Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
The nights that Billie Marten gives us are collapsing. They are swinging by a very thin thread, though this doesn't make them feel any less than ordinary. They are on the cusp of slipping away. These nights have encountered people who are slipping just as precariously away. They yearn for a past that they'll never get back. They yearn for the dark soot in the air to drift on out of the area so that cleaner, deeper breathing can happen. They have hung themselves out on so many lines that they've lost track. Marten, a young songwriter from the UK, writes stories in gorgeous, subdued tones that will make you feel a heaviness of heart descending upon you, all while accepting that this is better than the heart stopping altogether. The people that these stories are about are in need. Of what exactly, they're not sure. They move gracefully over and around the stumbling blocks and the shattered light, to find a seam that might not leave so many scars.