What do hearts sound like when they break at 4 a.m.? What does it sound like when the light is gone, when the conscious mind goes dark and detached from the best of experience and intention?
It sounds a little like floating, a little like falling. Visceral and delicate. Fragile. It sounds spacey, with intense, focused vulnerability. These sounds, nearly angelic, are bright and flickering and patient with themselves and everything I am not.
I put this album on the shelf most of this summer, after initial captivation. I enjoyed its sound despite its critical flop, I thought its ambiance was moving and heartfelt and captured a quality blend of electric sounds and rich, deep layers. But I thought it was really sad, it was kind of a downer and tells sad, sad stories, and I just wasn’t there with it, at least, I didn’t want to be, and now, tonight, this song is kind of my own sad story and the perfect accompaniment to my insomniac misery, the kind that lasts on repeat for hours and obsessives over small details in memories, like long, elegant fingers tracing my arm, like whispers echoed close against my neck. So too can I fixate on the small details in sounds, in delay, the soft swell of blissfully faked-out strings and synths, of two-to-three note piano melodies tying together one-off lines, simple and clear and resounding.
Thoughts are dangerous weapons, and the night is a silent, still place where they ravage and tear peace to bits. Best to give them something to slice up, something to occupy their vicious progression as the hours pass and the sky lightens and the dark doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.
“I think of you, I haven’t slept
~Always In My Head
Coldplay, Ghost Stories