Summer's Voicemail.

[somethingwithturquoise]

"Uh, yeah, this is Summer's voicemail. Who the hell calls people anymore? Just text me. But I guess if you insist on being weird and living in the dark ages, go ahead and leave me a message. And I'll text you back, like normal people do. Okay? Cool. I mean, the government is probably tapping all of our conversations anyway, but whatever."

*BEEEEEEEP*

Comments

[suitably_heroic]

It had taken a while, but on Tuesday, a neat package of ten songs landed in Summer's messages, in a folder labeled 'Boxer'.

The first track was a thoughtful little thing, beginning with sparse instrumentation - just some piano, a hint of bass, the drums slowly kicking in while Jack's voice kept a meandering, thoughtful rhythm.

"I’m sitting here on this New York beachfront property
somewhere on Long Island, with a drink in my hand,
sand in my pockets, watching the sea roll into shore
Wondering – how did I get here? What did I do?
Where did I run to that led me to this place?
While I work on tracks about the past and letting go
I’m also staring into the waves of a new life
That tipped over the cusp before I could say no
And now it’s here, its waters so concise..."

The guitar picked up there, bringing a wryer edge to the song as Jack got into a more melodic, "I spent so much time saying goodbye to everything I ever was that I had no idea that who I’d be was waiting all along--"

It was a long track. It was meant to - to meander like his thoughts had on that baffling day out less than a week after Lana and Summer had helped bail him out. The song didn't lose that dreamlike, waves-to-shore quality even as it moved on, though it got rougher with the guitars, and the piano fell away.

From there it arced into darker territories - a morbid reflection on time spent feeling ambivalent about death, an even darker track about how there was always another body, before hitting a wryer, more almost-a-pop-song anthemic piece somewhere between hardcore punk and thrash metal called 'Still an Asshole' ("Look, I know I'm an asshole, I don't know how to sit still/And there's not a problem I can't fix with a punch and some kicks/I'm a boxer"). There was a song about the Force with lots of wild prog drumming and thoughtful, stretched-out guitars, a sarcastic track about Broadway, a dry love song with the notable title 'I'm not here to fix you'--

And then it finished off with the brooding, thoughtful song about ghosts he and Dane had written together to get Dane out of his funk, and the coda of the track he'd already sent Summer a minute of. 150 beats per minute of loud poppy-punk fury, more defiant than anything else on the record, with almost a hint of a laugh.

Musically, the whole record definitely sounded more cohesive and less like four people with slighly different tastes in music attempting to duel each other than the first one.

its done. will be at the bar tomorrow. dont murder my ego before then i need it to travel