"Vein of Stars" (2009)

Maybe there isn't a vein of stars calling out my name
No glow from above our heads
Nothing there to see you down on your knees

Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
Off in the future, maybe there ain't no heaven
There's just you and me and
Maybe that's as well
And if there ain't no heaven
Maybe there ain't no hell

     Halfway through the Flaming Lips' album At War With The Mystics, a sweet, solemn hymn plays, for many, the most profound because of its simplicity. Here, there is no war with any mystic, but only a calm acceptance of the tragic death of the mystic within. Post-war, you might say.
     Coyne's slight echo makes the speaker appear to inhabit a big, empty space, as if the whole of the starry night sky was open, cloudless, windless, and he, with his eyes raised to the so-called heavens. The voice goes out in search of a response, but only hears a haunting silence, with only thoughts and perhaps fears to fill the void.
    After each verse, an eerie guitar sings its own melody. It's as if it attempts to climb from earth to heaven but each time cannot complete the ascent, and stumbles back down to a mournful chord somewhat closer to the ground than had been hoped.
     This beautifully sympathetic poem reflects on the loss of the supernatural dimension, a peculiar characteristic of the secular age. Do we have a better deal, now that we consider the universe to be characterized by so much emptiness, without a great eye looking down on us?
     Is it enough to merely have other people "calling out my name" rather than same magisterial infinite?
     We lose that Great Gig in the sky, Coyne reflects, but at the same time, the ultimate chaotic evil is also demythologized. The world is blander. There's less to gain and less to risk. We stay on our knees, but no Higher Power applauds or rewards our efforts.
     I like the ambiguity of stanza 2's opening line. Since I'm in my 20s I interpret it as an allusion to the years during which we begin our intellectual adulthood and begin to openly and calmly question the assumptions we held to so tightly in our youth. Perhaps Coyne experienced something akin to my own biography -- another late bloomer.
     Do yourself a favor and don't listen to this song by itself the first time. Like most of the Lips' work, the context of the album makes each component many times more meaningful.

Vincent Van Gogh, "Starry Night over the Rhone"