An Analysis of Frameworks

I feel like there are some things I should clarify.

Technically speaking, it isn't Horace who's the world-famous musician. It's Harrison. Or, more accurately HarrisonsHaze, the Youtube channel that Horace runs under the guise of a punk-folk-indie musician, that just so happens to have 2.1 million subscribers, and verification on every social media platform he has an account on.

However, to claim that he is "world-famous" may be slightly inaccurate. World-famous would imply that he's known all around the world, but most of his viewer base is based in America, Canada, Mexico, London, Brazil, and India, and separated into about 20 or so smaller countries from there.

Which is impressive, but also hard to even comprehend to begin with. 2,123,573 individual people, and at least 5 other burner accounts Horace and I created in order to try to bump our numbers up back in the very beginning, when we were just 14.

2,123,573 people who KNOW of us.

2,123,573 people who LOVE us.

At least hundreds of thousands of people tune in to watch his videos during his big album seasons, when they first air. At least thousands of others comment, buy merch, share his videos, and make content based off of our content. At least hundreds of others have mailed us all kinds of things: t-shirts, various foreign candies -- at least one person mailed Horace a skull, and neither of us to this day are entirely sure if it's real or fake, it sits on my dresser -- and of course, letters. At least a hundred people at our school -- a relatively small school, with only 1,000 students as is -- listen to HarrisonsHaze, or at least, are willing to wear our merch with pride..

The human brain isn't even supposed to be able to comprehend knowing a hundred people's name and faces, how about a hundred hundreds? How about more? It's impossible.

A million is a stupid big number.

Two million is an even stupider big number.

I remember reading once that a million seconds is the equivalent of 11 ½ days, but a billion seconds is the equivalent of that of 31 years and 9 months.

I still can't comprehend the exact sense of scope here, but I do know it makes me hate billionaires a whole lot more than I already do, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.

So, yeah. To recap, Horace is the world-famous musician HarrisonsHaze, and well, who am I?

I basically do everything else.

I design the sets, I shoot the music videos, I mod the livestream chats, I do his makeup, I help design his costumes. All busy work. I suppose he could help with some of these things, but it's just so much easier to do everything myself, if I'm being honest.

If I do it all myself, I basically get to be in charge. You might think it's only being in charge of myself, but, really, I'm in charge of how everything looks, how everything feels, how everything sounds. It's all up to me. I guess that sounds a bit control freakish, and it is, but I worry so much about being bossy or a control freak in group work situations that I basically become a doormat. Even if Horace was more willing to work, I'd still probably be making the big decisions because he'd turn to me and ask, "I don't know, what do you think?" The only difference would be that he'd be able to say something like, "wow, don't you think you're being bossy?" whenever he didn't get his way.

It sounds like a very minor thing that's keeping me from a major win, which would be not working myself to the bone for 24 weeks straight, taking on tasks that would normally take five people to accomplish and cutting it down to one, but let me tell you:

Those hours fade away like seconds in my mind, and mean absolutely nothing to me in comparison to the finished project, but those five seconds that Horace takes to say something like, "you know, you used to be such a nice person. What happened?" will stick with me forever.

He said that to me in 9th grade. Over sticker designs. And I still remember it to this day.

So, we keep to ourselves with our activities, basically. He doesn't mess with what I'm doing, and I don't mess with what he's doing. We're allowed to give each other suggestions, of course, but it's not like we're ever going to listen to each other really.

It's a strange working friendship we have. One where we work together so incredibly separately that you'd be surprised to hear that we even know each other at all. We're much better friends off the clock than on, but it feels like we're almost always on just because of the veneer that hovers over us like a shadow of death.

There's at least one task that, if I wasn't already doing it, I'd be begging Horace to let me do.

And that is writing the songs.

Not the beats or the melody, but the gentle staccato that comes from the natural rhythm of the spoken word.

Sometimes I wonder if my proficiency for writing and willingness to tutor him every now and again is the only reason he keeps me around, but then I remind myself that if he had a choice, he'd probably actively try to sound less like an 18th century poet crooning mournfully on some jagged mountaintop with phrases like "La Petite Mort" completely removed from his lexicon

In my time writing and researching, I've found that writing lyrics is only as hard as you make it out to be. And I set out to make sure that it's an arduous process every single time.

There's only so many words you can fit into a song, so much meaning that can be found, and I want to convey everything I can to anybody who was willing to listen.

For how do I portray the smell of the air before it's going to rain, or the same sweet shock when Adam first came in all its unbridled magnitude through the framework of a breakup song written with the combined experiences of two teens who haven't even gone on a single date between them?

Well, a real date, anyhow. I maintain the fact that sixth grade was a bad time for us all.

But, I suppose that conveys a large problem I've been having with frameworks, and the maintenance of such wretched beasts.

The framework is what holds the song together. Gives the audience an in. Is it a love song? A party anthem? A break-up song? A work song? or is it just allowed to be a fucking bop?

Bops are a different breed altogether. Nobody listens to "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" because they care deeply about the 400-year downfall of The Ottoman Empire, they listen to it because it sounds like a song you can both kick to and kick it to -- a diverse range of options I assure you.

But, even if your concept is almost non-existent, you have to have some kind of concept. Conceptual is not a concept. However, no concept in of itself can be a concept if you're nonsensical enough.

And, let's face it. A teenaged boy with bright blue eyes, soft brown hair, and a warm, comforting air about him is no doubt going to be stuffed into the love song category, especially when he's unwilling to sing about wrapping a poison ivy noose around his Lotus Jugular, or insanity of that ilk.

Of course, it's not like I'm entirely blameless and giving him that branding, but I can only give him what he asked for, and let's be frank, he's not asking for songs about getting Kuru from your sister, or the fear and not being able to recognize your own face.

He asks for songs that compliment his voice: rich and sweet, but not so beautiful it couldn't be somebody impossible to know in your ordinary life, maybe even the boy-next-door…

Though, it seems like even Horace is growing rather weary of the box he built for himself, as our newest project is a concept album.

It's based around the idea of a man only known as the "Twilight's Apprentice" who whisks people into a cold and dreamless escape that allows them to escape their worries, their cares, and anything else that may be bothering them, but at the cost of becoming numb to the world. The rest of the album is supposed to rail against this complacence, and to go against the grain to feel again, no matter how much it hurts.

I'll admit it feels like a concept, sure, but there feels like there's something shallow about the idea, an unearned depth. But, that could just be that this is the strongest statement Horace has wanted to make about most things in a while, and I resent him encroaching on my turf.

"Do we know what we're planning for the B-roll yet?" I ask Horace in our shared homeroom, in our side by side desks.

"And good morning to you, too, Miss Parks. I slept great, my morning was marvelous, and body paint is SO especially easy to remove. thank you for asking."

And, in a way, I do. I've been steering this ship for so long I've stopped even recognizing the motion of the ocean beneath my feet.

"I'd sleep a lot better if I didn't have a solid minutes worth of black screen to try to work around and only a few days to do so. "I said, running my fingers through my inky black locks as I slump onto my desk, not caring about the way the tendrils wormed their way into the maple syrup packet of his school breakfast.

"Well, I mean, if you're really going to twist my arm about it... "

But, more so, I kinda appreciate him for it.

"What."

"Well, it was going to be a surprise, but…"

"What?"

"Two words. well, more like four. Maybe even seven?"

"Horace, I swear to God, I will use my syrup hair to glue you to your seat next hour, you wretched beast of a boy."

in his own strange way, he has become my framework. My in to so many different types of people, places, things, and praise…

"Special effects extravaganza." Horace gestures with barely contained excitement. "Fog machine, fireworks, neon lights, disco balls, the works! Remember when you said you always wanted to fire a cannon? We GOT a cannon."

He is my skeleton, my bare and brittle bones. He will remain long after I'm gone, even if I spent all my years making a nest out of his rib cage as nothing more than a common sparrow.

"You really want to let those bigwig music execs know you're going to be hot to trot, huh?"

"Alright, Grandma. Try telling me you aren't just as excited."

I think it's important to note that the sparrow is not required to live within these marrow pillars. It is not required to remain, for its wings have not been pinioned by any force on this Earth. It can be drafty and cold and provides little structure compared to that of anywhere else in all the world, but the sparrow resides still, for this is home.

This is home, too.