Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Matt Vasquez at The Rat Cave, Brooklyn, New York
The spaces that Nick Hakim takes us into are those where there is only the room temperature and a heavy-to-overflowing mind to worry about. The curtains have been drawn and there's a cologned dimness hanging so sullenly, but alive in the air. It's that of a lived in day, a hard week that needs to be unspooled and laid out for cataloging. There is a cloud of gray smoke pushing toward the ceiling, rippling down the walls. It's thick and humid and we're able to just swim in our trials, drag our drink out to the point where we can feel as if we're finally sleepwalking. We feel carried away, afloat on some meaningful waters, skimming off the stink of the heart and soul, getting to the hearty pillars of the ticker -- the pieces of bloody timber that hold it up, that keep it in place and its morale up. Hakim's deep, break you apart soulfulness makes you want to wander all day and night long. You'll snap out of it when you want to snap out of it, or when he stops.