Chad Murphy has recently released some excellent EPs under the moniker Markarians (so cosmic and deep!). He is a micro-culture renaissance man of sorts, as he has fronted bands, obtained his masters, painted with oils, and generated all-around good vibes. He just wrote this excellent piece regarding his father's rightful place in the baseball Hall of Fame.
Markarians' dreamy DIY sound is riddled with laid-back galactic energy, a sweet amalgamation of soft-pyschedelia, acoustic strums, and bedroom thoughtfulness. There are faint sonic traces of Kurt Vile's ambling guitar passions, but Murphy's lyrical dexterity surpasses even those comparisons.
On Move, Lord, easily Murphy's signature work to date, he is downcast, hushed, and conflicted. One can almost hear his weary, existential sigh, as the heaviness of the universe consumes his inner world. The weight of his dilemma is enhanced by deft religious allusions, seeking the Divine and worrying about its elusiveness. On "Domino," Murphy's literate concerns tumble forth:
True believer
There's no end to times like these
It's no wonder
She speaks unknowingly of grief
and talks of death in dulcet tones
You will never understand
So will you comfort them?
Or comfort you?
She dreamed this:
A white horse running through the fog
Helpless
Aching thunder, you were wrong
If so, what's that say for joy and hope?
So what.
Put that collar on my throat
And lead me on, I need the peace
of pretty fictions, mercy seats
If this sounds like poetry, it is. The record's most impressive achievement is the way these words roll effortlessly off Murphy's tongue, sluffing off in a half-whispered intimacy that only conspiring spirits could understand. If Murphy needs a lift, the music's subtle gorgeousness will have to do. Otherwise, he may need reminding that heaven is not in the grain of sand, but in the glass of water, as comforting the weary is sharing in that same love that formed the stars.
(Enjoy "Rip Through Sunsets," from another fine EP, Ten Means Heaven).
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