Finding My Voice in "Wild Animal" by vōx

Song Review

Jan 10

I don’t know what I’m doing. Does anyone? I’ve realized that my brain keeps trying to create scaffolding for me to live by. I’m always constructing rules and trying to check off boxes. Instead, I think I’d be better served to find the beauty in the mess. I, logically, understand there is no way to contain the chaos of existence - so I’ll just let it be. For some reason I have been afraid of being me. Or rather, of being me publicly. It’s terrifying to be seen and such a conundrum while also craving praise and recognition. The cognitive dissonance has often caused me to become frozen, unable to proceed in any manner. It’s made me feel as if I’ve stopped existing. Masking and stifling oneself is absolutely exhausting and isolating. It’s a lonely experience.

However, starting here and now, I am making an attempt for me to just be.

So, this blog need not follow any templates or guidelines. It doesn’t need to offer up specific genres or sonic vibes; I just want to share what I connect to. I am longing to write in a less sterile manner. Rather than trying to separate myself from my music reviews, I want to be more personal and infuse my essence into my words. I want to explain how a song affected me or describe the sensation of getting swept up on the way to work, repeating a song every time it came to its end the entire drive, because I wasn’t ready to let it go. Like “Wild Animal” by vōx - a song that perfectly encapsulates the feeling of mismatched expectations. It starts like a whispered secret, vōx's vocals floating over bare piano keys, building a delicate foundation for the vulnerability to come. After settling into the ethereal beauty, the song shifts – a subtle beat emerges, atmospheric whispers swirl around, and the tension climbs. Then, the lyrics hit like a punch to the gut: "but all you wanna do is fight" as the music explodes into a deep, pulsating synth, reflecting the raw anger that lies beneath the surface of the narrator's fear. It's a powerful moment, the calm ripped away to reveal the storm within.

The song doesn’t dwell in darkness. The verses return to the stripped-down vulnerability, the piano and vocals creating an image of longing and self-reproach. However, it does find its end in the darker beat. I’m left with a little frisson as I become aware of my own uncertainty. My own insecurities.

As I watched the duration of the progress bar come to an end, I couldn’t help but flick my thumb to the repeat button on my steering wheel, over and over, listening yet again after I parked, almost running in late to work.

The song is a master at building tension and release. The quiet verses, raw with vulnerability, make the heavier moments hit even harder. This juxtaposition is an aural representation of ambivalence - the dynamic feeling of holding conflicting desires. Like wanting both to be held and left alone. I am reminded of so many relationships - romantic and platonic, that fit into this dynamic of being misunderstood. I certainly grapple with the feeling that I am a different species trying to fit in to the world. I like the concept of picturing the other as a wild animal, but also myself.

To conclude this musical reflection, I’ve written a short poem out of gratitude for great art - inspired by my experience of being swept up in “Wild Animal”:

Thank you, dear artists
who mold my fears
into fierce desires,
you paint me seen
when I’m unseen.

Your notes like
brushstrokes,
temper my jagged
edges like wrought iron,

forged,
made recognizable.

Sing on, reveal
the veiled, and
we will dance
in the dawn
you ignite.