The songs “No One’s Gonna Love You” and “Detlef Schrempf” form the soft, reverby core of the album Cease to Begin, Band of Horses’ second album. After the success of their first record, most figured they’d be just a one-trick pony (a-haha), but their second record, which I would say is arguably the better of the two, proved all naysayers wrong. The feel is quite different; the last record was brash, loud, more raw, and more rough-and-tumble folksy. This one has a smoothness (usually a death-signaling adjective) to it that no doubt draws from the childhood home – and latest home – of the band members, South Carolina. This album, and these two songs in particular, remind me of sweet moonshine, porches, and a lazy twilight humidity.

“No One’s Gonna Love You” is haunted by ghosts, as is much of Cease to Begin. “No one’s gonna love you like I do” almost sounds like a beyond-the-grave curse – sung in sweet echoey tones. Lyrically the song is plaintive and nearly pleading, as if the character singing believes that he’ll be revived if she agrees to take him back. But the singer also acknowledges his own death/breakup, singing “things start splitting at the seams / and now the whole thing’s tumbling down hard” as if no one had ever sung anything like that before, which is really what I think you want to hear in a singer’s voice – innocence and pure, instant emotion.

“Detlef Schrempf” is a beautiful song with a funny title. The song is a bed of clean, reverbed guitar sounds, sliding and jangling around like Slinkys in a metal truck bed. At a strikingly regular basis, these slinkys all hit the truck sides at once and make a beat that sounds just like a snare drum. Again, Ben Bridwell’s voice, once Band of Horses’ only potential liability, steps up to the challenge set forth and rocks it, ethereal-style. And again, I find him exceptionally convincing. “Eyes can’t look at you any other way,” he sings, and I nod. Yet, the question remains: why name this song after a German-born NBA star? The world may never know.

I’d say these songs are a slam dunk! Aha, seriously, enough with the puns already.

Band of Horses – No One’s Gonna Love You

Band of Horses – Detlef Schrempf

I worked from home today, and I spent the whole grey afternoon listening to the late Alan Hovhaness, and I felt pretty lucky, sitting and typing in my chair and listening to the master at work in his finest symphony, his second. I like listening to Symphony 2, “Mysterious Mountain” because it makes me think of Tacoma and the Northwest: my Mysterious Mountain is Rainier. The music, so big and wide, makes me feel green, rocky, and wet; when I close my eyes I see Carbon Glacier in the snow, and the vast white mountain behind it. The first movement is about as sublime as music gets. Big undulating gusts of wind wash over you as you stand and watch the mountain. You don’t just look at a mountain; you watch it. Underneath the winds you hear strings (cello? I don’t know, really) climb up scales, this is your hiking boots over the dirt path. The second movement shows that behind the sublime, behind the vast unknown, is terror. The people of Tacoma and Puyallup Valley know Rainier could blow its top at any moment, but they wake in the morning, look at it huge and looming, and they’re still alive. So there’s terror, and there’s joy. The third movement defines this coexistence. This symphony also makes me think of Tacoma because that’s where I discovered Hovhaness’ music first. Yet another reason to thank that city. Give a listen; I’m hard-pressed to think of a more beautiful 20 minutes of music.

Symphony 2, “Mysterious Mountain”
Movement 1
Movement 2
Movement 3

It may be March 1st, but with a good foot of snow on the ground and more falling, it’s still most definitely winter. There are a lot of winter naysayers out there, but me, I love it. I love the snow, of course, but I also love being inside, warm, cozy, sweatered and slippered, watching the wind whip and the sky fall outside. There’s something essentially human about it, making ourselves wam not through fur and fat but through homes and layers. For me music is but another layer of warmth, and one of my favorite musical sweatshirts to wear is Mirah’s Advisory Committee album. The second song, “After You Left,” is barely a blip, clocking in at a fractional 1:38. But the song exudes warmth. A simple beat carries us through the whole song, big and soft like someone dancing in slippers. Above that is a synth playing warm, low tones, and then finally Mirah’s voice, which to me is always a comfort. “The stars so far / stay up all night,” she sings, “they’ve got some kind of way / to shine their light. / I’d like to have one / hold it tight / start a fire / burn all night.” The best music can translate into a physical reaction; a shiver, a feeling of ecstasy. “After You Left” makes me feel warmth in my chest and arms. “Now it’s hot like summer / winter’s days are numbered.” I think I can endure the winter a little longer.

Mirah – After You Left