If I had known that there would be a delay
on the A train, I would have walked the 5 blocks
to the 1 train and go my own way
But now I'm stuck in a tunnel
Feeling still on the subway
Columbus Circle
and I'm running to 79th
To see Gwen and ask if it's alright
The things I'm thinking about
What's in my mind
And if my feet keep me grounded
or stuck in a chorus line
He'd be gone, again, in 2 months time
But this time not on a flight or train
In transit on the tongues that knew his name
Who claim "life's too short"
but forget all the painful days
If I had known that there would be a delay
Then I might have taken another train
But I think it's not about knowing what's best
or trusting the wind to take the rest
But making a home beneath your feet and the ground
And each step
'Til you reach the last block of Manhattan
And on the matters of life, death, and love
I guess...we can only give our best
about
FROM "THE MOTION THAT WE MAKE"
FULL EP OUT NOW
When I was 18, I would frequently travel into New York City. While there, I met someone who would become a very good friend of mine. He was a composer working on Broadway and he shared a lot with me about making music and the general life trajectory that can provide. We were intimate with each other, but what made him unique than other people I knew at the time was that when I stopped desiring that intimacy, we still kept in close contact.
I would continue to visit him a couple of times per year to share new music, talk about life, and hear about how things were going for him. In May of 2018, I visited him to ask for his insight regarding some personal and musical things occurring in my life at the time. We caught up, drank tea, and I left...2 weeks later, he passed away suddenly.
His death puzzled me. He was the first person I had been intimate with who had died, making me wonder about what happens when that intimate energy you once shared with someone is not there anymore. I also didn't attend his funeral—because our friendship was unknown to most people, I did not think it would be appropriate to. On the day of his funeral, I looked at the clock, noticed the service had already started, and began writing this song.
On “Thunder Follows the Light,” Brooklyn’s Mutual Benefit takes a decidedly softer turn, using the harsh elements as bookends for songs about reaching for love and comfort. Bandcamp Album of the Day Sep 27, 2018
Pairing lo-fi indie rock with silvery folk instrumentation, the self-described "bedroom pop wizard" casts a cozy, poignant spell. Bandcamp New & Notable Jan 11, 2024