It makes me scratch my head to know that a band as competent as Beach House can probably never write a happy song. Sometimes, their music remind me of a smiley milk carton character from a certain Blur video that goes on an adventure of a lifetime, only to be bruised and battered then finally dying crossed-eyed at the side of the road. It so sweet BUT SO SAD AND I WANT TO CRY MY EYES OUT.
Beach House is very good at creating a labyrinth where one gets lost easily in the smokes and mirrors of bittersweet ennui. I find it the ideal fuel for self pity; Korean drama won’t load properly on youtube? Listen to Myth and THE FLOODGATES WILL OPEN. There’s nothing like a Beach House song to make a tragedy out of nothing. Suddenly, there’s nothing as bittersweet as that Zara dress that was on sale but wasn’t available in your size.
When life gives you too much lemons, you can make sweet lemonade? This is, in my opinion, the principal behind how you should appreciate Beach House as a band.
The cavernous nature of the music often makes me feel like I am trapped in a big balloon. But in every Beach House album, there is always a particular moment that I look forward to where the balloon will eventually burst. In Bloom, it comes early in the form of the Hours, where the chorus just begs you to sing along with it; you oblige and before you know it, you’re singing at the top of your lungs in the middle of a street with no fear and nary a worry in the world. It feels like you’ve just been awarded a sword that blazes a path of the righteous ahead. The catharsis is sweet and liberating as the balloon bursts to reveal a even wider and open space beyond.
I’m not sure if you get what I’m trying to say. You’ll probably not since we all live in our own separate caves. But just so you know, mine just got slightly bigger than yours.