Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews at 2KHz at Church Studios, Crouch End, London
It could be that many things lead a body to the place where a Bear Driver song starts. At that place, where everything had been fuzzy and crinkly before, the ironing out has begun. Where the whistling of the breeze had gone through your ears, as if it were a tunnel, there now exists something firmed and more resolved. It's here that the directions and the momentum have all synced up somewhat and there's more to get your teeth into. It's as if you're able to let go off all the silliness that claims you most days and you're able to take control. It's like being able to say, as someone offers you a ride - maybe even on a lousy day, when you'd be nuts not to take them up on it, "Nah, I think I'll just walk." It's getting that fresh air and all that being out in the elements, letting them pound on you, get inside your coat, through your shirt, in through the holes in your shoes, that sometimes can feel wonderful. It's a matter of just letting it all go, as if you can just twist a valve and feel the release of all the pressure that you'd built up for yourself.
The London-based band makes it feel like the best thing you can do is to just fling your hands up into the air and partially give up. You can just let it go. You can refuse the rope and the contractual obligations to be anything other than what you want. They sing, "You can laugh all you want, but you can't hold me to this world," and it sounds almost religious in its purview, as if nothing can hold us down but ourselves. We won't let it because we're bigger than that. We just get out there on the wobbly gliders, finding the air currents agreeable for a flight. We find that our legs like the burn of the walk. We find that the breaths that we're breathing in - when we've thrown the deck of cards to the sky - seems to be laced with sugar and we suck in those pockets of them in humongous gulps. We could stand to do this every day, but what makes it so good, might just be that we know we can't, that these are the rare days when good walks aren't spoiled by everything else.