"Is it time to draw the line, following anyone else? / Novel not, you know what dies, pottering in the mould garden..."
The avant garde lens, tubular streams of consciousness (?) of "Isle" by Vilde, the project name of Melbourne, Australia born / Stockholm based songwriter, musician, artist, nomad Thomas Savage, feels so absolutely artful but dreamily obtuse as well, filmic for a film that may or may not makes sense but draw you in just the same. AND I like that. The fuzzy synth drones that sound somehow otherworldly either from the past or future, the synth notes that run up stairs and back down and then vice versa, the fluidly snaking bass lines that feel octaved in surreal ways, the cagey progressive beats all serve as a frame work for Savage's starkly illusory words and vocal countenance. This feels like a movie directed by Paul Thomas Anderson or David Robert Mitchell because it puts your mind in a place to receive things and because the words and music just might hypnotize.
"Isle" is from Vilde's upcoming album, 'Qualia at odds'.
Vilde shares:
[There is a recipient for each song on Qualia at odds—be it a person, a component of myself, humanity, or the Earth. Isle addresses a component in all of us: one of hesitancy, passivity, and forfeit—an often-inflated part of ourselves, hindering life of its feeling, depth, and poignancy.
Standing on the isle, looking back at the mainland, the swim across appears choppy, cold, and hazardous. It’s possible that the only immediate gain from the journey will be a sense of accomplishment—but one that, in turn, replenishes the potency of the human experience.]
Standing on the isle, looking back at the mainland, the swim across appears choppy, cold, and hazardous. It’s possible that the only immediate gain from the journey will be a sense of accomplishment—but one that, in turn, replenishes the potency of the human experience.]
LYRICS
Is it time to draw the line, following anyone else?
Novel not, you know what dies, pottering in the mould garden
Muddled breath, a murmur less, slippery at the helm
I was an island in the garden, watching you passing by
A bliss of ego, fomo and grit, understated pride
Hesitate to kiss your face, in the burn of a raw sun
‘Nevermind’ a murmur lied, following promises gone
Novel not, you know what dies, in the veins, out of the eyes
Paraphrase a dream come true
-Robb Donker Curtius
THE FACTS AS WE KNOW THEM
https://www.instagram.com/thomasvilde/
https://www.facebook.com/thomasvilde
https://soundcloud.com/vildemusic/subpar-sentiment-cracking-skin-a-gene-forgotten-so-long-ago
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