a little bit out of reach, and the urge to fly into the sun remains as tempting as ever.
~ Amelia Desertsong
