"Nicosia" is the final song on Chris Bathgate's Dizzy Seas.
Audra Kubat and I have very comprehensively explored each track, one by one, over letters we shared these past two months....
If you haven't listened to this new album, on Quite Scientific, you can start at the beginning, with "Water"
Hello one last time, Audra,
I find it fitting that "Nicosia's" drums return to the restlessness with the album's first track, "Water" began... Languid, wafting guitars with a new melodic phrase are once again lain beautifully over drums that sound, if nothing else, a bit too caffeinated.
This is a song where Chris is once again not going to be getting any sleep. A strange night. It feels like a cliffhanger... Like I want to talk to the singer, to this voice, in the dawn that's coming hours after these lyrics are sung. The playing of that guitar recalls the emotional resonance of "Northern Country Trail," the way it feels wistful, but resolute at the same time.
What a trip... What a slow, ponderous trip... So much pondering. Of all the questions he asks in this song, of all the many questions he's asked of himself throughout the whole album, "How strange is my Time?" sticks out to me... I believe that the nighttime is when all anxieties and self-doubts are amplified ten-fold; when the mind, as a metaphysical muscle lugging contemplations, cannot go limp.
Anyway, this division, of "time," is interesting when we consider that Nicosia, the capital of the Republic of Cyprus, actually has two time zones. (That's a long story for a non-music review). Never the less, Chris has done a lot of traveling, and he's lived in three different time zones (if not more...) How is he spending his time? What is he spending it on? When muses, with curiosity, how strange it is to consider one's own "time," it feels, to me, like he's scrutinizing the 30+ year schedule and divvying-up of moments and hours and energy, of his entire life...
The sea tides in and out. If it picks you up, it carries you away. If you sail, you're at the whim of the winds. Chris is taking a moment with this album to kill his ego and admit that he doesn't have any control...and that he might not get back to sleep.
And it makes me consider how rewarding it is, in the end, to spend one's "time" with a record... Spend time exploring each song.
I can't wait to hear what you take away from this last song, Audra
Thanks so much for exploring this album with me...
I can't help but take the whole of the album into account as I land inevitably on this last song. As you suggest (and I agree), this record plays as a practice in self-discovery, uneasily exposing a fragile ego. Each song bravely digs a little deeper, and with each spin the findings are a little clearer.
The final song on an album often wraps things up, but this song is an unraveling. There is no comfortable place to sit here, only the splintered consequences of thorough introspection. For me, this song reflects that moment when one is so filled with internal strife that only running down dark streets can bring relief, and even then it is momentary. I have been on these streets and I have cried out these questions. This is Chris' song, but I think we all have played it before. An artist can render a feeling in song or on the page, but it takes their humanity to understand those feelings, to translate them authentically. This song is about the human condition that we all face at some point - we are lost, confused, and alone.
The guitar line that opens this song quietly yearns. It breaks in and out with hammer-ons that draw you in and leave you on the edges of down turned notes that mute and curl. I wanted to experience this song alone (I felt this immediately as the first few bars past), purely and unaltered by others. The slow swell of pads gave me just enough support to keep listening, for it is taking me down a path that is close to the fray. A knife's blade waiting to cut, always present, has no mercy and it, unlike myself, is fearless.
But there is someone else. We are not alone. The earthy and lush tones of a new voice comes. It is Samantha Cooper, and she brings the light. Once she is there, she stays. I imagine her offering a hand as the roundness of her timbre wraps around me. When there are no more words, the song begins its slow and steady disintegration. The barking drums syncopate for a few more measures, the swells follow the fading melody of what now feels like a lazy guitar. It's as if this song wants to leave like a gentle breeze. Maybe because the meat of this track is such a hard place to be. I began this song with fear of what it was uncovering for me, and I left this song feeling wholly loved.
Kind of strange, but songs like this one help us get through things that are tough. It is interesting that this album is called 'Dizzy Seas' for now that I have listened to it thoroughly, I believe that it has worked to steady me.
I want to thank you, Jeff for sharing this journey. I have grown from these examinations and feel so connected to these songs. I also want to thank Chris. You have created a powerful and heart-opening collection of songs and it has been my honor to talk about them through my own lens.
My best and well wished in all things for you both!