It’s listening through the first half of the album, until the Gothic mock-Western solo of ‘A Forest’ meanders to a halt. It’s a lack of oxygen in Rachel Trickett, room dark and two people chair-to-chair. Sunlight under the door a taunt. It’s the song that played in a white people carrier, around the wide, straight streets of Vancouver B. C. A lyric I couldn’t make out. It’s all of these things. It’s faltering and having to fight; nothing but Narcissus fighting a reflection. Tinnitus rings out my right ear. It rang out then. Pubs coalesce to muddy background hiss. Prentiousness denied its air in the wider world.

Published by gurdeepmattu

I’m an author and publisher. I live and work in London and am the author of “Sons and Fascination” (2011, Paperbooks). It's available here: http://amzn.to/eaTVCx

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