There’s a magic to
Bloom that I’m not articulate enough to pinpoint. I know that within the first few seconds of ‘Myth’, I’m instantly transported to a starry September night when I first slow-danced with my wife. The song played from my car speakers in a vacant parking lot at 1 a.m. as we stepped and swayed, and nothing else mattered for those four minutes. ‘On the Sea’ was our second dance, merely an excuse to keep the night going as long as possible but that was every bit as magical. My love for
Bloom is rooted in a collage of personal memories, most of which idealize romance in a passionate yet impractical way. Life wears us down and beckons us to become realists.
Bloom, on the other hand, is one of my few ties back to a time when love was
destiny, and the passion of eternal youth burned with a fervor that seems impossible now.
I couldn’t sit here and rattle off reasons why
Bloom is the best Beach House album. Most dedicated fans of the band may even tell you that it isn’t. I don’t care about any of that because
Bloom creates a world that, to me, will never be imitable. Its effervescent production, arpeggiating synths, shimmering guitars, and elegant pianos swirl in a virtual planetarium, and it’s impossible not to fall in love from beneath the resplendent light show.
Bloom isn’t groundbreaking. It’s not going to be anyone’s decade #1. It is, however, a reminder to take life as it comes. To be cheesy. To dance. To love someone to a foolish extent regardless of consequences.
Bloom is all of the most beautiful things about life wrapped up within a sleek and accessible package. Like I said, I can’t explain
Bloom’s technical merits nor do I care to. It’s so much more than that.
