Review Summary: Coloring in the empty spaces.
Regardless of how often the phenomenon has been portrayed, broken hearts remain a powerful motivator. Famous tunes haven’t dissuaded the love-hurt among us from turning to art to express their pain—something drawn from committing
everything to another living soul, only for it to unfortunately end. Media has consistently demonstrated the violence of these separations—sudden shifts, acts of betrayal, emotional break-ups—but what of the ‘slow drift’? What if, instead of reaching a conclusion via perfectly understood faults, a relationship gently frays, almost imperceptible in the undoing of its threads? On occasion, those involved in this dynamic may not detect
why it is happening, but it can certainly be felt; a detachment grows daily, gradually putting pressure onto any connecting ties, until a day comes where a partner has morphed into a stranger, and that same stranger knows not why they’re in the relationship themselves. The tension mounts. The threads snap. And at a far enough distance, when those faint clues at decaying attraction and amassed apathy begin to depict the reasons like a warped puzzle, the sense of loss is palpable.
Indigo Dias has a way of cloaking this lurking ache. The mastermind behind Dispirited Spirits immerses their tunes in an epic approach that sports elegant string instruments, delicate guitars, a robust and occasionally funky bass, glittering keys, and charismatic woodwinds. An unwieldy combo if left uncontained, yet Dias is capable of reining in each contributing factor throughout sophomore effort
The Redshift Blues. Nothing in particular attains prominence, with a polished production managing to balance every included element from jazzy noodling to a wide variety of math-tinged riffs. Amidst the ethereal ambiance, Dias’ pain disappears—the graceful string undulations and melodic indie rock sensibilities provide a soothing environment that thrives off of restraint, granting arrangements ample space to expand upon their peaceful textures. Yet all too easily can that calm be pierced through should the shiny veneer be peeled back, broken by climactic swells where compositions swing the weight of their instrumental might or severed by the signing performance—an exceptional range of melancholic baritone notes, falsetto harmonies, and confident tenor belting.
The Redshift Blues uses this archetypal pop technique—darkness dressed in the clothes of a carefree, catchy venture—as its central dichotomy, ebbing between twinkling guitars, shimmering synth soundscapes, and post-rock explosions that either expose or disguise lyrical narratives.
That guiding dynamic offers the record an impressive level of depth. On a macro level, the rollercoaster formed by the album’s rising and falling of energy from track-to-track adds wonderful diversity, simultaneously crafting a broader journey reinforced by lyrical codas. An epic a la “Saturnine Saturn Dreams,” whose progression hinges upon patient buildups, is complemented by the vibrant pop-punk vibe of “Methanol Fire”--a song that succeeds off of a midwest-emo-esque presentation and beautifully anthemic chorus. That momentum transitions into the 10-minute closer “Redshift Blues,” which unfurls from acoustics and chimes before a bombastic orchestral finale sweeps the listener away. On a micro level, Dias’ individual arrangements are consistently
busy, though not in a manner that relies too much on spectacle alone; their careful layering is what intrigues. “Ships Sailing Space'' gives the impression of simplicity, yet underneath the melodic arpeggios are graceful string swells, subtle bass motions, and occasional woodwind features, all of which combine to give the song an instantly recognizable personality. This same depth is replicated on the following “Nine Clouds,” but a glittering synth line takes the leading role, conveying an entirely different aesthetic that still fits comfortably under Dias’ wide umbrella of genre influences. Each movement and instrument choice comes across as purposeful instead of superfluous— the aforementioned even mix plays no favorites or spotlights any section for too long.
Though absent of a concrete story, the beating heart of Dias’ latest work is that--well, that beating heart is actually in tatters; a relationship has been terminated, and with that severance came regret, longing—all that wonderful stuff that prods at wounds and targets self-worth. It’s reinforced by prose that dances around astral metaphors, tying the act of slowly losing love to the stars as they drift in and out of view. There’s a wistfulness inherent to this style that pairs wonderfully with the record’s atmosphere:
“In parted latitudes the starlight's hindered by
A moratorium for what we left behind
I'll be my enemy and you'll part out of sight
This forlorn universe sings redshift blues tonight.”
This excerpt introduces the album proper, and it effectively sets the stage for what’s to come; Dias uses cosmic wordplay to amplify the ambiance, punctuating the soft timbres abundant in the mix to illustrate a calm, albeit forlorn sense of detachment. They’re potent enough to tug on heartstrings (“Former living thing I want to / Form a leaving plan from you / From everliving foregone shades of blue) while maintaining a somewhat subdued presence. IIt sets the stage for choice moments when, as the music reaches a climactic moment, Dias cuts through the ethereal aura and dismisses any hint of reservation:
“For no pill will bring you back again
And we hurt ourselves for far too long
Cut this withered, earnest ***ing hand
And I'll get through this abandoned
My dear.”
It’s emblematic of the disc’s proclivity to juggle authenticity with a shoegaze-like veil, much in the same manner as contemporaries a la Parannoul. Indigo Dias has their own way of cloaking a lurking ache, yet all the same, it’s staring right at the audience: a ‘redshift,’ defined in physics, is when a light’s appearance is altered to an observer as it moves further away, thereby causing a color to move from the blue spectrum to the red. Over distance, the light changes, shifts, becomes something new--like staring at a stranger in an apartment, not knowing how they got there, and the stranger being equally unaware. At a far enough distance, when those faint clues at decaying attraction and amassed apathy coagulate, the sense of loss is palpable.
When “Redshift Blues” recites the opening lines of “Ships Sailing Space,” the record’s journey feels complete; the audience has entered into Dias’ pain, traversed through the dynamic landscapes that act as its camouflage, and reached a point where the resignation of a love drifted away is realized. How it is illustrated in such an epic yet simultaneously understated way is incredible to behold; there’s a grand expanse of vibrant structures to explore, yet their delicately somber aesthetic simultaneously purveys a sense of calm. There’s a comfort to find inside
The Redshift Blues as it clings to the past while ensnared by a quiet desperation to run from it--a poignant portrait of special memories graying into long-lost days. Heartbreak may be a conventional inspiration, but its relatability can still lead to powerful works of art.
