A moody, brooding rocket into the atmosphere, Being Near seems to challenge the idea that we must hold dear to those who make us feel less lonely. The album is contemplative and quiet, but when you intently listen, it rumbles and shakes with the intensity of someone needing to escape. There is no ill will, rather just a desire to feel stripped of all earthly sensations. The ash and debris that riddle the cover of Being Near seems to be the idea; that it’s all just dust and specks and nothing or no one can make the feeling of isolation go away except experiencing it. Taking away all that you know to there is but flesh and bone (and even it feels burdensome, the physique of a forgotten world). But it isn’t a gnawing of hatred. Once you let go of everything, you find a very peaceful acceptance of the alone. Being Near always whispers assurances to you; that letting go was for the best. This isn’t a permanent solution, but rather a means to rid oneself of self-doubt. You truly need people, or at least something of purpose, in your life. But you won’t appreciate what you have and what is to come if you cannot give it all away and experience a moment by yourself, in the vacuum of isolation. Which is ironic because you’re going to want to take Being Near with you, so it almost spoils the effect. But fight that one urge, because it’s not betrayal. This is as lonely as lonely music gets.