♫♪  Heaven Copy - Final Country

For Toronto’s Summer Isle, Heaven Copy speaks, quietly, into their chest, into a collar, behind hair. And it travels, wide, across hills and expanses. Into crannies. All bendy, all covered in a fine dust.

Their voice, or two, barely heard on the wind, muddily. Or, shot through low-hanging clouds. It might be raining, ghostily. Someone might be whistling through their teeth, idly. Someone, oriented out of, and back into, space.

The way of a body in the country. A body watching. The way an old truck blares a warped radio, drives onward, and disappears. The way the desert stretches, crackles, and echoes back. The way the brush-covered hills burn under a dying sun.

Chocolate Grinder

CHOCOLATE GRINDER is our audio/visual section, with an emphasis on the lesser heard and lesser known. We aim to dig deep, but we’ll post any song or video we find interesting, big or small.

Most Read