Peril, Beach House, and Devotion
- Tristan
- Aug 28
- 16 min read
Here's a little story about an assault I experienced while working, accompanied by some thoughts about Beach House and a life update.
Introduction
I’m home sick today with a sore throat and a killer headache. Actually, I’m not sick - the throat problem is because I’ve been overusing my voice and the headache is probably just stress.
While I’m home rotting, I thought I’d tell a little story about a theft and assault I experienced and get some things off my chest - we'll also be doing a little deep dive into a Beach House album. I promise it'll all make sense!
My New Job
Earlier this year, I took a five-week trip to the UK and Morocco, and while there I promised myself I would quit my AI job when I got home.
Although I didn’t quit right when I got home as I'd intended, eventually the project I was working on got canned. The company gave me the opportunity to move to a different, less meaningful project (and that’s saying something), but I just said, “Nah.”
So, I quit and then immediately found myself in the predicament of needing a new job.
My reason for quitting was that I was tired of intentionally liquifying my soul in exchange for a paltry wage and the knowledge that my efforts were contributing to my own obsolescence and the further concentration of power among the tech elites. With that in mind, the idea of getting a meaningful job seemed particularly appealing.
Or maybe it was just too much to stomach the prospect of degrading myself any further by embedding myself more firmly in corporate machinery.
Either way, I became a fundraiser for an environmental organization here in Seattle. I’m actually quite good at every aspect of the job - with the key exception of the asking-for-money part.
I love being on my feet, seeing different parts of the city, meeting folks and helping out strangers. I love hearing people's stories and getting to share a bit of my knowledge and passion for nature.
I've met locals, transplants, tourists from other states, and internationals. We've spoken Spanish and Chinese and French while on the job. People have asked me for directions to this or that and found themselves unexpectedly whisked into a heartfelt conversation with a random stranger in a silly hat and vest.
And every night when I come home, although I usually haven't raised much money or hit my quota, I feel…good.
I'm exhausted, sure, but it's a good exhaustion. The faces of all the people I've met linger for a while on my sleepy eyelids, their names and kind words and enthralling stories echoing in my ears, and I can drift off to sleep with a clean conscience and sometimes even a bit of pride.
It's rather unfortunate for me that I'm no good at asking for money, since that’s the only part that would make me employable in this position.
Understandably, my job hangs in the balance, and I’ll be lucky if they keep me on past the end of this week. However, I desperately need money for my upcoming masters program, and I’m staring down the barrel of a flurry of health problems that are causing me substantial stress.
I suppose this is what older folks mean when they say life will get harder - hard to imagine how people juggle all of this, plus raising kids and whatever other responsibilities start to stack up over the years. And the health problems only get worse, while the institutions that are supposed to help folks get the care they need are gradually dismantled. It’s tough out here.
But then, when you’re out there helping people out and sticking up for something you believe in, it doesn’t seem so hard. It all feels worth it somehow.
At this point, you’re probably wondering when I’m going to get to the part about theft and assault. You might also be confused why I titled this post “Devotion.” Don't worry, we'll get to all that!
All in due time.
Beach House - Devotion
Devotion is a 2008 album by the Baltimore Dream Pop duo Beach House. It’s their second full-length release and to my knowledge their first to be recorded in a professional studio.
While the production remains charmingly lo-fi and the tone dizzyingly dreamy, Devotion sees the band reach a new level of polish. It’s a far cry from the slick sounds of their later works like Bloom (2012) and Depression Cherry (2015), but it’s a noticeable leap from their eponymous 2006 debut.
This puts Devotion in a strange limbo in their discography - not as novel as their debut yet not as expansive as any of their later works. But it sits very nicely in this tension.
It sandwiches hypnagogic hopes between lamentation on the one hand and pure, unfiltered love on the other. The dangling bells, dazzling organs, haunting vocals, and soaring slide guitar suck you into their whirlwind of sound and emotion. It calls back to the greats of the 80s and 90s Shoegaze and Dream Pop scenes, but it does so in Alex Scally and Victoria Legrand’s uniquely enchanting way.
Devotion is slow and thick like molasses, and every instrument and vocal part swirls together into an inseparable whole that I find particularly gripping. It feels like it should be sad music, and I occasionally do find myself on the verge of tears while listening to it, but my tears are never sad tears. Rather, the emotion stirred up by Devotion is equal parts love, joy, and dedication. It's the combined effect of a funeral dirge, the first dance at a wedding, and a lullaby.
I’ve been listening to Beach House since around 2012, about the time Bloom was released. There’s no telling how many times I’ve listened to each of their albums, and Devotion is no exception.
But despite all those years of listening, I never understood Devotion. I thought some of the songs were nice, “Gila” and “Heart of Chambers” above all else, so I revisited it occasionally. But I never got it on an intuitive level.
Listening to it now, I’d say it’s one of the band’s most straightforward albums. This is certainly true when it comes to lyrical content but also even just considering the overarching themes of the album. It’s about, well, devotion - obviously.
But I've never understood the emotional act of devotion, so no wonder I have trouble connecting with this particular album. That's starting to change, though. More on that later!
The Incident
I was fundraising above the Seattle Aquarium on that pedestrian overpass where the Alaskan Way Viaduct used to be. It’s a lovely spot now, and good on the city for finally removing that eyesore of a two-story highway and replacing it with something pedestrian-oriented.
It’s quite an impressive thoroughfare now, for pedestrians only, with a lovely view of the Olympics on the one side and the piers, Seattle Great Wheel and, on a clear day, Mt. Rainier on the other side. There are plenty of places to sit, stand, and walk and several ways down to the waterfront or up to Pike Place Market.
There’s a wonderful sense of verticality here, and it somehow manages to be a very effective path connecting the Market and the waterfront while also being a distinctive place in its own right. Clearly, much thought and expertise went into the design and execution of it.
One of the nicest features is that they’ve lined the pass with plants native to the region, at least according to the folks at the Aquarium tent last week.
A couple of weeks back I ran into a man who claimed to work with a company that designed some of the tree planters down on the pier, and he explained to me how hard they work to ensure ample soil and room for the tree roots to expand while using smart design to prevent the roots from tearing up the surface.
Theft
But that's all beside the point. Yesterday was a slow day, with plenty of people but few who stopped to talk to me.
My boss informed me in the morning of my target this week, something he hasn't done since I got the position. I knew immediately what the implication was: sink or swim.
But then, just after lunch, my coworker’s bag disappeared.
“Um, I think my bad just got stolen,” she suddenly said to me, eyes wide and out of breath.
I asked her when it could've happened, and she said it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes ago; she'd just set it on the bench.
“You go check Pike Place,” I replied, “I'll check the pier.”
We split up, her going up the stairs and me going down. I ran to the fence overlooking the pier, tablet and water bottle in hand and still in full uniform. So many people on the pier, so much movement… There! On the sidewalk along Alaskan Way: two men carrying a box and pushing a little wagon. Inside the wagon, a flash of bright green - the color of my coworker’s bag.
I bolted down the stairwell, down several flights and around a gaggle of Aquarium-bound children.
When I got to the pier, there was no sign of the two men, but I put my head down and ran up the sidewalk several blocks. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but I was sweating up a storm in my long pants, long sleeves, vest, and heavy backpack.
Finally, I spotted them hunched over the wagon by the bushes. One was rifling through the bag and the other was waiting impatiently.
When I got to them, I had to suppress the huffing and puffing from all the exertion as I asked them if they’d seen my coworker’s bag.
The man rifling through it didn’t even look up: “This is my girlfriend’s bag.”
He pulled out a vest that looked eerily similar to mine, and I couldn’t resist the snark as I asked him, “Oh, does your girlfriend also work for [THE NAME OF OUR CHARITY]?”
He insisted that he didn’t know how that got in there, but he let me take the bag without an ounce of resistance.
I called my coworker to make sure everything was there in the bag, but it turned out that not only was she missing her headphones, sunscreen, portable charger, and a Tupper Ware, but there was a sweater in there that wasn’t hers.
But when I turned back to the two men, they were gone, long gone. I chased after them, though, and caught them over by the end of the pier and a block over. When confronted, they still refused to admit they’d stolen anything but gladly took the sweater back.
I explained to them that if they did have the headphones - and I wasn’t saying for sure that they did - but if they did, my coworker would just remotely disable them, making them useless and worthless.
The obviously guilty guy just walked away, leaving his stuff on the sidewalk, while his friend emptied his own belongings onto the sidewalk in order to prove that he didn’t have any of the stuff. My coworker arrived at this point and threatened calling the police.
The poor guy who’d made a mess of his things fled angrily, and I felt bad for him, I really did. Finally, his friend came back out with some take-out, picked up his things, and as he was walking away, my coworker spotted her sunscreen in his bag.
He just snarkily retorted, “No, that’s my sunscreen!”
He got about half a block away before stopping in his tracks, turning around, and coming back to us with his tail tucked between his legs. “Fine,” he sighed, “I’ll go get your headphones.”
“It’s just tough out here, man. I have nothing. I’m homeless. I don’t even have a phone - why don’t you guys give me something in return? I think you should give me something.”
“How about the other things of mine that you stole?” my coworker replied, at wit’s end.
My coworker and I walked back together and got back to work. This interaction stuck with me, though. I just felt bad for the guy. It is tough out here - he’s completely right.
I wondered if I would feel differently if it were my things that had been stolen. Would I want to call the cops on him? To punish him? Would I hate him?
Assault
Well, the world decided to help me answer that pretty much immediately and sent an angel to test me not even an hour later.
I was back up on top of the aquarium, doing my job of being rejected by strangers when a guy walks up to me. He’s coming at me forcefully, but I just see him out the corner of my eye. When I finally look him, he spits at me.
“Don’t look at me, bitch!” He yells. I just tried to look away and ignore him, but he got all up in my business and started squaring up for a fight: “I’m gonna knock your ass out! I’ll fucking kill you, bitch!”
I really thought he’d K me O right then and there with a sucker punch to the jaw - just rock me, you know? I remember trying to keep my cool, and then he hit me.
He didn’t punch me, thank gosh, but he body checked me hard - like, he fully jumped at me. I stumbled, almost fell over. He was a big guy and looked mean. I put my hand out and just said something like, “Okay, buddy, walk away. Just walk away.”
And he did. He walked right on up to Pike Place and disappeared into the crowds.
There were tons of witnesses, and they came over to make sure I was okay. “You didn’t do anything to provoke him, did you? I didn’t see you do anything,” one lady asked.
“I guess I looked at him.”
I told my boss what happened and he let me take the rest of the day off. I wasn’t hurt or anything, but I was pretty shaken up.
Didn’t feel any malice toward the guy, though. Poor guy must have been off his meds (or on ones he shouldn’t been…) or something - I can’t imagine what he thought was going on.
So there’s my answer, I guess.
Trust As an Act of Rebellion
I always thought living for myself made me strong.
I thought that being free of devotion, of deep emotional investment, would protect me and even make me wise. But although it has sometimes given me a more detached opinion and some unique insights here and there, the cost has been a more detached soul.
That’s a cost that one can’t afford for long - in the end, as I always like to say, something’s gotta give.
I’m reminded of an IDLES album from years back: Joy As an Act of Resistance.
One of my mantras for several years has been something similar; in a world where nothing is as it seems and all ties seem to be getting cut, trust is an act of rebellion - trust is the most punk thing you can do.
What I’m getting at is a sentiment that is a step above imagining Sisyphus happy but nevertheless in the same vein. Indeed, I agree with Camus that
“The only way to deal with an un-free world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion”
Although I love this quote and it’s often attributed to Camus, I’ve never been able to find the exact source, so take it with a grain of salt. The sentiment is what's important, though.
Essentially, failing and getting hurt is an inevitable part of a life well lived - that is, a life spent embracing the absurdity, the injustice, and the pain. Embracing these aspects of life isn't about tolerating them but accepting what they are and then aiming to be the mirror opposite of them.
In a world that is absurd, we must be sincere even at the cost of embarrassment and humiliation. In a world that is unjust, we must make our own rules even if nobody else follows them. In a world that is full of pain, we must be happy. We must trust each other even though we will be betrayed.
If this seems counterintuitive or masochistic, then we need only reorient our perspective. The world is what we make of it, and it will never change for the better if enough people don't start making it change. And in the here and now, divorced from the uncertainty of our future success, all we can do is embody the things we want the world to someday resemble.
The Nature of Devotion
Let’s go back to Devotion, both the album and the idea.
The way I see it, the album is an expression of pure devotion - Lagrand’s characters, whether literal reflections of herself and her loved ones or fictional creations, embody not just the feeling of devotion but the act of it.
Devotion itself feels like a future-oriented act and emotion. It seems predicated on a shared future, a cooperatively constructed destiny. Devotion is not “I love you” but “I will always love you.”
Yet Beach House reveals in this sentiment a paradox; a devotion that is predicated on the future is hardly devotion at all. Devotion isn’t a function of outcomes. It has nothing to do with consequences or effects.
If the little Oxford Languages blurb on Google is to be trusted, “devotion” shares a common root with “to vow” and comes from the Latin, “Devovere” - “to consecrate.”
Vowing, like promising, apologizing, or forgiving, is a performative verb - its action is inseparable from the utterance of the words themselves. In saying, “I vow” you bring the verb to life. Although the content of the vow always relates to the future, it has to be grounded in the here and now. Without the present action embodied in the speech, a vow can never be enacted.
So, too, with devotion. Although the object of devotion will be thought of as stretching into the future, devotion itself is always rooted in present acts and present realities.
We see this play out in the outro to the final track on the album, “Home Again:”
Constant home of my devotion Must be you, the door to open Home again, be here, be with me
Devotion has a “constant home,” and the object of devotion can come “home again.” Yet in the end, devotion is summarized in the plea to “be here, be with me.” Devotion is presence in the here and now; but it’s not just any presence, it’s an active and decisive presence.
We also see this throughout the album in the motif of a heart being held in one’s hand, again in “Home Again:”
Something in the way a heart is held upon a hand
And also in “Astronaut:”
When you hear the laugh In the white of her palm is your heart
In this metaphor, devotion is the act of holding another’s heart in your hand - or the feeling of having your own heart held in another’s hand.
I can imagine the critique that this view of devotion and the glorification of it could easily lead to toxic relationships. One’s devotion could easily be taken advantage of.
Indeed, had I written this essay years ago, I almost certainly would have argued that. I still think it’s a fair point.
But there’s a way of looking at things that, while not exactly avoiding the danger of toxicity, at least highlights the transcendent potential of devotion. The Genius page for “Heart of Chambers” includes a quote from Lagrand that does a great job of explaining what I mean:
There’s a heaviness in that person, or in that love object. There are a lot of questions about the future of that love. But there’s also an acceptance at the end. Whatever happens, at least we have this moment—whether it’s real or imaginary.
Once again, we’re rooting devotion in “this moment” - but more than that, we’re predicating our devotion on a certain agnosticism about the future. It’s detached from its own outcome, and anyone who can manage that detachment will unlock a level of self-assuredness and calm that is typically unachievable in the daily course of our lives.
The target of our devotion doesn't have to be perfect or even benevolent. Rather, if devotion is akin to consecration, then the target of our devotion only has to be sacred. Indeed, the very act of devotion renders its recipient sacred.
Devotion gathers its strength from equal parts love and acceptance. Acceptance itself is equal parts understanding and detachment. The result of this devoted act is strength, resolve, and selflessness.
Actually, I’m not sure if selflessness is the right word. Devotion doesn’t nullify the self; rather, it situates the self where it belongs - as a small piece of a greater whole. And that whole is worthy of the total commitment of the self. Devotion is the ultimate act of other-centeredness.
And that's because the opposite of self-centeredness isn't selflessness but other-centeredness. Selflessness is for boddhisatvas, yogis, and shroomheads - for those who wish to still live in the world, there is other-centeredness.
Why Devotion?
It's finally time to tie everything together.
I never understood Devotion because I've lived a self-centered life. I haven't been a bad person per se, at least not most of the time, but the good things I did were performed from a place of egocentricity or else slipped by my ego accidentally on the rare occasions that I let my guard down.
But now I see what so many other people could always see, and it's clear as day - there is no life in the individual alone; the world isn't a dualistic conflict between subjectivity and objectivity; isolation is not protection or wisdom.
No, the world is all intersubjectivity. Our lives are rich and infinitely-complex tapestries of intertwined fibers. To borrow the poignant phrasing of Christopher McCandless, the intrepid adventurer and troubled youth of Into the Wild fame, “Happiness only real when shared.”
The truth is, I've never had a singular object of devotion in my life, and I don't know if that will ever change. But I feel in Lagrand’s songwriting a more all-encompassing sentiment. Although the album’s 11 songs each capture the essence of devotion in a specific sense, typically with a lover as the object of devotion, the effect of all those examples taken together as a cohesive whole is something altogether more transcendent.
It may take a singular object of devotion for most people to cultivate the ability. Once cultivated, though, I think there is a great deal to be gained by expanding one’s devotion beyond an individual recipient.
Indeed, I see devotion as a possible avenue for rekindling a sense of civic culture in an alienated and cynical world.
Our devotion will render the world sacred once again, and that will give us the strength to be good.
It’s tough out there, it really is. It’s really, really sad what is happening in the world, in the country - even right here in the city. Everywhere you look, you see devastation, estrangement, privation, sickness, death, and worst of all indifference.
Every day, we step over the mangled bodies of homeless folks - each an individual with dreams and ambitions and opinions. We elect politicians who syphon off our hard-earned wages in order to line their pockets - that is, if they aren’t using our money to build and send bombs to be dropped on children’s heads. We consume the ground-up, tortured corpses of beings we have the audacity to cheerily call cute when we scroll onto Instagram videos of them, on devices built by children in countries that our economic institutions arbitrarily keep poor, devices that contain rare-earth minerals that can only be obtained at the truly maniacal intersection of child slavery and ecocide.
We sleep at night by pretending that nothing is happening. If that doesn’t work, we pretend there’s nothing we can do. When that fails, we tell ourselves we’re doing everything we can. Eventually, it doesn’t matter what we tell ourselves because we’ve already collapsed from mere exhaustion.
And the world keeps spinning.
We need devotion. We need love, care, acceptance, detachment from outcomes - in short, other-centeredness. We need something to believe in, and we need the confidence and calm to persist even when we lose. We need to sanctify the world.
Because we will lose. We’ll lose again and again and again.
We really have no choice. The alternative is unpalatable: unity with the machine, the complete debasement of the human spirit, misery.
But we’ll also win. We’ll win because we’ll be alive and human. We’ll love and be loved, and only in that warmth is a better world possible.
I’ll let Lagrand have the final word:
All my devotion Compelled by an ocean Of all the years to come Of all the years to come Of all the years to come Of all the years to come So we'll work until the night is quite What once all our dreams were like Doing all the housework Returning all the schoolbooks For good Let's go on pretending That the light Is never ending So we'll still have the summers Let's be good to one another, yay, hey
以小见大！