At one point in my life, I took a very “slow burn” approach to music. I needed the stories, the emotions, the animus behind every tape I played. I guess feeding into that ritual made them feel more authentic, reading the interviews of how something related to someone strumming far away as opposed to how I actually felt. For reasons unknown (fewer bugs up my ass about myself, maybe), I’ve kind of moved away from ritualistic experience. Less ideation on the machinations of the shit wrapped up in a C38, and more self-alignment with the sound right in front of me. No trim, or dressing.
I can’t pretend to understand how difficult (or easy) it is for others to create. Orchid Mantis’s ephemeral, daydream strumming has me speculating again on what led to this spectral-pop moment of a track, “Porch Song.” The sunbleached, frayed tapestry tones of kulla sunset are present, known, and welcome but they’re certainly sublimating now, pulling up the threads with them. The eyes are just directed straight ahead now, not looking up and wondering if this is the right way or not. There are probably words for the new Orchid Mantis sound but I’ll let it ground itself. The brief, blushing yellow moment that it is, it needs no frame but appreciation now. Every moment tumbling, sliding apart on parallel tracks, rolling back together for this alignment.
More about: Orchid Mantis
