What’s going on? Two posts in two days?
So, here I sit. I’m in a very contemplative mood. I’ve had a busy 12 months or so, full of unfeasibly high highs, and crushingly low lows. I think I’ve been through every emotion possible, and back again. So, here I sit.
I’m tired. I’m run down. But something inside has clicked, at least a little. I’ve spent, and still spend, too much time worrying about things I can’t control. So, I’m going to, if not stop, at least make efforts to lessen it. For too long, I’ve neglected hobbies I love – reading, music, art. So, I’m going to make sure every night, I go to bed pleased with my day and evening.
And for now, I’m going to stop talking, and start doing.
In line with my contemplative (4 times in only a few sentences – fantastic) mood, I give you a wonderfully contemplative song.
I’ve been contacted by a number of artists lately. Some are good, but not quite in line with what suits. Some are great, and suit perfectly.
Into the latter category, say hello to Elkhart.
I was contacted by Travis Hopper, the singer and guitarist with Elkhart. In their own words:
For the first time in my life, I thought constantly of home. Not just of my family or my old neighborhood. Not just the schools or friends or particular trees that relax me after a long time away. I was consumed with the idea of home. The way that spending time with certain people or driving through town when the light is just right can make your heart beat slower. The way that – if you’re lucky – you’ll catch yourself at a particular place in time, able to step away from your body, and realize you’re exactly where you’re need to be. That’s home. That’s the idea we wanted to explore on this record.
The title track is, for me, the standout. Reminiscent of the Red House Painters, but a little less oppressive. Simple lyrics, a looping melody, capturing…something. Something lonely. Something between two people. Something of…an understanding?…empathy?…an acceptance?…of the others need, despite never knowing, truly, what affects them.
Do you remember what was playing on the radio when we were driving late at night past all the houses where we used to live? You come from a long line of hurt. I have seen a little, but not as much. And I can understand the need for towns that you can call your own.
Shots rang out while you were fast asleep, and I could hear the panic in your voice. You had seen the bullets, and the blood, but not like this.
The floor creaks as you walk down the hall. Lay on your side of the bed. Well, everybody needs a place to go, to let their guard down.