about the record
Memory is malleable. The day you met the person you love, what color shirt was she wearing? At precisely what angle did the sunlight strike his face? How exactly did they glow? These little details are precious, but the strange thing is, the more you cherish them, the more they change. Each recollection is another potential touchpoint where stories can shift—each replay degrades the truth. Reality’s rough edges smooth with time. Objectivity is a myth: cameras and recording devices all contort image and sound. There’s no way to know exactly how things were. And yet, we still tell the stories to try to capture how things felt, even though the truth is always slipping through our fingers.
Lemon Quartet’s second album, ArtsFest, seems to unconsciously circle this thematic territory. Full of loose yet lush repetition, it seems to function like memory—each dizzy melody recalling and rewriting what came before, subtly shaping each piece as time passes. Not that they seem especially concerned with the passage of time anyway. They space out, they work in the realm of feelings, scribbling melodious abstractions that feel familiar. Rich with compassion, harmony, and gestures toward ecstatic—if not objective—truth, it’s full of the sort of pieces that demand you return to them but sound a bit different each time, with new details overtaking familiar comforts. Are you hearing them for the first time? Or just for the first time in a long time? Either way, drift away and try to remember…
- 1 - Twenty Years of Pencil 4:34
- 2 - Hyper for Love 4:49
- 3 - Grisham Spring 6:45
- 4 - Scry'd 6:20
- 5 - Self-Pity as the Volcano Dies 1:38
- 6 - Right Hand Wine 3:46
- 7 - Dream of the Dry Pot Fiend 5:08
€32,00
only 3 left
- 1 - Twenty Years of Pencil 4:34
- 2 - Hyper for Love 4:49
- 3 - Grisham Spring 6:45
- 4 - Scry'd 6:20
- 5 - Self-Pity as the Volcano Dies 1:38
- 6 - Right Hand Wine 3:46
- 7 - Dream of the Dry Pot Fiend 5:08
about the record
Memory is malleable. The day you met the person you love, what color shirt was she wearing? At precisely what angle did the sunlight strike his face? How exactly did they glow? These little details are precious, but the strange thing is, the more you cherish them, the more they change. Each recollection is another potential touchpoint where stories can shift—each replay degrades the truth. Reality’s rough edges smooth with time. Objectivity is a myth: cameras and recording devices all contort image and sound. There’s no way to know exactly how things were. And yet, we still tell the stories to try to capture how things felt, even though the truth is always slipping through our fingers.
Lemon Quartet’s second album, ArtsFest, seems to unconsciously circle this thematic territory. Full of loose yet lush repetition, it seems to function like memory—each dizzy melody recalling and rewriting what came before, subtly shaping each piece as time passes. Not that they seem especially concerned with the passage of time anyway. They space out, they work in the realm of feelings, scribbling melodious abstractions that feel familiar. Rich with compassion, harmony, and gestures toward ecstatic—if not objective—truth, it’s full of the sort of pieces that demand you return to them but sound a bit different each time, with new details overtaking familiar comforts. Are you hearing them for the first time? Or just for the first time in a long time? Either way, drift away and try to remember…
