Maybe We're Not Strangers After All

The Dutchess and the Duke - She's the Dutchess, He's the Duke

There’s something warm about sitting in a room full of friends drunk from solidarity, singing along to simple songs played on an acoustic guitar and set to the kind of grab-bag percussion a room full of drunks might produce. It’s that sort of intimate and free-flowing moment when guards are down just enough to enjoy yourself, just for this one small chuck of time.

This album is in many ways an extension of that moment. It’s the moment you can’t seem to catch but by memory. It’s a cancerous feather from a neighborhood pigeon, stopping for just an instant mid-air, but ultimately just delaying its trip to the sidewalk. You sit in that room, present for the moment, gripping for dear life at something real before it floats away.

It’s a short LP of gritty, pained songs, largely acoustic and bisexually duetted by two very tired people. The songwriting conjures dark images of notable alarm and the guitar lines mirror that slight gypsy-psych picking I wish I heard more often (a la “Paint it Black”, or something). In fact, the very first thing that comes to mind with this album is that it sounds like Mic Jagger started making good music again.

Anyway, the album serves as a respite for both musician and audience from the true nature of the problem. We’re huddled together to escape the rain, “but the clouds keep moving on in”. It’s an honest look at things that aren’t touched upon enough—the second track, “Out of Time”, is specifically about people having the gall to tell you everything’s going to be alright. It feels good to recognize a sentiment like that, for once, but it is like all of these things fleeting. They recently stopped making music, and it only seems fitting. This was never something to fix the problem, just a way of telling it to fuck off for a little while.

Think of it as a mobile version of our drunken sing-alongs. Put it through headphones and see if your foot doesn’t start tapping. Take it with you on a long, sunny drive. It’s comfort by way of words that people don’t write on greeting cards—anything but cold.

-Drew