Sunlight spills through a window: dust above the bed shakes the dust out of my head and I'm back again. Back in time, back in mind, to a place I don't know how I got there. Then the dust settles on the bed and all I'm left is sunlight through a window, the reverie of the dark lingering, half remembered. I breathe. (A funeral's too strong a setting, so let's call this a wake while we're still awake and I have some say: the swaying leaves of the madrona tree showed me a life that I could see in color, in blood; and from my stone-bench-throne I surveyed the sea, and in it's jaw I saw eternity; it was here I waded out to my knees with a Spokane girl who helped me see the way back to a place that I don't know how I left there.)
Leaning into the sparse, impressionistic sound of 2023's albu "Nature Morte," the Montreal metallurgists sound as heavy and radiant as ever. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 21, 2024