25 April 2007
tell your friends...
Words by Tony Conte // Illustration by Rick Baker
Think of Winterpills’ album as a dream. At once inviting, oftentimes inspiring, much like the frozen-over lake which begs to be traversed, but which crackles under each step. Remain in one place too long, and the ice may give, and what you find beneath the ice is cold, cold water. One of the first symptoms of hypothermia is confusion.
You’ll be safe if you don’t demand an awful lot of your music. Walk into this album (and I still suggest you buy it) with the intention of giving in to a dream. Succumb to it the way you would to sleep, and you’ll ride the cold wind of the music from one song to the next. Connect the images of the music, the ill-begotten themes of the lyrics, as you would connect the stars in a constellation. Use enough imagination and even Orion can make sense. Does that rough rectangle built of imaginary lines really look like a warrior suspended in the sky? I guess it’s all in who’s looking.
Winterpills give us images which a mind might otherwise conjure during a groggy state. These images are dark, and they desperately want to reach an agreement with reality.
“purple pitcher, perfect twins, one beside her three brown eggs, one striped vase, he holds a stick, the shadow cast is what connects”
“There will always be children, behind one comes another, on the stair the younger brother, in his grandmother’s shawl”
Winterpills has given us a soothing album of unassuming songs, built on a nearly invisible high-wire of tension: the lone electric guitar solo settles, after a somnambulistic slide, into a note which leaves the melody unresolved.
Winterpills will lead you by the hand into this dream-world. They won’t need to convince you to follow. The intriguing melodies, hushed whisper harmonies, perfect pacing, and familiar pre-millenium unease will be enough.
Yes, this album is a dream-state, a pleasant alternative to being awake: indelible when you’re in its midst, forgettable when you’re not.
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