Jan 7, 2013
- 1 Welcome to Daytrotter
- 2 Summer Salt
- 3 La Ballerina E Il Legno
- 4 Isabelle
- 5 The Song I Sang Before I Met You
Hearts Played Carelessly Or The Other
Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
It's nice when lost love, or the unrequited kind rings with something of a noble emptiness. It feels closer to the way we harbor it. It might not have been the way that we digested it when it first went down, but we keep it in one of those places in our hearts where nothing rusts and instead gleams brighter and clearer as the years roll on. As we wake into new days without that person that we ache or once ached for, we're able to sense that we're less shaky with each one. The wooziness and the pain have worn off and the memories have begun to work themselves into an effect that achieves the opposite sensation of despair.
A heart that's been played by a careless or inattentive hand can and will eventually get over it and it will surprise you by what it decides to remember about the whole thing. It's not a mellowing, but a reasoning. It's a taming of all of the unreal expectations that might have been placed on the lush and gooey visions of unsurpassed happiness that were floating around like ticker tape that was never thrown out of the windows. The parade never happened while we waited alongside the street for it. We walked away after being stood up and we eventually got over it. We didn't get over it all, but you're faced with two choices when something like that happens and one is entirely unpleasant and barely an option for someone who wants to keep living and try to find love again.
Sylvie Lewis brings us to these wonderful moments, after the dawnings, when we're released from the ties that used to bind us to the loves that we hardly or never begotten. The English songwriter brings us to the feelings of new days rising, even when the residue of these hurts still lingers in some form. The hurts have transformed themselves into thoughts that are almost treasured. They're the soft memories of what was, or what almost was - seen well for the first time with distance. They're seen for the beauty that they held, even with their many imperfections, hiccups and ultimate failure.
She sings sweetly to and of these old loves, believing that, "In a funny way, the breaking's making me whole." She realizes that sometimes people are used and sometimes they do the using. She knows that sometimes it's hard to tell which person you are in the story. She's always up for finding out.
Sylvie Lewis Official Site