The best songs, the best lyrics are becoming hard to catch, I can’t quite make out what exactly the singer is singing. Singing’s version of mumbling. This movement is moving. It’s moving for every listener. As, for every song I savour as antidote to restless, emotional, transitionary, searching states of mind, I take good notice of the lyrics if there are any, I listen out for them and I listen to them in the context of whatever music they move around in. And I’m excited by the number of newish songs I’ve been hearing in the last four years where the lyrics are intentionally difficult to decypher. All I, the listener, figure out is a vague geography of human sound, looking for lines to sing along to, to know off by heart, instead I recollect only a maze of translucent human noise in its certain tune.
Take heartache as subject matter for an instance; instead of brandishing clear cut one-liners against ears, the expressivist lyrics will meander something sounding like heartache and its original words; the scrawled beginnings become a mosaic of roughly different blue sounding words, howls, hands, groaning, soft, hard, harmony, strong, brittle; the sounds of what it feels like to love and miss something aching in the heart.
Here I am spelling out my logic and movements in no uncertain terms. I conclude that music should sometimes be the opposite of this; it should be a misty juxtaposition to the well-meaning silent reading of written ideas.
So, two songs that have really really struck me along the aforementioned lines (both deserving of an individual post and some retrospective hype and recognition at another post):
Happiest Lion – Ely has the Quarry Blues
Annie Eve – Shuffle (Feversome EP)