The radiant meadow glistens with history, pocked with crystals. The color wheel, your hands, shapes of infinite cosmic accelerating. Your spirit has formed. Gradient paths simmer in the mist; a momentary vision and your spare eye catches a yellow one, an oiled foot moves through oceans of Mediterranean space and there is an instant of rush and the birds descend upon your clothes. The eyes close and you cry “Yes!” With a whoosh and swoop a thousand tiny birds gently lift your body from the ground. You arrive lost and aged, across the valleys, the dark canyons, having traveled a fortnight instantly, and lived half as long. You arrive with a plum pit in your stomach and an icicle dagger in your teeth. You have been transported to the peak of the the keepers of the song. There is absolutely no way you could have walked here, and you are fully aware that you are a guest. The music speaks. It speaks for your dreams, and it speaks from frequencies beyond your imagination.
Gracious Calamity is a dream and an experiment. The songs are green and the voices are ancient. The strings are whirling children, the hearts of ballerinas, aged six. The smiles and the rhythms are heart blasting dust roads of living glitter, and it will never make sense that these two secret and wonderful women are doing this for you. When a Gracious Calamity song begins, tiny areas of your body begin to remember the microscopic sensation of moisture and air molecules. The history of the country where you were born begins to race through your head and you start to remember for the first time. You remember chosing your surname. You remember generations of the canoe, fishing along the ice. The hallucinations are persistent and real.
By the first chorus you are sold. These women are for real. Two voices on high, ten strings pluck, Take “the song that grows like a vine” Easy and breezing, a little meloncholy, the tune is a story about the questions that you have to ask yourself when you are left underwater with plenty of noise but no real reason. And like life, like movement, like kissing or sawing wood, moves along underneath your oiled heel, and the song cuts across your broken heart with that tiny voice “I have enough people who love me/I don’t need any other/I don’t need another lover”. Now you are crying and the meaning of time and life and your lineage and all the hard work of your forebears starts to vibrate and rattle in your mind and your heart and you realize how small your sadness is and how big your love is still, and you feel shook but alive and ready to try something new. And then the lines continue. “It was a day/ It was a day like any other day.” You are forgiven, you were right all along. Gracious Calamity is confession. They are the best indie band in the world right now.