‘Paris’, my favorite song off the latest GWAL album, is a memory jolt from a poet beginning each line with “Paris, you are…”. The continued metaphorical path is a rewarding one, filled with satisfying musical entrances and exits designed to whet the palette. What’s a song without a poet behind it? ‘Paris’ not only correctly (and intimately) assesses a lyrical want, but puts the same care into its instrumentation as well (however sparse).
“the books we burned together
my morning whiskey bones
just a pretty voice now on the other end of the telephone ”