State the obvious, we usually say sardonically, because pointing out what everyone already knows seems futile or redundant. But if done effectively, within the right context, stating the obvious can be a powerful thing, a reminder of something you forgot you related to.
And that is exactly what Gingham does on their newest single, Cross Country, as they reinvigorate a metaphor that would feel trite if it had not been employed in such a unique way: state the obvious in a way that compels you to remember how human the act of trying is.
This song chronicles the start and the end of an attempt to match the pace of a life that moves too fast for your liking. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running,” is how the song opens, which unobstructs the fact that since he ‘feels’ like he is running, he is subtly confirming that the running is a metaphor for trying to ‘outrun’ an unaccomplished life.
The song starts off-balance and teetering, just slightly off-beat enough to put you on edge and discomfit you because this is a disconcerting feeling, always being behind, and the feelings that this elicits are stark, loud, and garish. In contrast, the discomfort of being behind is like excruciation in Technicolor and contradictory laceration: “Icy wind on sweaty skin,” as he keeps repeating.
Gingham captures the portrait of a person who is running out of his own frame because he believes he belongs in somebody else’s picture. This endeavor is set to an undulating smattering of bristly guitar dappling the percussion that awkwardly shuffles the song forward, as if the track itself is the person limping toward the crowd that has long surpassed him. But here’s the best part: he never stops running. Because it is not a lack of trying but a lack of something else, which you do not want to admit, is the issue here. This song refuses to admit defeat, and it ends abruptly because of that. You do not know how this race ends because that is something that Gingham has control over: where to stop telling the story.
The scarcity of the lyrics aids in underscoring the instrumentation and the storytelling that is happening within it. The percussion comprises a beat stumbling over to the next two beats like a broken pendulum, signifying both the clumsiness in the resolve of the narrator of the song in his decision to run and the repetitive nature of this predicament he is in. This is not the first time he has fallen behind, and this will not be the last time. This precarious tumble,e coupled with the intermittent, spare guitar, played open-chord, which gives the impression of an airy, panoramic sound, draws up the image of running through a field that feels endless.
The lyrics stutter out the same things over and over again about the impossibility of winning, the ice on sweaty skin, and the pain, so these are unfiltered thoughts. This is a shrewd way of writing about this subject, allegorizing the struggle of keeping up in a general sense with the self-evident metaphor of running; the genius is in the obviousness, as stated before. The dichotomy of the icy wind on your sweaty skin is a clear nod to the sobering realization that the world is always against you, hence why there is a repetition of “don’t think I’ll ever win.” The “soles wearing thin” is another flagrant allusion to the fact that trying so hard to be as good as everybody else is depleting.
When the harmonies clamor for another try with “Run, run, run,” everything rests for a second as if taking a breather before bracing to run again, and the music swells up for that last push forward, and then it all just stops. Just like that. Because if it didn’t at some point, it could go on forever.
But the last thing you hear before it all ends is a plea to run again, so you do. And you play the song over again just to remember that you are not running alone.
Written by Leo August
