Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Shawn Biggs at Studio Paradiso, San Francisco, California
In The Valley Below songs make me think about the following things:
Some mangy mutt, foaming at the mouth, tracking me through the worst blizzard anyone's ever seen, though surprisingly, the temperature isn't unbearable.
A beach that we have all to ourselves.
A beach covered with the kinds of tracks that we can't place.
Feeling that I've become too adjusted to the darkness.
A tree loaded down with beautiful, fresh and plump fruit, only none of it can be twisted from the stems. It just tempts, mocks. One can taste those suckers just by looking at them.
Apple pie and peaches, for obvious reasons.
The taste of blood and the way that it always startles you.
The feeling you get when you walk into a house in which someone's been cooking all day.
Hands. Hands holding. Eyes loving.
Escaping a big rainstorm by taking cover under the leaves and branches of a gigantic tree, therefore only partially getting out of the rain.
Skimming time. Cheating it.