“Spin” by James Wyatt Crosby mixes dreamy bedroom pop textures, analog synth sounds and washed out vocal harmonies to create an atmospheric hymn dripping with emotion and longing.
“Spin” plays on repeat in your head after you’ve bitten the poison apple. You’ve fallen into a fever dream and images of your troubled past are distorted into grotesque caricatures that are somehow made strangely beautiful. Memories and faces merge together while you remain silent and motionless, looking on as these visions fade into one another. Dark red and purple smoke drifts in and out of your periphery and the stars appear much closer and brighter than normal. The voices of lost friends and lovers laugh and sing from behind your shoulder but of course no one is there when you turn around. That familiar cosmic ache fills up your lungs and and as your eyes well up with sparkling silver tears, you can’t help but laugh.
