The songs from Whistler exist within this spectrum of collapse. It's not gloomy, it's not political. It's conditional. Fighting the numbing effect of crisis mode that puts you to sleep to enter a drowsy state short on action. Sleep is healthy. Is there a healing there, even for the lazy? Centered around captivating hooks, sauced in layers of harmony and sweet, benign noise, the music seek to vessel the disparities of human experience. Grounded in a sonic optimism the songs are pop songs in essence but wrestling inside a body more scarred, wet and fuzzy, with rougher edges and lower blood sugar. Some of the songs draw on the human urge to escape domains, transgressing compounds and immersing ourselves into a communal real. Others are like a wrought, suspended feelings, suspended endlessly until you puke, until you choke. Some are like an acid rain of dead, moral nectar sprouting from our livers while we smile and laugh and try to preserve our cosmic significance on earth.