Tough Customer // Wire

Icarus Himself

I’ve been in a strangely contemplative mood lately. All of a sudden it seems like everything is more important than it used to be. Or maybe it’s not. Either way, I find myself taking more time than usual trying to figure it out. The world seems to be speeding up while I do this which causes me to worry that the time spent thinking is wasted; I should be spending more time doing. This kind of thinking turns my mind into a neurotic eternal return where I end up spending all my time thinking about what I’m thinking only to reach the conclusion that I could figure it out if I just had more time to think about it.

I could be having a midlife crisis, but by almost any measure I’m way too young for that. Besides, I don’t have the money to impulsively go out and buy a fancy new sports car so I wouldn’t even be able to fulfill the stereotype. It’s also possible that I’m going crazy, but I don’t think that’s it either. I live across the street from a halfway house full of people who are legitimately crazy. They spend all day smoking cigarettes, staring at the grass and muttering frustrated rejoinders to the voices in their heads. I don’t even talk to myself and I spend all my time working, so I guess I haven’t yet lost my mind.

But what do you do when you find yourself stuck on the big, vaguely philosophical questions that have puzzled mankind since the dawn of self-reflection? Do I really expect to unearth the true nature of happiness? Can I ever come to accept the present without worrying about the future? Will I ever get to see the earth from outer space? I mean, it’s hard to focus on things like grocery shopping and painting the garage when you’re plagued by a nagging sensation that life in general holds much greater purpose.

I catch myself in the middle of these internal, semi-conscience soliloquies and I realize that I sound like a teenager who has just discovered that the world is bigger than he is. Which means the best thing to do is to handle this mental tempest the way I did when I was a teenager - by listening to some music. Fortunately, a CD arrived in the mail the other day that perfectly fits the bill.

Icarus Himself is a two piece from the lake filled land of Madison, WI. Their new EP Mexico comes out today on Science of Sound. It’s a ghostly sounding record, pockmarked with empty spaces. Stray drum machines and keyboards wonder through big washes of reverb-heavy guitar chords. I may be projecting, but it sounds like a band absentmindedly playing music while they think back on the defining moments of their lives. It could be the sound of heartbreak in a small town or a silent prayer for something as beautiful as it was in a memory. It could be the soundtrack to a dream or it could just be the sound of a thousand thoughts jammed into five songs.

As usual, I’m probably thinking about it too much. Rather than set my mind to racing again, I think I’ll just take solace in the wisdom of a bumper sticker I saw on the highway this afternoon: I don’t know and you don’t either.

MP3: ‘Digging Holes’