The Album Leaf

Some records scream to be listened to in certain environments. Le Tigre's Remix EP demands wooden bar floors and a flock of drunk indie kids ready to dance; John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band, on the other hand, usually calls for lying on the carpet, rain sloshing against the windows, and your head planted as near to the stereo as it can get. The problem with albums like these, however, is that they are immensely complicated to write about. To listen to the record at the wrong time could lead to a much poorer reaction than it would have otherwise received. So yes, even before we start talking about the Album Leaf's Into the Blue Again, I have to admit, in a way it's inherently flawed. There are few moments when Into the Blue Again will feel exactly right.

But when the moment is right, Into the Blue Again is a staggering record. The first time I listened to it, I was outside and it was raining lightly. Fall had just begun to slowly paint the trees outside of my apartment. I was feeling lonely - not in the dramatic Roy Orbison sense of the word, but the kind of lonely where the faintest edges of everything seems to have been painted grey. And then, Into the Blue Again began playing in my speakers. There was no sense of instant relief, of course, but there was an odd sense of comfort; as if everything in the world began to move in conjunction with my thoughts. And then, as I stood outside waiting for my bus, I stared at one of the larger trees still living outside of my apartment, and my mind began to feel as if the tree itself was moving to the music. No, no, no... this is not an acid story. But I imagined a long spiral of thick green moss slowly creeping up the tree as the album began to play. It was as if I were composing a stop-motion photography film in my mind, but better. For a few moments, I felt startled. There was me, there was the grey-white mist, and the tree slowly growing, slowly changing to the soundtrack provied by the Album Leaf.

That experience is why it's so hard to recommend this album to everyone. Over the past few weeks, I have come to feel a strangely intense personal connection to Into the Blue Again. "Always for You," after repeated listens, still makes me want to find every blanket in the house and slowly cocoon myself. It doesn't matter that I have someone, it doesn't matter, because every time the song floats through the air, I feel desperately, completely alone. "Always for You" isn't even a sad song, but that's what makes it so good and touching: it's what I've always wanted someone to say to me. I know this is getting too personal. But there are people out there who have to feel the same way; I don't even like electronic music (save for the "sexual robot voice" movement), and that's why this reaction that I'm having is so baffling. Even "Writings on the Wall," which I know I should hate - everything seems to move so slowly! - speaks to me. It's not the lyrics, but the quality of the music; despite the fact that it's for the most part anchored by a computer, it feels breathlessly alive, especially compared to a lot of the glittering pop music being played on Top 40 Radio.

So anyway, I would love to recommend this record to everyone. In fact, everyone should at least give the Album Leaf a try. If you like Sigur Ros, if you like Mum, you will like this album. And if nothing else works, rip it to your iPod, and go sit outside on a grey day. Look around at everything. And maybe you'll start to feel the same way.

- Megan Giddings

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See Also: Hallucinatory experiences not provoked by the Album Leaf.