The Black Heart Procession
Three

It's raining, the sun stayed in bed all day. Today it didn't even stick a finger out of its hole. I'm weather-sensitive, I've known it for a while. I have a ton of things to do, a lot of tasks to fulfill, but there are days when you just shrug everything off because there's little else to do. The slow procession of the black heart has started its march, and I follow it. At a funeral pace, we circle this flooded world.

There's something magical in the delicacy that these guys from San Diego use to lean out of their window. Delicate, a delicate way, yet determined. A firm decision conveyed with human delicacy, whispered in a warm bar in the presence of a beer. Something like "I don't love you anymore". A decision made and imposed with a caress. This is the music of the Black Heart Procession. A sweet melancholy to surrender to, no resistance to the notes that come sweet and lull you.

Folk ballads from a post-atomic explosion hung over the void. As if Johnny Cash, mellowed by age, met Neil Young assaulting his Les Paul, intent on paving William Blake's road. All together, gathered to rearrange the pain of "From Here to Eternity", removing that sense of fever and sickness.

There's something religious in the repetition of the same concept. An album by the Black Heart Procession, specifically this "Three" (published by Touch and Go in 2000), in its repetition, in the cyclical expression of its concept, is a religious experience.