Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Patrick Stolley
Sometimes, there's just nothing like looking into a stumbling night, one with an aloof determination or dedication and seeing daylight in it. Sometimes, it's enough to just find a penny lying on the ground and picking it up. While it won't get you a damned thing, it still feels good. It feels like you might have gained a little something that day. Hell, the "pennies" that we pick up are all but necessary for us to keep getting anywhere. They feel weightier than they actually are when they're slipped into the side pocket because there's still that widely held superstition that if we find them lying the correct way on the ground, they just might bring us the luck that we can't find elsewhere. It could be that penny from earlier that will allow something to shine through that imperfect and undetermined night.
Atlanta, Georgia, band Little Tybee, an impressive orchestra of sorts, led by vocalist Brock Scott is most interested in those infrequent pieces of treasure we tuck into our hearts, not our pockets. They're most interested in how those things make us feel - especially how they make us feel that we can overcome what's binding or dampening us. There's a woman in the song, "Mind Grenade," who supposedly holds the key to one's heart and yet, with a whistling, carefree sort of enthusiasm, that person finds that she's changed the lock on him without warning him first. He jiggles the handle, makes sure he has the right key - all that stuff - and still, there's nothing about the song that would suggest that he will be an emotional wreck. He moves in with some people down the street and everything will move along, straightening itself out.
The wounds hadn't even been inflicted and they already sounded like they were scabbing over and healing. Scott sings about how, "The darkness shines in all directions," and it's the part about it shining that gets to us. It's like there's something in there, something in that darkness that can still be mined. Even that battered penny can spend. Even that darkness fades. The cold never lasts.
Paper Garden Records