Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
If you're frozen too, you're listening correctly. You're doing it right. You feel like you shouldn't move. You feel like, even if you wanted to, you couldn't do it. You're planted right there in your dent and you're mesmerized. Someone could be tugging at your sleeve or raking their fingernails down a blackboard and your concentration wouldn't waver. You're transfixed on this incredibly present, sad voice that's touching you all over. You feel like you're about to evaporate or explode, whichever is more unprecedented, whichever it is that you never thought would happen to you.
Keaton Henson makes your head spin. He petrifies you. He dares you to blink or to sneeze. He dares you not to feel everything you've ever bottled, everything he's ever bottled. He dares you not to feel your heart kicking right the fuck out of your chest, as if it was trapped. This is a place where lips begin. It's a place where laughter and crying are easily confused for one another. It's where you go barefoot, even though you never go barefoot. It's where you shouldn't light a match, for it would all go up. It's all tinder. You're all tinder.