Q: Why does everyone at the science fair want to hang out with the mycologist?
A: Because he’s such a fungi!
Hahaha! Do you get it? Fungi? Fun guy? Ah, we have fun here at Two Story Melody.
Consider, my dear readers, the humble mushroom. What a whimsical bunch they are! An astonishingly diverse collection of organisms, all with their own different quirks and characteristics. They have names like “toadstools,” “stinkhorns,” and “puffballs.” Some mushrooms are cute and tiny, like little fairies wearing big fashionable hats. Some mushrooms are edible and tasty; others are incredibly poisonous, but look almost exactly like edible mushrooms anyway, just to be a little stinker.
And yes, some mushrooms are powerful hallucinogens. You would think that any song a psychedelic pop group makes about mushrooms would just focus on their recreational purpose. Luckily, Mother Sun is willing to dig a little deeper than that. (That’s a mushroom joke, right? People dig for mushrooms? OK, good.) The Canadian band’s recent song, “Mycelium,” takes an interest not just in mushrooms but the mycelium, the fungal mass that spawns them. Mushrooms, you see, aren’t like plants–they do not grow individually out of the ground like happy little daisies. They are just the visible part of a larger fungal colony beneath the surface.
You can read a metaphor into “Mycelium”: it could, for instance, suggest a certain complexity beneath someone’s outer surface, or the nurture and care it takes for a shy individual to thrive. But it’s to the songwriter’s credit that it functions just as well as nothing more than a straightforward ode to fungus. The lyrics detail the interaction between sunlight, weather, insects and the mycelium, and how all those things help the organism develop and grow. It’s educational, and quite pretty to boot: rarely will you hear someone deliver the words “carbon dioxide” with such tender musicality.
The music itself contributes to the feeling of gentle good vibes. It’s a strange song without much structure to it, but all the elements work. The warmth of the acoustic strumming is complemented by flickers of electric Morse code guitar doodles. Synths chime happily along with the melody, while the pitch-bent warble of a Theremin swoops in and out. It settles into an odd sort of groove as it goes on, and you might be surprised to find yourself nodding along. It’s disorienting, but it feels playful and friendly: you may not recognize this world, but nothing here means you any harm.
“Mycelium” is, ultimately, a song of connection: to nature, to ourselves, and to each other. “We are your very good friends,” Mother Sun reassures us in the lyrics, and it would almost be a creepy thing to say in normal circumstances. We live in a cynical age, and such an earnest, straightforward sentiment sounds unnatural to modern ears. But by now, you’ve connected to them, and you understand that this open-hearted gentleness is genuine. At the end of the chorus, as we drift off to sleep, we’re advised to “be connected!” Can do.
