t e l e p a t h & Agia The Light Of Our Love

[Self-Released; 2017]

Rating: 3.5/5

Styles: 80s, dreampunk, funk, vaporsex, VHS
Others: r/vaporwave, virtualdreamplaza.bandcamp.com

Out of the red mist of desire, out of the blue-grey of breathlessness, out of the sea-green of the ocean’s soul. Heavy with the sweetness of secrecy, The Light Of Our Love conveys the frantic presence of something trapped that should be wild, something whose greatest vulnerability lies in its capacity to lose its freedom, as if faced with a bright light and besieged with a ferocious bashfulness.

Microcosm after microcosm after microcosm, through the depths of funk-heavy bass lines and love-drenched melodies, in a mist as sensate as skin and as frozen as a shipwreck, this album stirs the cauldron of our intimate life, however salubrious or squalid or pallid that life is.

From a state of asepsis and weightlessness of the first track, to the sand dunes of the second, to the tranquil gardens of the third, to the beautiful surrender of the fourth, to the straight-up happiness of the fifth, to the ballad-like tension of the sixth, to the burnt-out brass of the final track, t e l e p a t h & Agia know how to create a kind of narrative that shines on your vivacious face, a narrative that lures all amorous scents nearby and enwraps us in them, leaving us in a Hollywood glimmer, shivering, deeply dreaming, deeply imagining, overflowing with fantasy.

Something blooms amidst the humid slush of filtered drums. Like mosquitoes, ripe tropical fruit, b-movies, Wong Kar-Wai films that give us life, ankles awash in warm sea-water and the seaweed between our toes, because one rarely experiences the space between one’s toes — until now.

The seamlessness and solidity of deep affection, like marble or redwood bark, or like a fold in a curtain that remains unfaded because it never feels the warmth of the sun, or like a heaving wall of unlit water that rises and ebbs like a relationship strewn with stars and petals and dark chocolate, with the portent of its volcanic unfolding ready to erupt somewhere in the near future.

A tenderness, hard like the pyramids of Giza, hard like the non-physical transactions that represent an escape from the limitations of ourselves, like embraces or conversations that get down to the nitty-gritty of what we’re doing, layered on top of each other like tiramisu or the bones of dinosaurs past.

The air in a whale’s heart. Love, in music, pumping alongside our blood like that.

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