Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
There is no cure for not feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of the causes and the effects that play themselves out without a script, without a warning. There is no opening bell signaling when the horse-trading and compromises, the dumping and the grabbing, the felling and the sprouting is all supposed to commence. There's no one designated to give us any sort of heads up that we might be in for a chore or other tough stuff. Yesterday, I read about a smartphone app that actually tells people - when they're watching a movie at a theater - when a slow part or lag in the story is about to happen so that they can rush out to the bathroom.
This app is telling you exactly when you're not going to miss a thing, when it's totally safe to use the restroom and, while you're there, you can read a brief synopsis of what's happening while you're doing your business. Something like that doesn't exist for real life, away from the screen and that darkened make believe world of beginnings, middles and ends. Some things are simply unavoidable. We have to ingest them. They will come in and go out the same passages as anything else and they will leave all of their signature marks. We will break or we will accept them. It's either one or the other.
It's the feeling that a band like Die Mason Die makes us think about. Lead singer, Samuel Mason, places his characters in situations that have gotten to points where it might be nice to just reset and begin anew because furthering the projection, having no goddamned way of knowing how the kinks will work themselves out or work themselves in can be tough to stomach. There are many moments here where the thought is that it sure would be nice to have a couple nice stitches to wear so that they might go out tonight and have something new happen, to have it all turn around, like winning some kind of social lottery.
It would be nice to just be able to lift all of the rottenness out of the air and replace it with something deliriously unknown. Mason sings about searching for some new family, along with being in a state where everything is lost and nothing much makes sense any longer. These songs are lovely odes to the unsure man. Mason sings, "I'm a man but I'm scared," and that's kind of the side of the bed we all wake up on.