Sleepy sounds and images in “Rustling and Pure” cast impressionistic glow
It’s been a while since I’ve posted but I felt I needed to put something up, or I might just disappear. Today’s video is a mellow, sleepy change of pace from what I had been posting but something about it felt right to me. It’d be hard to put in words the feeling this inspires in me, but if I had to, I’d say it serves to remind me what is magical about music. It calls to mind late nights in college I spent reading and studying, immersed in an album by the Books I had that never quite settled to the ground, but spent its time instead floating through my headphones like a dandelion seed in a summer breeze. This song is simultaneously shallow and profound, wordless and packed with meaning, simple yet transporting. A series of images from misty, vibrant nature tug the video along urgently, and call to mind a long ride on a train through snowy mountainous terrain. The sun winks through leaves and tree branches, river valleys and mountains stream by in the distance, and the occasional child’s booted foot hops up and down on the screen. The audio is organic, almost subconscious, featuring meditative bells, gentle keyboards, and wordless vocals. It’s subtle and gentle, like my old favorites Yo La Tengo or the far-more-epic-sounding Sigur Ros, but far more ambient and out of left-field. And the video matches the sound perfectly, with a camera that never comes to rest, flickering from image to beautiful image like a restless animal, filled with curiosity and wonder by close-ups of plants, the occasional sunset, wildlife, and trickling streams. The audio is heady, subconscious, and heavenly, melting and flowing alongside the imagery as effortlessly as rising mists of dawn. I’ve been scrambling and scraping by, treading water to keep my head up, and shivering through the cold of winter, and this video is a much-needed warm breath of oxygen, moisture, and life, to remind us of the beauty that’s always around us. The song comes to us from the album Loops and Farewell Sketches, by Cass, and I think it’s a minor treasure, a simple gift to those who like me, are caught up in the heaviness of a difficult year. Hope you like it!