The saddest music in the world

Beach House makes me feel I’m on a gray foggy beach with pale colored lights swirling around me. So pretty and so sad. I think Beach House is some of the saddest music in the world. Can something be dreary and pretty at the same time? Maybe that’s why I like it so much, because I do feel dreary at times, perhaps more so than other, more sporting types. And then I find Beach House comforting.

“Love you all the time … even though … you’re not mine.” A wistful love anthem, “Saltwater.” Because I try to remind myself to try not to “own” people and see people as independent from me. That loving people and having them are two different things. And because my wayward heart often chases after ephemera, or the impossible. Sometimes I think humans are love machines, we’re designed to love people, to search for love, barring the need for food, water, shelter. We can’t control that drive. It can be a bit painful, really. I feel like I careen into people, drawn to them like bright, shiny mirrors, despite my brain’s best efforts to be a bit more balanced about things. So that line makes me ache.

So, anyway, what does Beach House sound like? Slow, dreamy, dark-carnival music, with a deep, velvety woman’s voice sighing into the high notes, singing about witches, ghosts, devils, childhood, and people not coming back.