There is a wonderful world-weariness about this new one from Suneaters, a nostalgic resignation which stays perfectly on the whistful side of melancholic. If the lyrics are to be taken at face value, then it is a sad story of broken relationships and that feeling that while you might not be able to live with someone, you also can’t live without them. (I think.) If read more metaphorically, well, actually, the same conflicted feelings loom large. (I think.)
“Johatsu” is a song with few words, but so richly is the image drawn, such is the trademark balance of wit and wisdom, poignancy and poetics that the message is succinct, subtle, and sublimely satisfactory. Some writers need something akin to the Gettysburg Address to make their point; such is the deftness of Suneater’s pen that this mere footnote says so much.
And the same understament and understanding is found in the music. The beats are a sparse shuffle; the guitar and the piano, which underlines the changes, are spacious; the sonic washes that drift through translucent, the groove graceful, and the solo tastefully restrained.
If less is more, this amount of less is so, so, so much more. In fact, it speaks volumes!
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