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Ark, wrathful piece, night of the brute
awash, alien antarctica,
you will not pass me by
heaving your berg of shadows without one day
my entering your walls and dredging up
your armature of sunken winters.
You sombre fire spat south,
blown, exiled planet, your silent territories
shifting sargassos and shaking up
the solid ages of the sea.
Form throbbed alone, a hugeness sealed
by tremors in the world through which would glide
your hide of majesty, frightened itself
by its own potency and tenderness.
The Chicago wunderkind's debut album is half lo-fi hip-hop pianos and breakneck drumming, half polished pop songs full of orchestral arrangements and whimsical but melancholic melodies. Bandcamp Album of the Day Nov 23, 2020