Soundless stories on a drop of sap. Number one: Forewarned, your life consists in being constantly drawn by some kind of pen you cannot fathom. You may sing a little. Number two: You will fall down every day; it is your vital movement. Backward movement, backward sounds. Number three: You can sing again, like a red bird, yet you are still a single drop of sap. Life shines back there. The way it goes away and comes back every day, forever printing the shadows of the leaves over your smooth, flawless skin, reminds you of nothing. Life is still a mystery for you. Number three and a half: The words are there, yet you won't understand what they mean, it's just sounds. Number four: What does it mean to be drawn? You'd have to listen, these slow guitar and ukulele slide lines, building spaces inside spaces, colors without a shape, sparse drums played over the beat of the world, your roots spreading away like the words of the poet. Number five: Rise like a swan, in the midst of sampled violin lines and into backward guitars, no percussion yet. [Follow me where the north wind goes to the end of Black Mountain Road.] It's all over now, you are a good person, it's just not the right time for you, just listen to the music and forget about the world. - postbop

Highlights / Black Mountain Road