I remember the point in the intro to “Where the Streets Have No Name” by U2 that would skip on my dad's copy of the CD when we would listen to it almost 20 years ago. Before we knew how to read and my sister and I knew we were passing the ice cream shop our mom would claim the sign said "closed," but it wasn't until this past year I felt lied to. There are few other early memories I remember well enough to hold fondly.
Sometimes things happen so fast you develop a stutter. Sometimes you convince yourself nothing happens at once and sometimes it's better that way. Sometimes things don't change at all for a long period of time. Maybe your only growth for most of your life is physical. What if you found out that you'd spent your whole life on auto-pilot and you didn't even know there was anything to be piloting?
When does the weight get so heavy on your chest that you decide to do something about it?
I am the crumbling of infrastructure. I gave up freedom to die at will for the company of a dog I was too depressed to train. Sometimes it’s not the people that are toxic, rather the associations. If we’re post-truth, then I reject cognitive science. I want to believe there’s something driving this vessel I’m in. Let there be another dimension where my feet won’t hurt for eternity.
It's hard watching Johnny Carson re-runs without cringing at least once from a joke that today would be socially unacceptable. It troubles the consideration of general acceptability as it is presently analyzed in a transformative period of universal introspection and automated curation of external stimuli.
Why does anyone do anything? My experience may be similar to your experience. Does that matter? I want to find out if the origin of suicide can be traced back to the moment animals who didn't keep up with the pace of evolution realized they didn't share a future with their peers. I can't tell if everything is real or if nothing is real, and I don't know if that's good or bad. I don't know if there's anything I can do with my life to make both my parents and my potential children proud, but at least I proudly have a record.
A record of my attempts to navigate holding myself accountable for the first time. A record about what could be called my first love and how little I knew about it. These songs are moments, urges, impulses, reflections on what’s happening as it’s happening. I want this work to empower others to place more value on individual moments and embrace emotion and intuition as the truest thing we have. All we have is ourselves individually, collectively.
"the music has a density that calls to mind both Kurt Vile’s solo work and The War on Drugs’ Adam Granduciel in terms of richness. 'Slower & Slower' is essentially a 'wine' song to be savored slowly, without distraction."
On 'Slower & Slower' we've been invited to sit, contemplate and stare off into the horizon. It's a reminder that for just a few brief minutes we should soak in what's happening and what's come before.