Tag: reviews

Listening in Greyscale: Meloy or Molko?

~ Catherine ~ 2 Comments

It took me a few seconds to realise I was wrong.

I was listening to my playlist on shuffle. Sixty-three hours practically demand this. A new song came on. The Infanta by The Decemberists. But my brain insisted it was Placebo. Brian Molko’s voice, unmistakable, slightly nasal, brittle at the edges, dramatic without trying.

I was so sure of it that I had to stop what I was doing and look it up. Mostly because I couldn’t remember adding any Placebo songs to my playlist recently, and it definitely wasn’t one of the older ones I used to like. Maybe a collaboration with Brian Molko?

No, it wasn’t him.

It was Colin Meloy.

That moment, that small musical misrecognition, revealed something about the way I listen to music. I don’t just hear songs. I hear ghost echoes. Overlaps. Connections that aren’t necessarily there, except that they are, for me.

Meloy’s voice in The Infanta sharpens, tightens, becomes theatrical in a way that briefly steps out of his usual folk warmth. And in that narrow space, Molko appears. A similar tension in the voice. The same slightly strained upper register. The same insistence in the consonants. A kind of emotional insistence.

Colin Meloy sings slightly lower than Brian Molko ever does, and that’s the strange part. The resemblance isn’t in the pitch. It’s in the placement. The way the voice sits forward in the mouth. The way tension is held rather than released. It’s colour, not register, that connects them. Not a perfect match. Just close enough to open a door.

It’s strange, the way the brain does this. How it pulls threads between artists, decades, genres. How one voice suddenly becomes a door to another. How listening turns into remembering. A song, an artist, sometimes even a film. Even when the memory isn’t quite real. It’s not fake either. It sits in greyscale, somewhere in between.

I often notice these things. A chord progression that reminds me of a song I can’t place. A voice that sounds like someone else’s shadow. I’ve learned that not everyone listens like that. For some, music is linear. For me, it’s layered. It’s a web.

And maybe that’s why music never really ends for me.
It just keeps talking to itself, across years and voices and songs, and I happen to be there, overhearing it.

It’s a bit like an ocean. One wave carries me into the next. Curiosity and an open mind pull me forward. Music never gets boring for me. There is always something to discover. A thread binding two songs or artists together, even if it’s invisible.

So when I thought The Infanta was sung by Brian Molko, it wasn’t really a mistake. It was my listening brain doing what it always does. Finding relationships. Building bridges. Refusing to keep things in neat boxes.

And who likes boxes anyway?

The Decemberists – The Infanta

Placebo – A Song to Say Goodbye

I know it is very subtle, but I cannot unhear the similarities between the voices.

ghost in the machine (song review)

~ Catherine ~ 1 Comment

I was listening to a lot of music today and as I am writing this, there is still music playing in the background.

I listened to artists like Soen and Agent Fresco, but also Weather Systems. In September 2024 they released their debut album “Ocean Without a Shore”. I listened a lot to it for a while, but in the last six months, I only listened to the song Synaesthesia. Until today. I was in the mood to hear the entire album and so I pulled the beautiful vinyl (it’s blue with black swirls) out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable. Volume up. And off we went. I listened to the songs on vinyl, playing mindlessly on my phone. Until…

Until Ghost in the Machine came on. The song is built around a steady guitar riff that gives it forward momentum. The repetition works well here. It gives the track direction and a clear emotional line. The percussion provides the structure underneath without drawing attention away from the melody. It keeps the tempo and the shape of the song consistent.

The vocal work is one of the strengths. Daniel Cavanagh carries the main vocal line and Soraia Silva’s voice comes in at selected points, not to soften the sound but to expand it. Their voices blend into one atmosphere rather than forming a lead and backing contrast. It gives the song a unified emotional tone.

I knew the song before, of course I did, and I remember that I mentioned it in the album review I wrote as a standout song, but there was something about it that made me pause today, that grabbed my attention differently. There is no dramatic peak. The song does not build toward release. Instead, it fades gradually. A few piano notes close the track and lead directly into Are You There Pt. 2. The transition is subtle and fits the pacing of the album as a whole.

I like when music is layered. It often changes with every listen and also with our moods, I guess. And that is why we can listen to a song 50 times and think we already know it, and then on the 51st listen, it suddenly sounds new.

My song of the day for sure. What do you think? How do you like the song?

I added this video because I mentioned Daniel Cardoso’s drumming and here he plays the full song through.

Threads on SoundCloud

~ Catherine ~ 3 Comments

Threads – Where Words and Music Connect

There’s something incredibly fulfilling about creating something that feels both personal and shared. Threads, my latest collaboration with Daniel Cavanagh/Weather Systems, is exactly that—a spoken word piece wrapped in the emotional depth of his music. It’s the third time we’ve worked together, and I can honestly say it’s my favorite so far.

This collaboration started with a moment of vulnerability: I reached out and asked. Sharing the poem felt vulnerable, but Daniel saw something in it—a resonance that inspired him to compose the music that now breathes life into the words.

The poem reflects on the unseen bonds that hold us together, fragile yet unbreakable, like threads spun in the quiet moments of our lives. Narrating it felt like opening a door to my own vulnerabilities, but hearing it take shape within Daniel’s music was transformative. The gentle chords rise and fall like the rhythm of breath, creating a quiet tension that pulls the listener into a reflective space where every word feels suspended in light and shadow.

Crafting the words was a journey of its own, but hearing them unfold within Daniel’s music felt like discovering a new dimension of the story. Together, we brought Threads to life, each adding something uniquely our own. His music doesn’t just accompany the poetry—it expands it, turning it into something larger than itself.

If you’re drawn to reflective spoken word or music that lingers in the quiet spaces of your mind, Threads offers an experience that invites you to pause, feel, and connect. It’s the kind of piece you might return to when you need to sit with your thoughts or immerse yourself in something deeply introspective.

You can find Threads on SoundCloud here.

This collaboration holds a special place in my heart, not only because of the work itself but because of how it came to be. Daniel trusted my words enough to create this music, and together, we built something I’m proud to share. I’d love to hear your thoughts—how does Threads resonate with you? Thank you for listening and for being part of this journey.

music, my companion

~ Catherine ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been listening to this unreleased album on repeat for the past week, completely entranced by the raw emotional power of the music. The way the melancholic guitar lines intertwine with the singer’s soulful, weathered vocals is utterly captivating, evoking a profound sense of melancholy and longing that resonates deep within me.
This album feels like a window into the artist’s most vulnerable, introspective moments, and I feel privileged to be one of the few who has had the chance to hear it. Music has been a constant companion and guiding force throughout my life. From the moment I first heard the haunting melodies of Depeche Mode as a teenager, struggling to make sense of the world, the emotive progressive rock of Anathema has been a profound source of catharsis and self-discovery. The band’s ability to craft intricate, atmospheric soundscapes that mirror the full spectrum of human emotion has been a lifeline, helping me navigate the joys and sorrows of growing up. And now, in this latest chapter, the raw, intimate songwriting of artists like Glen Hansard has become a salve for my soul, a means of transcending the mundane and tapping into something sacred.
There’s an ineffable quality to music that goes beyond mere words – the way a perfectly placed chord progression can unlock dormant wells of joy or sorrow within us, the manner in which a single lyric can crystallize a profound truth about the human condition. For me, music has always been a portal to the divine, a conduit for spiritual transformation and growth. In its most potent form, it becomes a language unto itself, conveying insights and emotions that defy verbal expression.
As I continue to get lost in this unreleased album, I’m reminded of the countless ways music has enriched and elevated my life. It has been a loyal companion through times of triumph and adversity, a wellspring of comfort and catharsis. And I’m endlessly grateful for the artists who pour their hearts and souls into their craft, giving voice to the full spectrum of the human experience. This album, in particular, feels like a rare and precious gift – a window into the artist’s most vulnerable, introspective moments, and a poignant reminder of music’s unparalleled ability to touch the depths of the human experience and transport us to realms of profound transcendence.