Tame Impala’s Love/Paranoia is a Shakespearean Tragedy in Three Parts

The informality of the slash in this title initially threw me off. It casted a shadow over the track’s first listen as being a slur of ideas or emotions, without a cohesive train of thought. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Rather, in being so blunt the title displays exactly what the work discusses without a flashy or derailing sling of words like I have done for this piece. Love/Paranoia represents the two sides of a theatre mask, without being traditional opposites. Love/ Heartbreak, for example, might make more immediate sense as one of the oldest cycles of time. But that isn’t what Tame Impala's mastermind Kevin Parker is talking about. He depicts a three part tale of infidelity, potentially over the course of an extended amount of time. By titling the track Love/Paranoia, Parker tells listeners the narrative theme from the get-go, identifying the intended meaning of the verses rather than just explicitly saying. In doing so he creates a story. Or, rather a tragedy.

Like in Act 1 of a Shakespeare play, the first verse sets up the flawed situation in order for the characters involved to crumble. There is little action, but rather a foundation for anxiety and worry on account of an identified a problem. This generally occurs when there is a distance created between the protagonist and antagonist, a distance that grows and grows until permanently separated. Parker sets up his concerns in the first verse with lines like: “To know I could just be paranoid, won’t quell the desire to know what was really going on.” The speaker identifies his problem of paranoia, but also is aware of the fact that he won’t be able to get past it. He is unable to trust his partner, this all-consuming suspicion enough for a relationship’s downfall. He ends the verse with the conclusion “Ok, fair play, here we go,” indicating an initiation of action, one that is planted more in spite than in understanding. Not a great sign.

The second verse is fueled by a building inner turmoil, and the consideration of what to do. At this moment the character mirrors the actions and thought process of tragic figures like Macbeth and Hamlet, thinking it is his duty to do the unthinkable, when in actuality, he probably could’ve found a more civil course of action. He asks himself “Am I really gonna cross the line/Just to find what you’re typing?” He contemplates the passing of the point of no return while calling attention to his spouse cheating. His distrust is tangible and as a result, his downfall. The speaker knows what is fueling his impulsive crisis, insecurity as a byproduct of being “in love for real”. The “for real” indicates this is uncharted territory for the speaker, causing an even greater sense of irrationality on account of a lack of experience for navigating such all consuming emotions. The verse ends “But now's my time/gonna do it” as the audience collectively groans.

The third and last verse is the falling action in response to the rising; the climactic point has passed and now the final regret and pleas must be stated. He is now “the phony one, the only one with a problem.” His actions on account of insecurity and paranoia have now just made him feel guilty without any resolution to the actual problem. He thinks of himself as the culprit, and as a result can never turn back to restore the initial cracks in the relationship that have now become trenches. His deep remorse is shown with the rhetorical question “Do you remember that time we were/ the time we were by the ocean?” He lusts for the glow of the honeymoon period, too immature to realize that this never lasts. He doesn’t even care too much about this specific example per say, the vagueness of “by the ocean” and repetition of “that time we were” showing he just wants to be with her and without worry. But now it’s too late. All he can say is “Babe I’m really, really sorry” as the track falters off and the relationship is permanently put to rest.

If life imitates art, art imitates art. The speaker is our tragic hero, and paranoia is his fatal flaw, locked inside a bleeding heart. As an audience we feel for the character, but also want to change his course action to save himself and the world he lives in. Like Macbeth, the speaker cannot wash his hands clean of blood, he personally made the bed he must lay in and accept his sealed fate. The speaker has become fortune’s fool.

Musically, the tracks starts at a place of sparse instrumentation and evolves into vast layering. The building sound shows a whirlwind of thought that mirrors a tug of war between clarity and confusion. The whole song is sung at an uneven pace- sloppy spoken beats that sound more conversational than melodic. Parker reveals the relentlessness of the speakers inner monologue in doing so, displaying the uncertainty that goes hand in hand with paranoia.

There is no chorus, which unorthodox as it is, makes for a greater story without some pop intervention. This is common practice for Parker, creating asymmetrical verses that flow into one another with the aid of blissful synthesizers and sugary guitar reverb. Rather than a sound, he creates a world. And I want citizenship.