Press release for "collapsing Star"
a matter of measurable light.
"To trot out an old truism: everything we experience has already happened," says Maine songwriter Chris Robley. "Whether it's the glow from a distant star, or the person right in front of you whose voice lags imperceptibly by a millisecond delay, we're almost literally living in the past."
His tangent has something to do with time, distance, and Robley's new music. "Don't tell anyone though," he says.
The Maine-based songwriter, whose previous album saw him "at the top of his game" (KCRW), is poised to release Secret Society Sessions, a collection of songs from a previous life, songs recorded in a studio that no longer exists, by a band lineup that didn't know it was about to fall apart. And yet here they are, as if for the first time.
"You can make a home of hope or regret," says Robley. "And the present disintegrates."
From the frenzied love triangle of "1+1+1=3" to the obsessive point-counterpoint of "Let You Go" to the drunken waltz of "Irretrievable Beauty," Secret Society Sessions is hellbent on actualizing those never-were's and couldn't be's. "For me, that conflation of tenses was a terrible loop my mind got stuck on."
In contrast though, the song “Collapsing Star,” with its promise of devotion in the face of aging, serves as a more kind-hearted closer to the album. Its a Bowie by-way-of Death Cab sprawl, both epic and tender, patiently shrinking under its own slow gravity, like a constricted pupil, like a... collapsing star (duh).
Some telescopes can capture light from just after the beginning of everything.
When you're shocked by a surprise birthday party, it'd been in the planning for weeks.
When you're wounded by a confession, the edges of that secret were sharpened long before.
When you hear new music, it's probably ancient history. What pretty ruins.