No flower, no air
The past was then, time long gone
Gasping, drowning, now
In a world enveloped inside the folds of a pandemic, where light was hard to find, and where human contact was even more elusive still, Lines of Flight gave a glimpse of the former, and a form of the latter.
I was drowning.
A boy adrift.
Until their ship passed, and they brought me to some shore.
Now, after the beauty of their debut album, Signs of Life, they are returned to us. But this time there is no distance between them, or us. The folds have unfolded, the lights are on, nobody is home. Where does a band born from the toll of a bell that promised death fit into this new world, the same as the old world? How do you take distance, isolation, fear, and worry, and forge them into something present, intimate, joyful, hopeful and ambitious? Do you even try? Why not just re-re-peat the same old same old?
Lines of Flight are not the same as the other boys and girls.
They are the rarest of beasts, originals of the species.
“Becoming Bear” is their past reformed, cast anew, reimagined, and reconstructed. Electronic beats, the bearing of souls, the man and the machine.
But something new.
There is still fear and fright here, but the song does not remain the same. New horrors are confronted, new terrors are highlighted.
This is an enigma.
If this is the future of Lines of Flight, I want to be there then.