INTERLUDE: Passing Thoughts on a Craft Spells review…

Procrastinating from work & falling into a Pitchfork rabbit hole, I found myself reading Ian Cohen’s review of Craft Spells’ EP “Gallery” where he refers to the band as making “triangulating pop within “indie-,” “synth-,” and “mope-” prefixes– essentially, makeout music for loners.”

Forgetting for a moment the question of “how exactly is a loner gonna makeout?” the other paradox this line sets up is the old Hi Fidelity one; that old chicken & egg of “what came first: the music or the misery?”

If Craft Spells are making “makeout music” (and despite the “loner” tag, I kinda think they are), then it’s the kind of thing to be listened to during that part of the night where eager flirtation has led to whispered suggestions and that calm-but-racing feeling inside when kissing someone for the first time, not being certain of what anything means,and not caring to try and figure it out,  knowing only that something wonderful is happening with strange velocity and mutual ardor. But what exactly is playing on the stereo?  These songs full of heartbreak, pain and loss.  It’s as if at the very beginning, the end is being thrust right into our faces.  It’s the mummy seated at the King’s table; that reminder that in the midst of life we are in death.  It’s the romantic Ouroboros, suggesting we are destined only to live out these amorous ecstasies and tragedies in Merry-Go-Round fashion.

If that’s really the case, then damn the torpedoes; let me close my eyes and believe the movement is real, that we are actually going someplace. Tie me to the mast & let me hear the song, because I want to live and I want to love; I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of.

How can we not be influenced by the meaning of the things around us that we breathe in as effortlessly and as frequently like air, even if, at times, we are unaware or only just half-aware of what exactly they are?

But if that’s true, then why aren’t I listening to only this? Or this?

Oh, who am I kidding? If the words to a song could construct reality, I’d never, ever listen to anything besides this.

Hmmm.  I *do* listen to an awful lot of that…

-Feck

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