![]() He stays up until his phone dies, never ringing, as in, his partner never reaches out to patch things up. The pair were in Colorado together, but they ended up alone. From these three lines, we can make a series of educated guesses. “ I wanted that act right in Colorado that night / I brought trees to blow through, but it’s just me and no you / Stayed up ‘til my phone died, smoking big, rolling solo,” Frank sings. What follows in the second verse is another series of memories culminating in one night in Colorado, where Frank is, once again, alone. We’ve gone from dancing by ourselves, to the din of a deep depression. Here, we see Frank reach another breaking point. In older literature, the one who laughs the most is often the maddest. Too, laughter can be a sign of unwellness. Remember the mirror remember laughter? It’s so important to laugh when you’re down. Frank’s lilting delivery lifts any heaviness there’s almost humor to his emotional state. With that, there’s a certain lightness to the opening of the second verse: “ I ’ m skipping showers and switching socks, sleeping good and long / Bones feeling dense as fuck, wish a n***a would cross.” These are just the minor tendencies of a depressed man: long sleep, poor hygiene, body revolting-the works. With meaning behind it, he can invite lightness into his life. We realize Frank is forcing himself to see the good in his present bad because if he doesn’t make meaning out of his strife, it will just be heavy pain settling into his core. ![]() That’s the key to “Solo,” the thing that makes it hurt so much more. Within Frank’s fresh hell, he finds his heaven. You see yourself, and you thrill yourself with who you have become in the face of pain. “ It’s hell on Earth and the city ’ s on fire / Inhale, in hell there’s heaven,” goes the first hook of “Solo.” If we return briefly to my opening bar fight image, this hook is the moment you look in the mirror and begin to laugh. We have to get through 20 bars before Frank admits to there being a hell at all. Shifting between scenes, Frank creates through his memories in the form of memories themselves. This dance between the dour present and wistful past is one Frank does well. One moment, we’re deluded and dancing about the place, the next, we’re grounded with the reality of what was and what couldn’t be. These eight lines, taken together, paint a pretty miserable picture beneath one of Blonde’s most spirited vocal performances.
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