Review Summary: focus. let go. sink.
Oh Jakub. I don’t want to sink into my chair, nor even my own bed, anymore.
Feather Bed is a far more compelling alternative these days. How deep you have made this pool - all these shimmering droplets, flying from your guitar and collecting in a basin of reverberation.
. . .
I’m idly floating on the surface when ripples extend to me an invitation from the centre of the circle. There, something seems to pulsate - it sends out cresting waves that catch the light and toy with it, the resulting motes of colour being scattered away by the wind.
I turn my head on its side and sound rushes into my ear canal. A tall column, snaking its way up from the bottom - fluid lines of notes are easing their way in. I sink my head in further. The notes suddenly wrap themselves around me - I’m getting pulled under, every inch of myself. Some of the music seeps into my skin, mingles with my blood, placates me with a cool touch to the forehead. This is no ordinary liquid that I’m in, not when I can inhale a lungful of sound and see hues flickering before my eyes.
And then the heart of it all - I hear it, I hear the urgent throbs. The ribbons of melody, interlaced with pearlescent filaments, quiver from the vibrations. They give no resistance, they let themselves be pushed and pulled and twisted into undulating shapes.
Eventually I find myself in the deepest end, where very little light has pierced through. Here, movements are not affirmative statements, only suggestions that hope to be picked up by a pair of eyes. I close mine and see everything.
Even as the liquid siphons away, I’m still floating in the last echoes.
. . .
Diving into
Feather Bed is an effortless feat. And so I’ll do it over, and over, and over again.
