Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
Diego Garcia embodies the lone light that burns bright above a door, late at night, when that's all a body wants and needs to see. It's the thing that one searches for through a heavy snow, through a slow-going, over hours and hours of ass-numbing travel, after so much has happened, after nothing has happened. It's this pillar, this lighthouse that is gravitated to through all pain and suffering, because of all the love that's needed, that was had and the love that's hopefully still waiting there for you when you step upon that stoop and put the key you've been holding onto into the lock. The handle might be cold to the touch, but there's a swelling and smothering anticipation that whatever might be waiting on the other side of the door is warm and beaming.
The lead singer of Elefant has crafted a collection of solo recordings that are brilliant in their simplicity. They are stark reminders of the pleasantness of finding someone to love and sensing that it's got a chance of lasting for a while. It's that feeling that it will be there waiting for you. Its expression might change, it may add wrinkles or worry lines, but it's intending on being there.
Garcia sings about "a rainy night in a quiet town in Florida," at one point here and there's a feeling that it wasn't the happiest of moments, but it comes across as a night to be remembered anyway. It ironed itself out and fell into a carefree swirling and twirling. It's this vibration of sogginess and familiarity that overcomes any misfortune that might be poking around. These are hearty relationships that will last for a good long while, even if they take breathers and just hang like an umbrella on the lip of a drink. These are the slow dances of patient love and lingering arms. They burn without being asked.