December 7, 2016

LP: Noa Mori - twin bed

Let Noa Mori’s latest shrink you down and sound you out.

The first time I listened to Noa Mori, I’m lying in a double bed. I feel like I’m not taking up enough space as I should be. I’m too small for this bed; I’m just one person. I don’t need all this room. Maybe, it’s not just the bed – maybe I’m just too small for the widths of the world. I have so much free time; I don’t know what to do with it all. The world is huge – there’s no way I could possibly make use of every horizon line in the span of my lifetime. Even my body, really, is gigantic in comparison to how I’m feeling on the inside. Externally, I might be 5'5", but on the inside, I feel microscopically sized and constantly shrinking. I’m trying to grow but I don’t know how. I’m lying against the mattress, trying to fold myself up as small as I go, as all these worries of hugeness float above me, flickering against the low ceiling. This is all I can think about as I hear Noa Mori singing on "goliath," the closing track of her latest album: “I wish that I was like saw dust to giants / Your hands could hold me just like goliath / … / I wouldn’t mind if I were anyone else / I wouldn’t mind if you put me on a shelf.” Turns out I might not be the only one letting myself self-consciously shrink. 

Noa Mori is an artist based in Boston, Massachusetts. Her latest album, twin bed, is self-described as her "heart over the last two years" fit into twelve songs. They're full of shrinking, self-reflection, sunburn, and smelly socks. Accompanying these images, Mori sets a certain sonic ambiance; a kind of haziness that hovers around her. As she moves between songs, humming along, this haziness envelops everything – every beat of the drum machine; each tone, reverberating back and forth. It’s like we’re listening to Mori echo herself as she deconstructs everything she’s felt over the last two years. In the opening track, "empty cup," she creates an image of herself for us to visualize as we watch her fade, weighed down and worn out: “The sun goes down / I start to fade / I feel the weight / of everything,” Hearing lines like these, we’re listening to Mori shrink down into to a version of herself she can dangle between two fingers. With every drum beat, drawn out murmur, synth hum – it’s like Mori is sounding herself out in an attempt to understand everything she’s been over the last two years. twin bed is an album of self-reflection and deconstruction. It's an array of songs that allow you to visualize yourself from the outside; shrunken down so you can really step back and see yourself laid out against the sheer largeness of the outside world. Listen to this album, swaying with your feet planted together; your eyes closed – alone in your bedroom. Bring parts of yourself to light you’ve never let surface, against the comfort of a rightly-sized twin bed. Eventually, you’ll begin to feel like maybe – just maybe – you’ve been the right size this whole time.


Listen to Noa Mori on bandcamp.

Madalyn Trewin, a scrawny Australian with way too much time on her hands, endlessly staring up at the sky. She likes to pull words out of the air and put them back together as well as she can. So, most of the time, she’s pretending she’s a poet all over her blog.