The instrumentation is like a 20’s thumb print of light, with candle quivering speech obscured in clatter and lo-fi chord tumbles, reminds me of Smog’s early introspections or Crescent’s flirtations with urban shadowing.
Nicely paced and moody but never jet black depression, this release is like walking a ruined hinterland. Those kissed whip cracks and braying strings seem to be echoes shot through drab non furnished rentals, shadowy instrumentation groping towards songs that have been Alzheimered out of existence. The mouse trap snap of programming, numb fingers and empty pockets… an oratory to the concrete, a sickness of the city, around which phantom toys skip a lament.
This is a late night, sleepless zombie collection of wicked loops and grey atmospheres read from a tattered notebook. Simple words strung in flat origami folds, mouth confetti falling deflated to the boards. Even the wordless tracks bleed plenty and conspire towards a bleak sub-a-kulture, the brittle bristle of yesterday’s newspapers. I love the resigned sigh that seems to filter through all the tracks, so much so that you don’t even notice the gradual shafts of light that work their way through… an exercise video plays to itself in delayed syrup caught in crippled guitar claws, but the words bring on smiles, then a beat-boxed deconstruction changes the scenery completely with a mired cuteness that must be one of Arklight’s finest pop moments.
Allow me to hit the lights.mp3