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 w...
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A blog about music, pop culture, and the stuff in between