The New LoFi

Ten Years

The Weekend Fuzz: Only in Dreams

For six months, every morning when I woke, I hastily scribbled into a bedside journal. The cobwebs were quite apparent in retrospect, and re-reading my morning ritual was equal parts confusing and intriguing. I was trying to record my dreams, in vain hope that a Freudian analysis would unveil some grand personal epiphany. But in reality I wasn’t unearthing any deep seeded issues, I was simply looking through the kaleidoscope of my imagination. Fantastical adventures and heart-wrenching tales of love and defeat, it was closer to Saturday morning cartoons than it was to any qualitative personal data. The interesting thing about recording these dreams was that I had permanently imprinted them in to my memory. Although the journal is lost in the ever-growing pile of coiled notebooks I purchase every few months, some of the dreams still remain.

Today on The Weekend Fuzz we’re going to focus on “The soundtrack to your dreams”. Imagine each track as the background music as you fall in to a deep slumber, and if you’re reading this in the evening, make sure you don’t have any hot beverages in front of you that may scald you if you happen to end up making a sleepy keyboard faceplant.

I’ve always likened falling asleep to slowly and blissfully being submerged, and the watery imagery seems to be a constant. This is where the idea of Beach Fuzz was born; the last frontier before the endless expanse. Absolute freedom. For each song i’ll try and describe the emotions that wash over me, and your homework assignment is to try and record one evening of dreams and see if you can put it to music. Our first song is by Duster, a somewhat obscure late 90’s space rock trio. Second we scoop up one of the lesser-played from Youth Lagoon’s new album Wondrous Bughouse, which is like a waking dream in its entirety. And lastly we drift to 18-year-old Parisian Dream Koala, who’s immense potential is a direct inverse relationship to his ability to grow facial hair.

So sit back and float away

[audio:|titles=Duster – Constellations]
Duster – Constellations

The monolithic pillars surround you like a cage yet again, as you peer up and see a familiar fuzzy face. It speaks soft words to you that you can’t understand, but they give you warmth. As the face disappears the darkness surrounds you. Before you are completely enveloped by blackness, neon lights flicker above you. You lie flat on your back while the lights slowly begin to swirl. Circular shapes spinning softly like distant stars, you try to reach out but you are suddenly overcome with great fatigue. The stars begin to sing a soft lullaby, and your eyes become heavy. In the void you begin to imagine constellations twinkling in the distance. Thought escapes you, the stars become blurred, and you feel at peace.

[audio:|titles=Youth Lagoon – The Bath]
Youth Lagoon – The Bath

Imagine a hot evening bath as you drift away into slumber. You soon take notice that you are no longer supported by the tub, and are in fact buoyant above a vast underwater expanse. The depth invites you, and you slip beneath the surface of sound. You are met by a submerged chorus, magnificent and wondrous beasts morph and transfigure, all the while beckoning your presence. You are awash with splendor and delight as the plantlife glows in unison the colors of the rainbow. Fantastical beasts of great size and grace circle The Bath, and the sounds of a grand orchestra are muffled by the deep. You begin to feel a change as your limbs slowly flash the colors of the plantlife, you take your first breath and are overwhelmed with content. Soon, weariness overtakes you as the chorus plays softly, your legs have taken on a fish-like quality, and you propel yourself towards are particularly inviting growth of neon moss. As you close your eyes, color seeps in, and with one final breath you dip into deep slumber.

[audio:|titles=Dream Koala – We Cant Be Friends.]
Dream Koala – We Can’t Be Friends.

Swimming between the rift of reality and the subconscious, images swirl about your mind like great waves swelling and breaking upon the shore of thought. Pictures of past and present, yesterday and tomorrow, perpetually washed together and blurred; diluted amidst ideas thought and unthought. Messages of great epiphany whisper and float about in the mist and the fog, indistinguishable yet familiar, vaguely you recall these ideas yet vividly they swim each night. It is said that the eyes are the window to the soul, and that is indeed true, as only when your eyes are closed does your soul reflect inward, and only then does it become visible. Almost palpable, yet each morning only a vague aftertaste remains, that which is soon washed away by the overwhelming thoughts and worries of your conscious day.