It is July. Winter embraces New Zealand and keeps squeezing. Like a child who loves, but is too strong for, his new puppy, the cold is crushing us. Outside there is rain just as there is rain in any part of the world, but the fact that it is dark and the icy air pushes underneath the doors makes one believe one is somehow more alone. Something about the strength it would take to get off the couch were the house to suddenly go up in flame--this whole place could burn to the ground, and I think I would do no more than quietly finish my wine and go to sleep. The scene is even set up for it: the flames devour one after the other log in the fireplace, and mulled wine warms my lips and my head. It is winter, and the cold ache of nostalgia embraces my heart. So it is anyone's guess why I decide to put on Phosphorescent's 2005 opus of musical yearning, Aw Come Aw Wry.
Dakin once described Phosphorescent as Will Oldham fronting the Neutral Milk Hotel. They are "as comfortable in winter as a favorite jumper; natty at the sleeves and faded from too many autumns past," he went on. I certainly picked up the hints of NMH, but when he planted the idea of Oldham fronting the greats from Elephant 6, Phosphorescent suddenly transcended the realm of good music to exist forever in the ethereal: that hazy space where beauty is at once terrifying and heartbreaking. If you think I'm gushing, you haven't heart Phosphorescent (but I do remind the reader that I'm drinking copious amounts of warm, spiced wine; for what it's worth).
Like winter, the point of Aw Come Aw Wry seems to be to lure you into a loving embrace, only to heave itself too heavily upon you, leaving you shivering and gasping for air; motionless, pleading that there be another heartbeat. Here, I place a note of caution: do not listen to this album alone at night in your truck while you wait for your loved one to come home on the next train (especially if he or she missed the 5:20 and did not tell you). I fear you may never recover.
Critically speaking, and thus delving into the part of the record where I think it really succeeds, Aw Come Aw Wry's thematic approach is a credit to it being a piece of music rather than merely a collection of songs. The album maintains a consistent tone, albeit a very somber, mildly depressing one. Similar to Neutral Milk Hotel's Aeroplane Over the Sea, Aw Come Aw Wry employs brass and string instrumentals to create a sense of being somewhere bigger than you are, a kind of explosive vastness.
But while it may come across as heavy handed, the album does force the listener to react. This emotive quality alone sets it apart from the millions of other albums unworthy of note. Anyone can write a sad song, but to embark on a dark path, lose one's way, and yet continue on is a rare and disturbing talent. Lead vocalist Matthew Houck not only sets down that dim way, he also invites the listener: "I am not a monster, but I will eat your heart." You will either follow Houck's wavering, pleading voice, or you will wander alone into the night. Either way, it is a cold journey. Pack plenty of wine.
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