Strawberry Season

16,00

in stock

why we love this

Flickers of strings, colorful bursts of synthy pops, and faded vocal samples paint an intimate portrait that’s marked by a sense of warm familiarity and uncontrived beauty.

about the cassette

Strawberries ripen in the spring. Or so they used to, in a more reliable world, one that seems to be rapidly receding in our collective rearview mirror. Presently, “spring” is a troubled concept, fraught with anxiety. Our seasons, if they are seasons at all, are paradoxical. Crops fail, or they ripen prematurely, all at once, and into a burst of rot. Impossibly, somehow, the supermarket shelves stay stocked, and there are buckets of strawberries on every corner. But, of course, their nature is suspect. And they don’t taste like they used to. Or maybe that’s just ruinous nostalgia. But somewhere along the way we certainly lost something. Everybody knows. Strawberry Season responds tenderly to this sorry state of affairs, not with false comfort nor escapism. Rather, the album conveys, often wordlessly, that there remains an abundance of sweetness amidst our increasing unease.

  1. 1 - Gentle Pets 3:27
  2. 2 - Suped 2:32
  3. 3 - Blank Check 3:17
  4. 4 - Known 2:09
  5. 5 - Cold 2:38
  6. 6 - Your Call 2:31
  7. 7 - Low Resolutions at Santikos 9:14
  8. 8 - Goodnight 1:31

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Strawberry Season

16,00

in stock

  1. 1 - Gentle Pets 3:27
  2. 2 - Suped 2:32
  3. 3 - Blank Check 3:17
  4. 4 - Known 2:09
  5. 5 - Cold 2:38
  6. 6 - Your Call 2:31
  7. 7 - Low Resolutions at Santikos 9:14
  8. 8 - Goodnight 1:31

Embed

Copy and paste this code to your site to embed.

why we love this

Flickers of strings, colorful bursts of synthy pops, and faded vocal samples paint an intimate portrait that’s marked by a sense of warm familiarity and uncontrived beauty.

about the cassette

Strawberries ripen in the spring. Or so they used to, in a more reliable world, one that seems to be rapidly receding in our collective rearview mirror. Presently, “spring” is a troubled concept, fraught with anxiety. Our seasons, if they are seasons at all, are paradoxical. Crops fail, or they ripen prematurely, all at once, and into a burst of rot. Impossibly, somehow, the supermarket shelves stay stocked, and there are buckets of strawberries on every corner. But, of course, their nature is suspect. And they don’t taste like they used to. Or maybe that’s just ruinous nostalgia. But somewhere along the way we certainly lost something. Everybody knows. Strawberry Season responds tenderly to this sorry state of affairs, not with false comfort nor escapism. Rather, the album conveys, often wordlessly, that there remains an abundance of sweetness amidst our increasing unease.

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