Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
Getting by, or surviving the getting by, can often feel like a miracle. It can feel like you've needed all of the luck a crossed finger or prayer could muster up for a body, just to get through to the next confrontation, which isn't really a victory at all, and hardly a triumphant miracle, if one is keeping score. It's one that you can brush off as okay, not an overly proud moment, but one that was serviceable as being a happy one. At least it was surprising, in whatever capacity it presented itself.
Saint Saviour music reminds us that there is a considerable difference between one man's cold weather and another's. It can be cold and then it can be COLD. The COLD, and even the kid brother to it - the lower case cold - feels like these pre-miracle times, when there's no greater optimism than pessimism that getting by is going to be what happens.
Saint Saviour's Becky Jones sings as if she's applying an icing to the top of every sentiment. The homes that she brings up in her songs are snow-capped and made mostly of crystal, with crystalline sidewalks and rainspouts. They are surrounded by crystal trees and grass blades. The people are made of crystal, allowing them to be seen through as well as fragile. Everything in the worlds that she creates in her music is breakable. Everything can be chipped and shattered and once that happens, you can fake it, but there's no getting it all back together again, to where you can't spot the damage with the naked eye. It's here where Saint Saviour drops us, where she lets us cool.