Amnesiac has not been very forthcoming about
its cast of characters: we’ll never know who this “you”
is, or what they’ve done, or why the person singing is so cruel
to him or her. For all we know, the singer might as easily be addressing
a mirror as a camera. But we don’t know; that’s part of
the tension here. Are we eavesdropping, or do we belong here? Are
we looking in with the dispassionate interest of a theatergoer, or
have we actually done something wrong? Should we feel sorry about
something? Well, shouldn’t we? It’s impossible not to feel
at least a little apologetic, because it sounds like we’re under
attack:
So knives out
Cook him up
Squash his head
Put him in the pot |
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