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 suspended movements and actions that the protagonist in Georgi Kay's "In My Mind," encounters are the lovely driftings of a person who can't help but possess a gray, cloudy heart. What's detailed is a moment or many moments of faith, where nothing's certain but the initial kick-off from stable ground. It's somewhat jarring, the way it is when you're walking down a dark staircase and you believe that there is either one more step or there are no more steps and then there are no more steps or one more step, respectively. The split second of panic, or naivete, sends a thunder through a complacent body's nerves. Kay's backdrop is less jarring or just jarring in a different way - kind of like when you just can't seem to get warm, when your fingers or toes just continue to throb and shiver with chilliness.
The Australian songwriter from Perth chronicles the chilled lives of people who have yet to have their big, saucer eyes satisfied. They want and what they want isn't unreasonable, just hard to lay claim to. They're panning for flakes of gold, not big rocks of it. They're standing out in those cold mountain streams that have already been worked to death for a century or more. It's all those fading dreams and light fingers of passion that they're panning for. They reach out and strive for something that has some weight to it, someone who can be seen, reached within an arm's length, but "finding nothing but what I see." It's not what they've been waiting for - a mere fraction of it. They just want to shake a little more life into what they're finding. They want to turn all of the lights on in the house and play the music loud. They want someone to encourage it, to dance with them in that warm, trembling, loud and bright house.