Four Tet - Three
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Four Tet's twelfth outing bathes in shades of pastel blue. Clear skies, but the threat of rain somehow still lingers. Sorrow remains in the mind. Its fingers tap to the tune.
The slowed-up and sped-down rumble of drums. The cascading samples. The thoughts of past times amidst the groove. The overpowering sense of a melancholic malaise. The underwhelming sense that things could have gone better. The air or reminiscence that hangs heavy - though floats light as a feather. The moment which stands still forever - frozen in frame. Etch-a-sketched on the back of your eyelids; imprinted on your minds eye. Memories wisp up and out. Lit candles simmer smoothly; séance-like. Flickers of flames catch wayward spirits. Unspoken words utter lost dreams. The happy-sad of it all. The upward wane of a downward spiral. The weightless wheels on which life spins. The incongruity of being for and against. Seeing both sides and remaining outside. Observing the surroundings. Taking notes. Taking your time. Feeling for the forward move. The air changes when you become mindful of it. Small steps before the deep dive. The slow tide which takes you away; drags you under and holds you there. An alarm-ridden calm. Keeping hold leads you further down. The rabbit hole knows no ends.
Awkward but gentle; incomplete but sweet. Puppeteered by strings of self-doubt. The puppeteer aloof to the fact. Being played by the game of life. In control of the uncontrollable; illusory deficits. Sand through tight fists. Clutch all you want, it's out of your hands. If you love it, let it go.
