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Into Thin Air

Writers - Tennant/Lowe
First released - 2016
Original album - Super
Producer - Stuart Price
Subsequent albums - (none)
Other releases - (none)

We can start with the exceedingly romantic notion of just, on the spur of the moment, up and deciding to get away from it all—not even bothering to pack a suitcase, not telling anyone that you're leaving, but just picking a destination at random, hopping on a plane, and flying off into the blue with the one you love. That's what the narrator of this song is proposing. I don't know about you and yours, but my partner would never consent to such a thing. For that matter, neither would I. It would be an extremely irresponsible thing to do. But it is, as I said, exceedingly romantic: the kind of thing people often dream about but very rarely ever actually do.

With this song, however, the Pet Shop Boys seem to imbue this exceedingly romantic notion with something more. It's this escapist fantasy elevated to near-mystical levels, expressing a desire to get away from a too often ugly reality, even if that escape is to nirvanic oblivion. "Shall we get away from here?" sings Neil, his mannered phrasing and vocabulary ("Shall we…?") suggesting a narrative persona who might have been more at home in an earlier, more dignified age and thus feels thoroughly out of place in this modern world. "Imagine how free we'll be if we disappear"—only there's no suggestion whatsoever of where "we" will disappear to. Yes, that's part of the romance: not knowing where. But listening to this song, one doesn't get a sense of any desire whatsoever to escape to any place in particular. "We'll vanish—no one will know where…. into thin air." Does "no one" include the narrator and his companion themselves? It's euphoric, cryptic, hypnotic, even a little frightening, all at the same time. And that, maybe more than anything else, is what makes this track absolutely sublime.

The language used in this song—not as much from what is said as from what isn’t said, specifically regarding a possible destination for this “getaway”—suggests a sort of self-induced, secular Rapture (with a capital R; see my annotation below). Note that, while Neil initially sings, “We'll vanish—no one will know where,” he subsequently changes it slightly, inserting one important word—“No one will ever know where”—thereby enhancing the sense of mystery, making it sound not so much like some temporary escape but rather a permanent, perhaps even eternal one.

The musical soundscape of the track lends powerful support to this song's enigmatic atmosphere. It doesn't sound particularly happy, but neither is it sad. Instead it sounds a bit eerie, other-worldly, yet in a compellingly attractive way. It's more like a somewhat dark, enchanted seduction, tempting us to abandon responsibility and convention, maybe even reality itself. The song and its narrator seem veritably to dissolve at the end, slowing down in tempo and slipping slightly out of tune, as if this proposed act of disappearing into thin air were already under way. The world is not enough.

Some fans have observed that "Into Thin Air" is the third PSB album-closer in less than a decade (the others being "Legacy" and "Requiem in Denim and Leopardskin") that suggests a "farewell" of some sort. To be sure, saying goodbye in one way or another is hardly an unusual thing for the concluding tracks of albums. It only makes sense, after all, and it's actually quite commonplace. Nevertheless, some have speculated whether such songs may be the Boys' gentle, gradual way of preparing their fans for the inevitable end of their career, whenever it may occur. Whatever the case, it's a stunning, breathtakingly imaginative closer to a marvelous album—especially in conjunction with its two immediate precedessors ("Say It to Me" and "Burn"), very nearly as remarkable in their own distinct ways—demonstrating that even thirty years after their first hit, the Pet Shop Boys are still masters of their art and craft.

Annotations

My reference to the "Rapture" is to the belief held by many fundamentalist and charismatic Christians that, in conjunction with the Second Coming of Jesus, true believers will be elevated into heaven, perhaps simply "vanishing" from the perspective of those left behind. This eschatological doctrine—long a source of debate among Christians, not all of whom adhere to it—is based primarily on two biblical passages: 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17 and Matthew 24:39-42. It's worth noting that the narrator of this song clearly feels that the getaway he's describing would be heavenly as well, at least in a figurative sense.
One of my site visitors noticed that this song shares the idea of "escaping" with the one you love with the very first song, "Two Divided by Zero," on the very first PSB album, Please. An important difference, however, is that in that much earlier song the desired destination, New York, is specifically called out, whereas in "Into Thin Air" it remains a mystery.
The language of making something vanish "into thin air" has long been a cliché associated with professional "magic" acts, a fact that Neil alludes to in the song's first verse when he sings about needing "maybe a few magicians." In fact, although the phrase has become so familiar that it's hard to think of it as a literary allusion, it's generally believed to have originated with Shakespeare, who uses it in Act IV, Scene 1 of The Tempest. The phrase is spoken, in its first recorded usage, by the play's central character, Prospero, himself a magician:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:

That same scene contains the famous line "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" (frequently misquoted "…are made of"), which "Into Thin Air" may also allude to in its first stanza's reference to "practical dreamers" just before mentioning "magicians."

It's worth noting that most scholars believe that The Tempest was Shakespeare's final play (aside from one or two collaborations as he eased himself into retirement) and that the year of the release of Super, 2016, marks the 400^th anniversary of Shakespeare's death. In fact, he even died on April 23, 1616, while Super was released on April 1, 2016—possibly, even probably a coincidence, but a remarkable one.
The line "The north wind will blow us away" almost certainly draws upon a very old folklore tradition that the north wind (that is, the wind coming from the north) is the strongest of winds—even strong enough in some legends to allow certain blessed individuals actually to take flight on it.
The background vocals twice refer to "a painterly sky." Painterly is a relatively unusual word in English, but a very old one, dating back at least to 1590. It's used to describe qualities that one would expect of a painter or a painting; therefore "a painterly sky" is a beautiful one that looks almost as if it had been painted on a canvas. (In the field of art criticism it alludes to instances where the artist has employed techniques that make the act of painting itself unmistakable, such as by leaving highly visible brushstrokes, streaks, or smears.) The choice of word also once again suggests a mildly old-fashioned mindset on the part of the song's narrator, who feels out of place in the modern world.
Two site visitors have separately written to me to suggest an alternate interpretation of "Into Thin Air" that, I must say, I so strongly disagree with that I'm hesitant even to mention it here. But, in case anyone else is thinking the same thing, I suppose I should go ahead and spell it out. Some fans, citing "Fugitive" as a possible precedent, believe that the narrator of the song might be a religiously motivated terrorist who is planning to blow himself up with a bomb and/or on an airplane (yes, "into thin air") along with a similarly inclined but perhaps slightly more hesitant companion who needs some persuading. As I said, I completely disagree with this interpretation—it would utterly ruin the song for me—but, as I've also said, the interpretation of any artwork is ultimately up to the individual.
Two other site visitors have noted that there are aspects of "Into Thin Air" that may suggest suicidal thoughts—completely unrelated, however, to terrorism—on the part of the narrator, particularly the line "Just cash in all that we own." (People seriously contemplating suicide will often give away or otherwise relinquish their prized possessions.) And I must admit that interpretation of the song did briefly cross my mind when I first heard that line. But then I quickly dismissed it upon considering the very next line about creating "two new identities." Why bother creating new identities only to kill oneself?—unless, of course, one advances the terrorism angle again, which I don't. So while I can see why some listeners may think that suicide is on the narrator's mind, I believe that close, careful listening strongly indicates otherwise.
Another site visitor has observed that, like "Inner Sanctum" from the same album, this track betrays the influence of the "trance" style of dance music that was especially popular during the 1990s. In particular, its opening bears a marked stylistic resemblance to the opening segment of the 1992 trance classic "Stella" by the German electronic duo Jam & Spoon, who are familiar to PSB fans by virtue (if for no other reason) of their having remixed the Very tracks "Yesterday, When I Was Mad" and "Young Offender."
A distinctive sound effect employed toward the end of this song's instrumental break is that made by a record-player needle on an old vinyl record's runout groove. But why? Is it because many old vinyl records (at least of the classic pop/rock era of the 1950s through the 1970s) faded-out at the end rather than stopping "cold," thereby providing an audio analogue to the lyric's notion of vanishing into thin air? Or is because it just sounds cool? Perhaps both. Scholar Carolin Isabel Steiner, writing in her article "Moscow or Manderley? Spectrality and Sovietism in the Pet Shop Boys' Oeuvre" (in the 2024 book The Pet Shop Boys and the Political, p. 118), mentions how "the sound of bygone eras (such as typewriter noises) [can] invoke a distinctly creepy atmosphere[.]" There's no denying that this sound does come across as a bit creepy, especially in the context of the song, although the extent to which this vinyl runout sound is truly of a "bygone era" has become somewhat debatable in light of the resurgence of late in the popularity of vinyl records.

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