“This is a song for anyone with a broken heart.”

You hear a slow, pounding drum beat off in the distance, and The First Days of Spring begins. With this simple, deliberate beat and the entrancing line, “It’s the first day of spring/And my life is starting over again,” Noah and the Whale set the tone for this monstrous indie epic. Like most great records, The First Days of Spring is an intricate journey, laden with the sounds of towering mountains, deep, convoluted valleys, and the winding streams in between. A maturation of sorts, The First Days of Spring is a graceful expression of the sadness and growth that accompanies heartbreak.

Most of my favorite records are what I would call “growers.” While it’s easy to write off records on the first listen, it can be much more gratifying to offer second chances. Sometimes, it doesn’t catch on for a while. Even my favorite record of all time, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea *ahem*, sat gathering dust for years before I gave it a few more tries and began to realize its utter brilliance. I’ll admit, while the Bon Iver comparison surely helped, it was really the graceful, interesting album art that made me want to hear The Antlers’ Hospice. When I sat down and finally gave it a listen, I was sorely disappointed. Hospice was boring. Sad?- sure. But engaging?- not even close. “Wake” dragged on. “Kettering” was a bore. Half the songs felt skippable. As time went on I realized just how wrong I was. It took an embarrassing five or so more listens before I began to feel like an idiot for not realizing the genius and finesse that is embodied with Hopsice.

My favorite time to ponder life is right before I go to sleep. I wouldn’t describe it as full-on meditating, but I love tracking down some suitable music, grabbing my brand new headphones (Sennheisers for Christmas, what else?), and just concentrating on what comes to mind. Albums- usually post-rock – have come and gone as my staple listening material for this crucial point of my day. Lift Your Skinny Fists, Enjoy Eternal Bliss, Spiderland, and The Glow Pt. 2 have all graced the top ranks of these “near-sleeping albums” with their presence. I wish I could tell you that Polar Life is just as amazing no matter when it penetrates your cranium; but for me, it’s not. Because of its intrinsically pleasing nature and the eeriness about Sleepingdog’s Polar Life, I’ve found it to be extremely suitable for this particular facet of my life. Sleepingdog achieves a rare quality throughout Polar Life– making a very slow-paced and calming record while maintaining the same level of absorption. Instead of extravagance and production being the vessel that allows Chantel Acda a pathway to utter serenity, Polar Life subscribes to a sense of purity and simplicity. The album in its entirety feels untainted and it allows Acda to sing (with her slight Belgian accent) songs that create a wide, clear soundscape- as pure as snow. While acceding to this particular order, the absolute chillness on Polar Life is achieved predominately through two different methods.

Anybody who listens to music frequently is destined to be asked the question, “Hey, where do I go next?” by the less experienced listener. Now, by no means am I pretentiously promoting my own listening habits. Though, I think we all have at least one album that we can swear produces instant satisfaction. Do I go to Radiohead, Brand New, Opeth, Thrice, or another cliché universal Sputnik favorite? No, well how about Elliott Smith? Close, I go with his earlier band, Heatmiser, and their final album, Mic City Sons. Immediately gratifying, beautiful lyrics and pleasant melodies are always major advantages when recommending music.

Do you ever wish you could just sit down with a band and talk with them about their record? You know, get a little more insight into their inspiration, their connections, their sentiments. I know I have many times…

…just imagine…

Me: Hi, nice of you coming all the way to Glasgow just to talk to me about your new record, Forget the Night Ahead. The Twilight Sad: Of course, anything for you, Eric. You’re only like the best reviewer in the world.

Me: Why thank you, but let’s get down to business, shall we? I’m going to be blunt, I didn’t really enjoy your record.

I was sitting in a friend’s dorm the other day with approximately 4 or 5 other people when a startling yet predictable phenomenon occurred. None of us were paying any particular attention to the background music that was playing from an adjacent computer. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, each one of us began to sing, move, and hum, all in harmony and melody with each other. The results were almost frightening, and it took each of us off guard considering we had not planned this in any way. What could have caused this strange event, you say? Yes, it was none other than “Semi- Charmed Life” resounding around the room. Scientists have been baffled for years by this phenomenon. Studies show that it is physically impossible to not join into the music when subjects hear that doo-doo-doo, du, du-du-du-doooo off the beginning of “Semi-Charmed Life.” While I give Third Eye Blind some credit for wanting to recreate that same mystique they managed to develop so well on their self-titled, I’m also a little sad at how they failed to do so and in turn put a little blemish on their legacy. Ursa Major, the first release of their two-disc set, isn’t a horrible record by any means, but it is a blight on that alternative band that you sang along to so many summer nights.

As individuals that are often very fervent and passionate about music, it’s easy to underestimate the value of pure, unadulterated, enjoyability. It’s by no means a simple quality to convey, and certainly doesn’t take anything away from the music, but, simply put: what is complex often takes precedence over the simple in the world of those passionate about music and vice versa in the mainstream. Sadly, this leads us to sometimes forget about those greats that simply evoke emotion, whether it be through a cliché style or through means we’re so used to hearing.