Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Patrick Stolley
Jeremy Malvin, the young Michigan songwriter behind the music of Chrome Sparks, might have very particular ways of courting someone, but he'd never think there was anything peculiar about it. These could just be the ways that we'd like to imagine him extending himself to another and the objects or benefits that he might offer. We'd like to think that his signature move would be something like wrapping a lava lamp and giving of it. The person could hold that lava lamp in their hands and feel the warmth of the greenish liquid on the other side of the coned glass and watch those light-colored globules form, rise, fall and repeat for hours and hours.
There's no logic to why we might think that Malvin would give such gifts to those he's interested in, it's just that Chrome Sparks music makes us think such chill and bizarre things sometimes. We picture the receiver getting said lava lamp and us being able to determine instantaneously whether or not the gesture was one that could yield something more in the love department. It might be the best possible way to sniff out a successful pairing, someone who's going to be able to meet the emotional needs that the characters in his songs seem to have. He's just looking for a little stability in a lover, a little attention. He's a committed man. He's able to give of himself completely. He's ready and he knows it the moment that the lava lamp is accepted with a beaming and a yip for joy.
Malvin comes across as a writer who's digging into those classic romantic thoughts and aspirations, when just growing old together, with nothing super exciting needing to happen to achieve fulfillment is all there is to it. It's all he wants. There's something about the slow and languid movements of the fluid in those lava lamps that makes you believe that Malvin admires that pace. He could deal with that. When the days go hot and cold, back to hot and then again back to cold, he could still have those somewhat wacky, but mostly predictable motions to count on. He could still have that favorite person to share all of his dinners with and to get to yank blankets back from on colder nights. He could still have that person that he misses the most and get the same regard in return. He could play them his songs and they could just drift off together, open novels on their chests, the glow of the soft light still striking them.