“I gotta cope with the fact that it dies down,” says Bill, predicting the rest of the album energy-wise.
It’s a drizzly lethargic Saturday afternoon at its apex: 9:00 AM. At 9, the morning seems joyful, reminding one of childhood. If I were six or seven today would be a great day to stomp in puddles. The night before was furious, full of crashing storms, and rain was really claiming all in its path. The morning feels hopeful but sleepy. I was looking for my dog who escaped the garage earlier in the day. Putting on green slides I left the house in pursuit of the canine, then I put on Kill Bill’s Ramona; I find it impressive how Bill’s able to sound like a tough guy, but the entire album is really chilled out and low energy. I come to an intersection where breeze is heavy, so heavy you think at any point a car will crash into you; a car is about to make a right turn and I’m standing there. The car makes a complete stop, looks at me, does the “you go” hand gesture and then instantly continues driving before I can even get to the intersection.
The jazzy beats compliment splashing in puddles and being unable to find this dog. I’ve found my way through everything in a block wide radius.
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