(If you haven’t, you should listen to “The hand” by Annabelle Dinda before reading this to get a better understanding of the song)
The first time I heard Annabelle Dinda’s “The Hand”, I was just scrolling on Instagram. I saw a clip of her singing on Instagram Reels, and I felt at once taken aback and understood. Her voice was beautiful, but what was more interesting to me was her prose. She described how I, and presumably many of my female peers, have felt and feel in many situations where being male is “the default”, and where it’s a struggle to feel heard in such a space. I felt an urge to get out of my doomscroll slump and write everything I’d ever wanted to, to draw all those pictures I let rot in my mind, to read every book on my TBR list; to create. People say that some songs “have crack” in them. “The Hand” has some sort of urgency in it.
The Chorus(es)
This chorus and its variations show a sort of stereotype in male stories. There are always going to be a “physical fight”, “a girl”, “a siren”, or “a message from god” in a hero’s journey, which seems to be what she is describing: a classic nobleman’s journey. It’s an interesting comparison between modern men and heroes of the past, one being glorified for following some higher mission, whereas today they’re glorified for thinking they’re doing that. For shaping themselves to be bigger than the spaces they conquer, leaving the women within to sit leg-over-leg to accommodate.
The way Dinda rattles these things off comes across like they’re things we already expect, like we know what she is going to describe, but she does so anyway. This calls back to the hero’s journey idea. We’re so ingrained to expect these things of heroes, which historically are men, that when she changes subjects to herself in the third second variation of the chorus, she sounds upset and exasperated; it’s jolting.
the bridge and outro
This bridge and the outro below it come to me as a call to action. She’s talking directly to us in a way, like, “look, this is how it is, this is how I feel” and it’s hardly veiled by a narrative like the verses and chorus are. The lyrics are raw, and even sung more vocally raw; like these words are not from her larynx, but from her soul. It’s moving and beyond relatable. She touches on the idea that this whole sentiment of “the invisible woman”, or the idea that women must downplay themselves in light of successes, is a very real one. “This isn’t rage, it’s worth the mention”, to say that these ideas are not just “made up” in an emotional fit. They occur again and again and they’re trackable, visible to anyone who will look.Â
“This is no statement, I’m complicit,” is also very interesting. To claim to be “complicit” is not really a good thing, so for Dinda to say that she’s part of the problem, she isn’t claiming to make a “statement”. To say that she isn’t better than anyone else is perhaps more powerful than if she hadn’t. Through this complicity, she shows just how pervasive these issues are. Women are expected to behave a certain way in a spotlight or social setting, where men are allowed to behave more impulsively. They’re allowed to make mistakes and be big and loud because they are the default. We women aren’t. By abiding by this norm, Dinda, and many of us are perpetuating this lie of womanhood. It’s very human and relatable: trying to break out of a box that society has forced you into based on things you can’t control.Â
“The Hand” is very dear to me, and I will never hesitate to put it on when I need a wake-up. It makes me want to pursue my dreams. It makes me want to go somewhere higher, to succeed. It knocks me out of my own complicity.Â