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Common Water ep

by Common Water

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1.
I was somebody else when I woke up in your bed this morning Staring through your mirror into infinitely empty space I thought I saw your body standing just outside my window It looked in my direction with a somewhat familiar face All of the beds were turning upside down Gold pastels and the awaking sound But there was no one there There was nothing there I couldn’t move my hands when I felt it coming back around me An amnesiatic breeze was blowing all around my head Falling through the ceiling, running through the empty forest Black inside of black inside of black inside of everything A luminiferous aether on the ground Outside in was turning inside out Breathing the slowing air The slowing air I was somebody else when I woke up in your bed this morning Staring through your mirror into infinitely empty space I thought I saw your body standing in the closet window It looked in my direction with a somewhat familiar face All of the beds were turning upside down Gold pastels and the awaking sound But there was no one there There was nothing there.
2.
Slow Air 04:10
I lit the lantern light in the river and I saw you there upon its bank You made a motion to come but I was already there I slid my icy hand up the middle of your paralyzing shoulder blades I had been meaning to tell you but you would figure it out We cut the night into earth and a morning made of flower petal ornaments I heard you laughing and knew we wouldn’t turn back around The sky had opened right up the middle and the face was white and permanent It was under our feet, it was a blanket of sound We were eloping in the slowing air Calming water, soil and peat as our bed, as our home We choose our own We don’t need anymore In your eyes I see myself In your ideal selfless love We don’t talk We don’t need anymore We are eloping While the earth is loaming We are lost in the slowing air.
3.
4.
I know that you have thought of me I appreciate your honesty But I don’t know what I am or where I go This morning I was quite ok For several minutes then it came I tried to write it down but I forgot Forgot it all Organs in my brittle shell Quivering as fast as hell I tried to slow them down but I could not Alcohol and razor blades Nip and cut and start again I roll myself in dirt and sleep in the pines And feel so odd You pray for me and I will pray for you Hold my hand and tell me it’s not true Someday I’ll turn back into what I thought I was All I am and will ever be Sickness and anomaly I tried to write it down but I forgot.
5.
Tell them that I got what I came for Tell them they were right all along Tell them it was worth it just to sit in the sun And emptiness is all you will ever know Tell them I was happy to be there Tell them it was genuine love Tell them that I found it but I left it alone Into the aether I will go.

about

Common Water.

In August of 2012, Michael MacNeil and I decided to attempt a musical collaboration of sorts at a cottage in northern Nova Scotia. This cottage, perched atop a hill and encircled by pines, sits upon the craggy shores of the Northumberland Strait, the body of water which divides Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island.

Between the two of us, we cobbled together what would become a workable amalgamation of instruments and cabling: a decent preamp, a fairly shitty laptop, a drum machine, synths and midi controllers, monitors, a bass, a guitar, a few ok mics and various percussive elements. I also brought a contact mic with me from Montreal that I bought at a music store in New York. I probably thought it was a pretty cool thing to own. It cost eight dollars. Perhaps I thought I could make something like a Matmos record if I owned something such as that; or, conversely, the next 'Vespertine'. This daydream, unsurprisingly, has yet to materialize.

Anyway, I think all we accomplished over the first night or two was reorganizing furniture to suit our new 'studio', and plugging some things into some other things, all while dyeing our innards a deep crimson with the boxed wine we'd purchased in a neighbouring town. Our 'house red' of choice (it was on sale) was called 'Copper Moon', whose namesake served as a fine substitute for Neil Young's 'Harvest Moon', if you chose to drink enough of it and belt out a vocal homage between swills. (We did.)

Jutting out from the cottage is a wooden deck, on which sits a glass-topped patio table and two green lawn chairs. This provided the perfect setting for sipping wine and whiskey throughout the balmy summer nights, until some daylight would creep out of the ocean and over the tree line, suggesting we finally go to bed. I think it was into the wee hours of the second night when Michael, during a meandering musical conversation, began banging out a rhythm on the glass table top. People have all kinds of ways of communicating music: written notation, numbers (tablature), hand gestures, colours, etc, etc. In our case, I suppose we took the primordial route, like a couple of grunting wino apes. Regardless, this rhythm got me excited, and I rushed inside to grab my contact mic and a sampling keyboard. I taped the mic to the glass surface, pressed record, and the two of us slapped our open palms on the table in unison. This was to become the beat used (with a little massaging) for 'The Awaking Sound'. We built the song around that sample the next morning.

On a different night, what became 'Furry Little Teeth' presented itself to us. From the wooden deck we heard carnivorous shrieks in the trees at the bottom of the hill, followed by intermittent rustlings. In all of my summers spent in that part of the world, I've never heard anything quite like it. It was unnerving. After much speculation (What exactly were these opposing animals? Fox vs. partridge? Hedgehog vs. racoon? A nefarious snake choking an unsuspecting house cat?), Michael recorded a few minutes of this audio on his phone, afterward layering synths and various found sounds.

The photos of us were taken on top of a triangular plot of land overlooking the strait as the sun rose. We'd found our way to the beach with a flashlight and climbed its small peak in the dark. Now in that exact spot there exists a very fancy cottage alongside an in-ground swimming pool. I wonder if the owners have ever looked past the pool from their windows and noticed the entire Atlantic Ocean, glimmering under the sun?

Unfortunately, before we could complete a final mix, my weak little laptop sputtered and stepped over that line beyond resuscitation. Being the extremely intelligent person that I am, I did not back anything up, and all was indeed lost. What we were left with was semi-complete mixes that I had already sent to Michael, which he then mastered, doing what he could with what he was given. No less, these songs and this time are both meaningful enough to both of us to justify sharing them with anyone who cares to lend an ear.

Thanks. xo.

-Michael Bigelow.

credits

released March 27, 2017

Michael Bigelow

Michael MacNeil

Images by Nicole Aline Legault and Michael MacNeil

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