Sometimes the music's quiet duty is to let a story tell itself. And sometimes it's to hold you down and slash you to ribbons. When a song is a thought before it's music, the chorus' arrival doesn't always mean there's a lot left to say. In love and dreaming, part of you still watches from wakefulness. This is what 1996 sounded like.
Sufficient conviction can exhume the truths that even the deepest cliches bury.
A guitar and a voice, and I'm as mesmerized as if a muse had fallen to earth. Neither Jason nor Vent 414's Miles Hunt are new to music, but they approach their new lives as if they were their first, and listening to them I can believe that their pasts belong to someone else. Last Dance A bittersweet wake for the champions of swelling hearts. One decade struggles to finish honoring the previous one. RPM deserves a medal for prying these records out of Polydor's crypt-keeper's grasp.