The dance used multiple actors to represent the people in the story, even having them represent different versions of the same character. It used spoken word as well as dance to tell the story of a child who is diagnosed with severe scoliosis and consequently spends their whole life facing the fallout of it. The piece opens with a row of people in lab coats surrounding a bed occupied by a single person. The “doctors” begin listing the conditions of the patient, speaking over each other until the words are unintelligible ­— a mess of medical jargon. Then the person on the bed uses their own voice to tell the audience “how fucked up I am.” This set the tone for the whole piece, and simultaneously made me sit up and pay attention.

I was diagnosed with a rare bone condition when I was seven years old. As a result of that, I have spent most of my life in and out of hospitals. I was subsequently diagnosed with several other exciting things like Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome — as fun as it sounds — and scoliosis — though not as bad as that of the subject of the dance. At this point I am well and able-bodied, but that makes me a medical anomaly and a fascination of doctors. I remember being so proud that the medical student assisting with my care wrote a paper about me when I was eight. I thought that the fact that doctors had never seen a case like mine was cool. I was unusual. Little did I know how isolating and dehumanizing that kind of “unusual” actually is.

While I understand that people felt “Patient 6183” was too long a piece for a show like Fall Forward, I personally relish the fact that something highlighting an experience I know only too well was able to be placed in it for the general public to consume. My entire viewing experience was spent sitting on the edge of my seat, engrossed in the story and seeing myself represented for the first time ever. I was brought to tears multiple times as I watched these dancers recreate the exact feelings I’ve never found a way to express. 

There is one part of the dance that will stay with me as long as I live just for the sheer heartbreak of it. The scene begins with the main character lying on the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. They describe the mural painted on the ceiling, most likely placed there to comfort children who are suffering. But they are not a child, so the mural is not meant for them. At the same time, unseen by them, the older version of themselves is sitting on the bed next to them, reflecting on the experience of that day and how their mother must have felt. The child begins to describe the pain they are feeling, their terror and sense of loneliness. The more they speak the more desperate they become, unable to hear their older self telling them it will be okay, desperately crying out, begging for God, someone, anyone, to be there — and then, like magic, they see their older self. They hear them say, “I am here. I am here. I am here.” The two lock in an embrace as the scene changes.

No description of this moment can accurately depict its earth-shattering grief. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks as I watched my own young self with the same childish pride, upset about the stupid “kid” things that filled my hospital rooms, trying to be brave and grown-up as I felt the pain, terror, and loneliness threatening to take over. I found myself constantly wishing that I could go back and comfort my younger self, that she would hear me as I told her that I am here and that I will never leave her behind even as I grow and move forward.

I understand that people will have their critiques about this performance. I respect and welcome that, as there is always room to grow. That said, I will always be grateful to Liz Hawk for baring their soul with such raw honesty in “Patient 6183.” I saw myself on that stage for the first time in my life and experienced an emotional catharsis that nothing has ever given me before.

The opening song, “De Selby (Part 1),” has a dark, dreamy quality, highlighting the overall feel of the album, but after this introduction, the story shifts. “First Time” talks about Hozier’s repulsion to hearing his own name, referencing drinking from the river Lethe, a mythological river in the ancient Greek underworld that causes the drinker to forget all of their memories. This combination of classic and modern storytelling continues throughout the album, creating several layers of meaning for the listener to dissect.

Hozier brings us deeper into his religious references with “Francesca,” a song about Francesca da Rimini, a character from Dante’s Divine Comedy who is trapped in eternal damnation with her lover after they were discovered and murdered by her husband. The song highlights Francesca’s commitment and unyielding love for her partner with a chorus of “If someone asked me at the end / I’ll tell them put me back in it / Darling, I would do it again.” 

Hozier’s transitions from songs demonstrates the story of this album as a cohesive unit. From “Francesca” to the devastatingly gentle “I, Carrion (Icarian)” followed by “Eat Your Young,” each song adds to the overall meaning he is trying to convey. Francesca “flew too close to the sun” with her affair, as it were; then, in “I, Carrion (Icarian),” Hozier weaves the myth of Icarus into a love story, the Earth being held up by the “you” referenced in the song and falling away from the speaker. The song is filled with dreamy lines and clever wordplay, such as “If these heights should bring my fall / Let me be your own / Icarian carrion.”

In referencing Icarus, “I, Carrion (Icarian)” brings to mind the myth and how Icarus’ father Daedalus was the one who gave him the wings. This brings us into “Eat Your Young,” a song about the ways in which the adults of the world have sacrificed the lives and futures of their children by creating weapons and destroying resources. With lyrics like, “Skinning the children for a war drum / Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns / It’s quicker and easier to eat your young,” Hozier makes a graphic argument against the military-industrial complex and the ways in which the previous generations have cursed their successors.

Hozier continues his critique of society with the song “Damage Gets Done” featuring Brandi Carlile. The song is about the ways in which it sets people up to fail, particularly people who struggle financially. The lines, “Wish I’d known it was just our turn / Being blamed for a world we had no power in” demonstrates the helplessness of the situation and the ways in which society blames the victims of financial oppression rather than helping them.

“Who We Are” has similar themes to “Damage Gets Done,” describing the feeling of giving your life to an intangible dream, only to struggle to define yourself and slowly lose what made the dream worthwhile. It also continues the focus on nighttime and dreamscapes, with lines like “We’re born at night” and talking about how pushing through the dark to get through life is just part of who we are. 

Hozier’s identity crisis continues in the gut-wrenching lament “Butchered Tongue” and the successor “Anything But.” The first verse of “Butchered Tongue” shows the ways in which language connects people and cultures, as well as the connection between language and identity. The last lines of the chorus, “A butchered tongue still / Singin’ here above the ground,” foreshadow the song’s direction. The lyrics go on to describe young men with their ears chopped off, being punished for speaking their native languages, and the ways that oppressive societies have used language to fuel cultural genocides. Emphasized by the use of Gaelic throughout the album, this song is a scathing criticism of the treatment of these communities and a defiant statement that the language is still here — while the tongue may be butchered, it still sings aboveground. In almost direct contrast, “Anything But” describes escapism in its truest form. With lyrics such as “I don’t wanna be anything / But I would do anything just to run away” we see the desire to escape the corporeal self and disappear.

“Abstract (Psychopomp)” is about a memory Hozier has of a child saving a half-dead animal from the road. The song is about small acts of gentleness and also an acceptance that this animal will die, as all things must end. This continues the theme of acceptance and change created in the song “All Things End” earlier in the album. The alternate title of this song, “Psychopomp,” is a term for Greek spirit guides in the underworld.

“Unknown/Nth” was one of the singles that came out before the full album, like “Francesca” and “De Selby (Part 2).” The song describes how the worst part of a heartbreak is being unknown, particularly the chorus. This alternate title, “Nth,” is a continuation of the theme of religious or classical references by bringing to mind the ninth circle of hell, treachery. This is the worst punishment a soul can face and is the final element of darkness before the triumphant and cleansing “First Light.”

“First Light,” the final song in Unreal Unearth, wraps the album up spectacularly. With clamoring instrumentals and a pulsing rhythm, Hozier demonstrates the feeling of waking up after a disturbing night of dreams and visions. The triumphant feeling woven through the song brings the listener a sense of completion, that the ordeal is over.

Loie Schiller is a College first-year and prospective English major. She wrote “A Memory” about her childhood growing up in rural Iowa surrounded by 200 acres of forest in the beautiful Driftless Area. She wrote this sonnet in 2020 during her sophomore year of high school, after moving for the first time in her life. The poem is about childhood, nostalgia, and desire for simpler times.