One of the greatest impulses is to hurry. It's to get ahead. It's to be first. It's even more about not being last that brings about the hurrying. It's about needing to says things to people before they just eat the hell away at you, before they begin to rot you out from the insides to the point where if someone poked you in your chest, they'd pull out a rancid smelling thumb. It's this urge to get to some kind of proverbial finish line and then ask whatever the next questions are when anyone reaches such a dumb place. It's a place that is quickly stripped of all meaning because it's not where anything is really rewarded or where there is anything culminating. It's just another day and you've hurried yourself off to a sigh and a night's sleep, same as any other night.
Josh Mease doesn't take anything anywhere near that path with his songwriting. The young man from Texas, who now calls Brooklyn home, takes more of a seductive approach to a way of writing that takes him to all of the precipices that he'd like to get to. It takes him to the edges of windowpanes that he's able to peer through - getting all of the tiniest details right, fogging up the glass as he's doing so, being so close to it. He's the kind of writer who agonizes over his subject. Were he painting nudes, his models would start to get a little chilly, even at the point where he was still just working on the contours and the curves, not yet getting to the shade of the eyes or the color around the knees.
He likes to see a subject go from the point of being chilled, to the point of condensation, to the point of it being right back at room temperature, where it might have started. It's taking in the subject the way that one observes the fence line and view on a scenic drive that has no itinerary. His words are softly spoken and they're full of sweet offerings of tenderness and amazement at all of the things that have got him knotted up. He sounds like one of those daydreamers who is going to be like that for as long as he's still able to take nourishment. He's going to pass the trait on to his children someday, if he ever decides to have any.