Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Shawn Biggs at Studio Paradiso, San Francisco, California
There are so many days when you really have to pinch yourself -- not so much because you're so damned lucky and can't believe that this is all yours and that you've accomplished so much that it's almost comical -- but rather because it's frightening how out-of-body so many of the mundanities of life tend to be. There's so little spirit in so many parts of life that it's wild to think that we have to move our very complicated machines, our bodies through these various paces. The acts of cooking -- while the smells are great and there's a sensational payoff at the end of the process -- is draining and painstaking. Some of it -- photographed/Instagrammed properly -- is beautiful, right, but then we're just going down a rabbit hole and reinforcing all of the points we're trying to make in this essay here.
There's an element of disjointedness in the music of James Supercave -- an element of the spacy kind of disbelief that we can come into while we spend most of our moments logging our time sleepily. As Joaquin Pastor sings these songs, there's a sense that perhaps all of the people that he's singing about are impossibly adrift. They've cannonballed right into that milky part of existence that feels like a cataract, when everything's hazed out around the edges and you're half there and mostly numbed. We're locked into a dreamy creaminess with James Supercave and it feels like something that we might not want to change anytime soon. This is what we've become, or it's been what we've always been.