The band’s authenticity and pride in where they came from makes them relatable and keeps their fans connected. No matter where the band goes they never forget their hometown of Columbus, Ohio, where they got their start.

“Wish we could turn back time, to the good ol’ days,
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we’re stressed out.”

In the lyrics of the hit song “Stressed Out,” Joseph addresses his longing for going back in time to when life was easier, a time we oh-so-often refer to as the “good ol’ days.” The music video for “Stressed Out” takes place on the street where Dun grew up and Joseph is seen singing the chorus in Dun’s old house.

The theme throughout the albums of Twenty One Pilots is their sense of place. Their home is not just in Columbus, but in the music that has molded these two creators to form their own identities. Twenty One Pilots have combined both their homes in music and homes in the literal sense to create authentic art.

Seeing Tyler Joseph sing the lyrics listed above in the home of Josh Dun forces reality into their art and opens up their homes lives to their thousands of fans.

“My name’s Blurry Face and I care what you think”

Blurryface (Fueled By Ramen, 2015), the latest album of Twenty One pilots, personifies the feeling of insecurity. Joseph quite literally makes his insecurities into the character Blurryface and becomes him in his music videos.

In the music video, Joseph paints his neck and hands black to signify his insecurities. His neck symbolizes his insecurities in his voice, and his hands symbolize insecurity in his creations.

This is powerful to me. As a writer I feel insecure about everything I create, which often leads to putting aside projects in fear that no one will like them and that no one will recognize them. Fear and creativity can coexist; they must learn to live together, they cannot be separate but must be equal.

Twenty One Pilots expresses these two emotions and humanizes them with the character Blurryface. The courage of Joseph to display his raw emotions as an artist inspires me to keep creating.

When I listen to Twenty One Pilots’ music I feel emotion, and to feel emotion is to be a human. I love Twenty One Pilots because they make me feel human.

Taeler Kallmerten, Staff Writer, Twenty One Pilots Fangirl

The post Fear and Creativity Make Me a Twenty One Pilots Fangirl appeared first on Newfound.

A fun fact about that year’s housing situation: I had three roommates, and each was still dating their high school boyfriend. (We don’t keep in touch, but I hear they’ve all married their their prom dates now. Yay.) Every weekend, each girl left to visit her boyfriend, and I got a four-person suite—with private bathroom—all to myself.

On Fridays, when my roommates left, the headphones came off. I could listen to music through speakers and do… whatever I wanted.

I wanted to listen to music.

The album I kept on repeat was named for two barren landscapes. An apt title: the lyrics and sometimes bizarre orchestration of The Moon and Antarctica seem to be a letter from a person in isolation back to civilization. Song titles include “The Cold Part” and “Alone Down There.”

While some tracks play like a campfire sing-a-long (“Wild Packs of Family Dogs”), others borrow guitar riffs from acid rock, accompanied by heavily philosophical lyrics.

“Gravity Rides Everything” presents a childlike awe of mortality:
Like fruit drops, flesh it sags
Everything will fall right into place
When we die, some sink and some lay
But at least I won’t see you float away

Another mystical vision of death is presented in “Life Like Weeds”:
And in the places you go, you’ll see the place where you’re from
And in the faces you meet, you’ll see the place where you’ll die
And on the day that you die, you’ll see the people you’d met
And in the faces you see, you’ll see just who you’ve been

To this day, the song that drives me to quiet, solitary contemplation is “Lives.” It begins, “Everyone’s afraid of their own lives. If you could be anything you’d want to be, you’d be disappointed, am I right?” Yeah, if you need me I’ll be in my room. ALONE.

The time alone was revolutionary for me. I’d grown up in a large family, sharing a bedroom with a sister until my eighteenth birthday. From there, I went to a dormitory, where freshmen get herded from classroom to packed dining hall to cramped residence hall, with nary a minute of quiet time.

Don’t get me wrong—at university I developed new friendships and deepened others. But I also discovered who I am and what I like, what I want to work on and what conditions help me work. In my empty dorm room, I began to assign myself (and actually complete) short stories. Spending lots of weekend time in solitude, I also learned things about myself I hadn’t known, and formed habits that I imagine will last my lifetime.

I learned that I need—not just enjoy, but require—long walks alone. At least three miles in one direction, say, to a beautiful lakeside café in Milwaukee. (Now I walk like this through paths along the Jersey Shore.)

I learned that I sometimes need to walk through an art museum, or even see a movie in a theater, alone.

I also craved novels. I was a Journalism major and double minor in History and Philosophy. I read. A lot. But not always fiction, and I needed fiction, so when the homework was done, I found novels. This was the year I read Joyce Carol Oates for the first time, a really formative experience for me as a reader and writer.

I’d forgotten about this year of my life and how significant it was, until things came full-circle this summer. I saw Modest Mouse in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, and I wasn’t in a dorm room, alone. I was surrounded by a crowd in a public place, but more specifically, I went with my brother and my boyfriend. These are two people with whom I share a lot—we even share a creative project I’m proud of, a podcast called GameNight media. It felt so right to have these people at my side, as these offbeat yet beautiful songs rolled over us.

My memories of Modest Mouse are tied to discovering and carving out my creative process, but they’re also tied to place. I left the East Coast when I was eighteen, to discover myself. I returned seven years later, discovering even more.

Laura Eppinger graduated from Marquette University in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA in 2008 with a degree in Journalism, and she’s been writing creatively ever since.

The post The Moon, Antarctica and Other Sites of Fruitful Solitude appeared first on Newfound.