Free

by Florence Welch

Pound after pound, your aching feet speed past your fellow commuters. Train’s in three minutes, can we walk with some urgency??

The last train left without you, filled with bodies packed tight. You can’t afford the minutes they steal from your paycheck.

You’re sweaty and freezing. You regret these socks, slipping down uselessly. You regret the bra, too tight. You regret these pants; you wanted to be comfortable, but on day three of wear, they’re too loose to be flattering. You wish it didn’t matter. But you know the rule of womanhood: if they like your body, they’ll give your mind a chance.

Every feeling is an unforgiving push: the abrasive sound of a voice on speakerphone, the email notification, the clock ticking further and further right, the train’s ETA along with it. It’s all happening to you, and you wish you weren’t there to be punished like this.

Rancid smells, tobacco smells, indescribable smells. You actually can’t really describe any smell, only what you presume it comes from. The source: America’s most neglected. It’s not their fault, it’s not your fault, but who am I to blame when the car fills with smoke?

The album Dance Fever explores anxiety and being alive in this moment, and in doing so, references to the “dancing plague” of 1518. If you haven’t heard of it, it was an unexplained phenomena where a bunch of people literally danced in the street until they died. Was it a disease? Was it mass hallucination? Was life just so shitty in 1518 that this was the only escape? It’s impossible to know. It sometimes feels like the only escape now. In addition to this banger, Florence includes a song on the album called “Choreomania” that has some incredible lyrics as well. She might be a genius for this one, because a study was just released this year that dancing beats any other method of depression treatment by a mile.

I think dancing is the best thing in the world. I think it would be a beautiful way to go.