On John's Anealio's Cover of Transformers

Has your nostalgia ever surprised you? How about twice for the same subject of early fascination? I had that exact experience when I came across John Anealio's cover of the Transformers theme. My formative years saw more than a few Saturday mornings spent watching that 3D cube bounce from Autobot to Deception logo while biting my lip in anticipation of what challenge would befall my beloved giant robots next. Would the Deceptions finally win? Would the Dinobots managed to cause less destruction than they tried to prevent? Would my little brother ask to change the channel again, just because we had a rerun on? I can still recall my lazy self reaching across the beige carpet of the living room floor with my tiny toe to push the Volume Up button before the Zoom-crank-boom-zoom of the scene change could hit. All of that recollection framed the adult experiences that would follow.

You will almost certainly laugh at this admission but bear with me: I nearly cried with joy upon first seeing Optimus Prime rise up in the first Bay film. It makes me a little choked up just to think about it now. My ongoing fascination with 3D animation - no doubt spurred on by that rotating cube way back when and explicitly encouraged by Beast Wars after that - prepared me for an experience that would both impact me with the full weight of one long-entertained life path and relay all manner of aspiration behind Optimus's first words. That I have thus far resisted seeing the sequels despite my love of the subject shares as much of its cause with my 3D animation career path detour as it does with my low expectations for these particular films. They both failed for a lack of focus, commitment, and follow-through.Upon reflection, seeing a red and blue dream of mine up on the screen likely caused me some pain in addition to the joy because my mouse-grasping hand had contributed nothing to the awesome sight.

How had I ended up up paying for the movie ticket from my uncreative office web-work payroll and nothing more? I can still remember the essentials of navigation and manipulation in Blender - my fingers reach for the G and X keys even as I type this - but I have not actually hit the F12 key and performed a real render in a year, perhaps more. Something clearly went wrong between ungraduate classes and now. When I dwell on this frustation, I get the same kind of feeling that arrived after I looked down on an office desk bestrewn with new Transformers toys: echoes of enjoyment but even more awareness of how well the plastic of the one grey Autobot sports car blends right into the neutral colors of the surface, almost disappearing into it entirely. Even the bright colors of the War for Cybertron Optimus can't quite contrast with enough energy.

You probably want to know how this relates back to John's song and now I can tell you.  The Autobots waged their war for millions of years. You can draw parallels to evolutionary timescales in place of this fiction but the story still puts a face to that same kind of fight that we ourselves continue to carry against the evils of the real world and entropy itself. John reminded me of this when he brought the underlying melancholy of the song up to the surface. Did you ever put serious thought to how many Transformers died in the original animated film? That film injected quite a bit of morbid realization into my younger self. Busyness consistently submerged that concern right up until the song presented a safe harbor for this recognition. I can finally see the extent of the life-crushing storm just beyond the high walls of the cove when it pulls me out of the moment for just one lyrical minute. Do I dare leave for the real life dangers of that ocean and risk a dashing against the rocks or do I sink back down into calm, frigid waters and the inevitable - if much more gradual - drowning in the darkness below?  I can no longer hide from that question.

The choice might reek of morbidity but only at first. Amid my pause for reflection, my phone's music player loops back around to the start of John's song and the refrain hits me with his interpretation of its earnest enthusiasm again. Transformers. More than meets the eye. That part of their story suddenly chokes me up more than I ever expected. This same quality applies to all of us. Hours of listening to The Functional Nerds podcast tells me how John himself could (and does) testify to the transformative power of persistent hard work. It might take more than a few seconds to us to transform, unlike the Autobots, but we don't need millions of dollars in special effects, either. It can start today.

This very post serves as one such example. It may have taken years of gradually-refined focus to set the stage for this most recent change but the new-found emotional investment in and dedication to its topic, borne out of John's cover, witnessed the doubling of my average writing rate. I suppose that a few minutes spent on pure reframing compares well enough to a fictional robot's impnossibly fast conversion when, instead of changing me into a car, it helps change my entire life. I look forward to hearing how you do the same.

Have you had that same memory-flood, deep river-cutting experience with another cover of a song? Have you thought about how much we have gained as a species and as a culture because people more talented than ourselves remain free to reinterpret songs for their (and our) generation, regardless of how big of a company owns the original? Have you just decided on a favorite song of your own that you can't wait but remix or remaster in your studio or on your lowly iPad? Don't wait, go and pound out some notes now while I do the same!