Surrogate Emotions of the Silver Screen

New Granada

In their prime, Isabella, the much-missed Tampa duo of Laura Poinsette and Brad Richardson crafted whole universes of delicate, filigreed soundshapes. So what does Surrogate Emotions of the Silver Screen sound like? Late winter nights when the only sound is ice crackling of its own accord. Twilit fall afternoons, with that expectant chill in the air. Overcast mornings. Icebergs that look like magnificent, mountainous prisms. Singing underwater. Someone you’ve carried a torch for forever. Silent car rides. That hand brushing against your arm. Empty churches. Green-eyed cats. Oh, you meant musical touchstones? Okay. Cocteau Twins, first and foremost. Every bit of their fragile beauty and insular world-shaping. My Bloody Valentine, drowning under pure rivers of sound. Early New Order at their most gentle. Mojave 3, Trembling Blue Stars, Damon and Naomi, Slowdive, Mazzy Star, even some of the earthiness of Faith and Disease or Dead Can Dance. Stately fragility. The sound is definitely rooted in a different era of music, without sounding dated or throwback. The synth sounds alone… I’m slain.

Poinsette sounds like a more restrained Liz Frasier, or the vocalist from Trance To The Sun; her voice cloying, slowly rising and falling, with a slight childish/bratty edge to it, just enough so that it stands out from the unhurried layers of crystalline instrumentation. They sound like a funeral procession in a redwood forest. Mechanical yet human, for a duo, the sound is full and dense, yet insubstantial like a mist. You could put your hand through it, if you were especially careless. Pure torch-mantra beauty, guitars chime and ring pure and clear, beats burble contentedly, while keyboards and synths sound like icebergs, sunlight and gorgeous, narcotic waves of sleep. It’s everything music should be!

Surrogate Emotions of the Silver Screen works as a whole, individual songs flow together, swirling around you, warming you, like a blanket, or the touch of a friend so long missing. Understated, melancholy, longing, Perfect for solitary, bruised nights where just “music” isn’t enough.

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