Red Sparowes: The Fear Is Excrutiating But Therein Lies the Answer

There are all these makeshift ideas floating around in my brain-ether.  All of them have command-response techniques. They await triggers.  Sometimes they await a noise, sometimes a motion, sometimes knowledge. I’d like to think that my more advantageous thoughts roam around the sides of my head– avoiding boring triggers and awaiting the right ones to float through.  I’d like to think that best of me comes from the best situations, that is, and that my neurons are captivated and capitulated by energetic means.

Red Sparowes, for instance, seemingly bring out the best in me.  The Fear Is Excrutiating But Therein Lies the Answer is a destructive wall of an album.  One that breaks and bends with the gales of the mind.  Each note is a guess as to where my most productive neurons are hiding.  This album coaxes and culls me into wellness.  Bright, vibrant, striking chords and notes shimmer to cause ripples and reactions.

“A Swarm” measures my height and weakens my ankles.   Steel guitar overlaps the songs at its languid beginning and bountiful drums drive the song to its decisively triumphant apex.  As all returns, it is clear that I have heard the promise and specter that haunts all of us.  I have the heard the counting off of my death rattle and the very essence of my marrow.  This is what Red Sparowes do; what they are alive to do.  They make music to inspire the very salt of thought.

“Giving Birth To Imaginary Saviors” demands my attention.  The song interrupts the seething nest of negativity that inhabits the cities and engages the easier positives like a step forward after traffic ceases or driving through a yellow light.  As the song ascends, all is forgiven.  Imperatives are forgotten.  The sweet dulcet of imaginary wars beckon the nectar.

It’s all here, everywhere. Sounds: gravel under moving tires, a child laughing on a bus, cracking knuckles, the clack of hail on a windshield.  Motions: stretching upon waking, rubbing a dog’s belly, fingering off the dust of the TV screen.  Knowledge: the good neurons are winning, it doesn’t matter that you got sick fam or that he/she ain’t coming back no more or that it’s so much in this world that you just can’t bear witness to the mechanics of work.  No, you rest and let “In Illusions of Order” ebb you closer to the instrumental sanity you describe to anyone who will listen.

Listen, for one second, just listen.  Talking has to cease for just 40 minutes or so and we just listen.  Along the sides of our heads, the passionate neurons await their triggers.  Rise, Red Sparowes, until all of us are allowed to sit peacefully “As Each End Looms and Subsides.”  Once that happens, we can all die happy and alone.  It was the only way we knew when we were born.  Drop and destroy, defy and desecrate, but all I ever wanted was to stand still amongst the definite.  This album is definitely that; definite.  Definitively, even.  Let it deafen us to the drudgery of defeatism.  Listen and it will trigger.