Hard to Sing, Harder to Say

likelihood of infecting other people. (See: wearing a mask is the least you could do.)

For me, the next step deeper into universal empathy is to believe that we are all extensions of the same universe, rather than impositions upon it—and thus, we all share the same root. In this view, all of our human consciousnesses are inextricably linked, even though our experiences are different and our lives unfold in radically different ways. Even though of course we will all always believe different theories of the universe, carrying some form of this universal empathy allows us to act both selfshly and with care towards everyone else.

We should be able to pursue any paths we want to take. In doing this, we should think that everyone deserves that opportunity. We should be able to spend our time however we desire. In doing this, we should remember that we are not inherently equipped to control the choices of other people in how they spend their time. We should be able to enjoy our time on this earth to the fullest of our capacity. We should not be able to collectively destroy the earth in doing so.

As mentioned earlier, I am aware that there are a ton of societal factors which push certain people into positions of power and other people into positions of perpetual discomfort. I am also aware that a mindset change cannot fx that at a macroscopic level, and that an infusion of greater empathy into society would also require systemic change.

In short, I do not think it is bad to wake up every morning and think that you are capable of everything you have ever wanted. I do not think it is bad to wake up one day and realize that you are unhappy with your circumstances and change them. If that is selfsh behavior, I would say that we should all be selfsh every day of our entire lives. However, in caring for ourselves in this way, it is integral to keep in mind that we are still individual components of humanity. Making a better world for ourselves involves making a better world for humans. (For more, I would recommend reading Audre Lorde’s theories of self-care as a radical act.)

CLASS IN YOUR PAJAMAS OR Students choose to do class from IN-PERSON? their bedroom instead of inperson education

written by Jessica Stevens | photographed by Chika Okoye | designed by Thalia Lauzon

Boston University has been working hard for the past year to make campus a safe environment for students and faculty. From incredible testing accessibility to impressive quarantine housing, BU has done it’s best to provide students with a somewhat normal college experience. BU’s main incentive for all of the Covid-19 preventative measures has been that students can safely go to class inperson. Now the question remains: why are students choosing to not go to class in person when they have the option?

I am fortunate enough to have quite a few of my classes in person, however, for most classes, approximately only two other students show up out of 25. Why? Professors seem to believe that the students who are on campus have become quite sedentary. They think that students have become lazy and prefer Zoom because they don’t have to walk to class or fully pay attention if they don’t want to. Many students love the fact that they can simply roll out of bed, turn on their cameras for 50 minutes, and then roll back into bed. We are in college for many different reasons: social, academic, connections, growth. However, academics is why we are in college and BU has worked so hard to try to keep the somewhat academic transition during Covid-19.

So, I ask, what happens when virtual classes are not offered anymore? What happens when you actually are required to walk to class? Will our sedentary lifestyles catch up to us?

Ultimately, if you’re student, I ask that you consider taking advantage of what BU has to offer because one day, we could wake up and only remember turning our cameras on and off.

HARD TO SING, hARDER TO SAY

LIFE’S PAINFUL STORIES: WHO LIVES THEM, WHO TELLS THEM, WHO LISTENS

written by Erica MacDonald | graphic by Emily Snisarenko | designed by Kylie Tamashiro

Rolling Stone calls it “the most devastating ballad of the year.” Only three months into 2021, some may think it’s a bit early to cede that title, but Lucy Dacus’s long-awaited “Thumbs” might just warrant it. What, pray tell, earns such a foreboding epithet?

“Thumbs” is not for the faint of heart. It’s certainly not for casual listening. Its lyrics are imbued with a subtly frigid violence that shocks and resonates in the way like calls to like—trauma pulls a trauma response. Its storytelling is equal parts lulling and jarring. The scene develops carefully from verse to verse, but no amount of preparation readies you for the cold slices the song deftly delivers.

Dacus sings a haunting tribute to the innocent and abused, the ones born into an unlucky legacy of neglect, to the children stuck in the most intractable of conficts—the kind with their own father.

I don’t know how you keep smiling.

“Thumbs” is from the perspective of a friend, someone who cares deeply about the person whose story the song centers on. The singer’s friend is painfully estranged from their father in a way that probably feels too familiar to listeners. Dacus uses the heartbreaking realities of broken families to garner recognition: “He hadn’t seen you since the ffth grade/Now you’re nineteen and you’re fve-eight/He said “Honey, you sure look great/Do you get the checks I send on your birthday?” It’s a story we’ve seen a hundred times—in media, in our peripheral lives, or unfortunately, in our own. All the stereotyped hallmarks of failed parenting are there—the absence, the inability to claim witness to huge life changes, and the inadequate, annual contact in the form of impersonal gifts of money. The story makes you wince. But it’s not what lends “Thumbs” its power, the power that razes listeners.

No matter your life experience, “Thumbs” is a pain we all know. The pain of watching someone you love suffer. Since the song comes from an onlooker, it pulls on our basest instinct in relationships—a form of empathy. In one way or another, everyone can recognize that hollow feeling of being unable to undo the things that harmed your loved ones, whether you’re too late to arrive in their lives to stop it, or it was wholly out of your control from the start. It’s helplessness, tinged with something darker, more biting. Dacus writes it as vengeance. She states, matter-offactly, that she would kill the father in the song. Vividly imagines how she might do it (hint: this is where the song gets its name). And the scariest part is that listeners may feel sick at the notion, but not entirely disagree with it. While the narrator of the song goes to extremes, the desire to take away loved ones’ pain is universal.

Dacus calls out the part of humanity that aches for retribution for wrongs done. The part of humanity that is summoned out of love, even though it deals in pain. The lyrics fantasize about a kind of violence you would never channel for yourself—it only arises for those you love, out of a primal urge to protect. To even avenge, if given the chance. People don’t hate people they’ve never met. It’s not our nature.

“Thumbs” peddles the exception. We hate the people whose words and deeds have left living scars across our loved ones. Unquestionably. Irrevocably. We hate them for the things it’s not our place to hate them for, but even less our place to forgive them for.

Dacus admits that writing the song left her feeling “weird, even sick.” But it’s supposed to. How could it not, when its subject matter is one of the deepest hurts in the human experience? And even more so, such an uncomfortable desire for vengeance?

Although “Thumbs” was technically released in early March of 2021, the legend of the song has been making rounds on the music circuit for years. Dacus would occasionally end live performances with the devastating ballad, under the strict request for secrecy. Essentially, Dacus asked that the song not be recorded and, surprisingly, fans listened. There doesn’t appear to be a rendition of “Thumbs” anywhere on the internet (YouTube or elsewhere), other than the now offcially released track. Even without a recording in existence, “Thumbs” had mythos. The alternative and indie communities were buzzing with reports about the haunting song. Anyone who heard it live desperately wanted a digital version—so much so that a Twitter page dedicated to demanding its release popped up in June of 2020 (@releasethumbs).

Luckily for fans, Dacus pulled through in March. Dacus made her solo debut in 2016 and has two full albums in her discography, along with a plethora of singles. Dacus is also one-third of the alternative rock trio known as boygenius, with fellow alt heavy-weights Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers. According to legend, it was on tour for boygenius’s eponymous album that Dacus frst performed “Thumbs.”

Storytelling in songs is a long-honored tradition, and “Thumbs” is based on a true event that took place in Dacus’s freshmen year. But fact or fction, its impact would be the same. Songs like these captivate the listener with shock, with visceral imagery, and sometimes, with a feeling of being known, even down to the painful bits.

Bridgers, Dacus’s bandmate, is well-known in this genre of devastating ballads. Songs like “Funeral” and “Smoke Signals” have garnered their own sort of notoriety for similarly haunting lyrics, melodies, and of course, the stories they tell. Having received four Grammy nominations this past year, Bridgers is opening the door for poignant alternative songs to get their time on the main stage. With such buzz around “Thumbs,” perhaps Dacus is not far behind.

Still, recognition or no recognition, songs like “Thumbs” will always have a place in music as they serve as a necessary, albeit gutwrenching, catharsis. They tell the stories of the listeners. They tell the stories of their friends. They tell the stories of the people who love and are loved, always, even in the face of life’s adversity.

I wanna take your face between my hands and say, “You two are connected by a pure coincidence Bound to him by blood, but baby, it’s all relative You’ve been in his fst ever since you were a kid But you don’t owe him shit even if he said you did You don’t owe him shit even if he said you did.