There are certain moments and places that make us still...That possess an inherent rapture that soaks into us and fill us up with the wild and unhinging substance of silence itself. You know what I mean. That night in the mountains, or early morning on the lake, or long drive through nowhere towards nowhere when everything that moves is moving through you. When everything important has gathered itself, carefully, into a syllable or two. The name of a bird, or a constellation, or whatever word we’ve long forgotten that means “I wouldn’t want anyone else here but you”, which is the same word for wind-through-the-wheat and must have been close to both laughter and grief. And you can barely speak.
Express Rising is one of those moments. You don’t listen to Express Rising as much as you step down into it, slowly, until it’s covered you. It’s baptismal in that way. A cathedral. we’ve listened to this album many times, and we have yet to finish it all the way through without being changed in some way. It’s moved us profoundly, and we think it will do the same for you.
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