Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
The whole point of Pelican, it seems to me, is you play you. It's to wind you up, to get the body behaving and responding to certain stimuli in such a way that will throw you completely out of control. It's to press your buttons in such a way that you're suddenly acting like a shadow. You've become something akin to your darker side. That part of you has pulled itself from your blood and has replaced your normal facade. It's become your new face and clothing.
The tense muscles in your neck and shoulders -- all those knots that you aren't able to work out of the fiber -- are throbbing, but Pelican songs provide a valve that can be teased open to relieve some of that pressure. Sometimes they let us stew in the gloom though. They keep us there, cutting off our air or letting the sinister thoughts have a picnic. There can be a significant delay in relief, but then the gray waves keep moving, in fits and jerks. No storm every remains for ever and when the skies start breaking apart, it's either the end or it's a beginning and only time will tell which is which.