Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Shawn Biggs at Studio Paradiso, San Francisco, CA
Sometimes it just doesn't matter if you're feeling good or not. It doesn't matter if you've got your happy pants on or if things are just shitting on your head and you're rotting from the inside out. Most of the time, you're toggling between one or the other and you can just turn the tone on a dime. You can be going through some serious crap and then someone might call you up and treat you to an ice cream cone or a sundae and the dessert takes you right out of the doldrums.
On the other side of the coin, everything can be about as good as can be and one tiny little word or a look can send that entire head of steam crashing down in a second. It's got to be a little better to just to fake yourself unaffected. You can save yourself from the real mental anguish of getting rung dry when you're least wanting it to happen. To have the piss taken out of a good moment or to have it injected into one is the worst. There are so many times when you just can't help feeling crushed and overwhelmed when this happens and for this, we should take time to visit a Geographer song like, "Kaleidoscope."
It's kind of like going to chapel, if that's something that might bring you some comfort or be the balm to what ails you. It's a little like just storming out the door - gone to clear your head - and you make your way to a bluff along a fat river, like the muddy Mississippi that I have down the block. It's non-stop. It's unrelenting and is burdened by very little. It's current is swift and merciless, but it is all about the big soothe. You sit there, or pace along it and the pressure that's built up suddenly begins to wane and - while the sad and ugly things that you're trying to forget will never get completely dismissed, they become much less important.
Geographer, with Michael Deni on lead vocals, guitars and synthesizers, Nathan Blaz on the cello and synths and Brian Ostreicher on drums and backing vocals, make a sound that's like a thousand moons glowing silver and shining a benevolent light down to everyone who needs it. It's a sound that feels sad, but might really just be the result of a release - a valve that's been allowed to flow - and therefore, the songs might actually be the extensions of a resiliency. They might actually be the proof that a cleansing has occurred and that things are looking up. What once was is now brighter and able to go on trying to find more hurt out there somewhere.