The very good and the very bad that happens to us are alike in their devilishness, their deceptiveness. They batter us - sometimes in a welcome way - and we're left wondering what it was all about, whether is really happened or if it was all imagined. We rub our eyes, pinch the fat and the skin of an underarm and determine the severity and the consciousness of it all. We suss it all out in a groggy state that continues for quite some time - trying to get to a point where we are fine with the findings. We shake most of it away, taking whatever kind of meaning we might be able to derive from it, determining what we can claim as tangible.
Brooklyn band Future of What is a group that finds it ever tricky to decipher nights and days, dreams and nightmares. Lead singer Blair sings of these things as if it were all party to the same general mind, as if it belonged in one column. Her lyrics are dreamy, to put it simply, and complicated in what they're asking for. They're seeking some sort of clarity in what's real and what's something altogether different. There's a suspension of belief and disbelief when it comes to these questions, giving us the feeling that we're swimming in the most logical madness.
She sings of lost loves as if they were phantom limbs, getting itched and mourned for long after they've been gone. Damn if she can't see them walking toward the house from off in the distance, as the setting sun's glare does funny things were her watery eyes. Everyone tells her that the love isn't coming back, that the person that she's yearning for is a goner, but she's holding out hope even when observing, "I wake up in the morning/The sun is never shining like it used to."
Gentle lightning strikes announce themselves in her nights and the thunder pounds like a massage, with its rounded corners. The concerns that these people have are nettlesome, but they aren't horribly destructive. They just cause the eyes to burn, as they hope for some elusive sweet returns.