Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
Even before Imaginary Cities singer Marti Sarbit brings it up later in the session, we're already thinking about rain-streaked windows and the patter of droplets on the rooftop. The songs that the Winnipeg, Canada, group perform here are rainy day laments. They are odes to the unraveling of relationships - disintegrations that aren't too bitter or questionable - just ones that were seen coming from off on the horizon.
These are people that have gradually and naturally drifted apart. There's nothing left for them as a unit, just the need for a final separation. The spirit and liveliness of what they used to have has been frittered away and they're stuck holding the ashes. One person still believes there's a flame in their palm and the other wants to head to the sink to wash everything clean away.
It's a problem, but it's one that's going to go away fairly soon, from the sound of things as Sarbit and Rusty Matyas continue to sing in their charmed and undulating way. These songs are of the melancholy that should be obvious to everyone, but they rely on the blindness of one of the involved to pull it off successfully. These are days rolling on, they are tripping over themselves, without calling any attention to themselves. Even a song about money issues - something along the lines of it not bringing happiness and something also along the lines of nobody really having much of it - feels like it's coming from mouths stuck out in a downpour. Somehow Imaginary Cities make us feel like joining all of these sad-sack people on the chorus, even with all of the dampened air about.