I searched for a long time for an introduction to this piece of writing. I'd think of something and immediately say to myself, "No, what a crap." I'd write it down and immediately delete it, telling myself, "No, what a crap."
Perhaps because, simply, there is no adequate introduction; just as there is no closure, adequate or not.
Much can be said about this album, but nothing would be right.
The only right thing is silence. The silence that during the 45 minutes of duration you will never hear for more than a second, but after those 45 minutes will be infinite, perpetual, deafening, annoying. Finding more security in the chaotic and infernal world of Converge, rather than in the tranquil one of reality.
A work that transcends words. Even those, if they really exist, of the songs. Jacob Bannon screams in an incomprehensible manner, not of this world. He wrote lyrics, also included in the booklet, but when it came time to sing them, he threw them away, saying screw it. And he only screamed to the world all the pain and despair that was brooding within him.
One of those works that hurt, not only inside. First and foremost to those who created it.
"Dear, I'll stay gold just to keep these pasts at bay
To keep the loneliest of nights from claiming you
and to keep these longest of days from waking you
For I felt the greatest of winters coming."
"Concubine" comes in and within three seconds the listener, and the world as they knew it, is annihilated. Catapulted, instead, into the world composed of disturbing black and apocalyptic visions of Converge.
No hope left.
"I'll lay waiting, just waiting for my time to come."
An inferno. An inferno to pay.
"Cheap lips, soft eyes, lost in the most blinding lights
As cold as those first nights alone
As the second best he'll become
Sleep deep, girl, dream well
Just sleep, girl, just dream well."
Condemned to never be able to go back. What was known before, now no longer exists.
"I lay claim to this day - No love, no hope
I've lost count of the second chances
I lay claim to this day - No love, no hope."
Trapped in a dimension on the thin line between reality and mad abstraction. Without love, without any hope.
In the darkness where one searches for meaning, when all one is looking for is something, anything.
A desire to get out, knowing you can't.
When the only possible thing is to wait.
"Lost in you like Saturday nights
Searching the streets with bedroom eyes
Just dying to be saved."
Only with death is it possible to be saved and get out. It is for that one waits.
The fade out of "Jane Doe" sounds like a catharsis, after which only the terrifying silence from which one was fleeing remains.
Loading comments slowly
