The compositions on Water Over Glass share threads and themes that mutate and morph as they move over time and space.
I had the wildest dream the other night. I dreamt I had inherited a mansion, a vast home of many rooms. Each had its own distinctive feel and presence. I walked through its cavernous hallways and peeked behind each closed door, and ultimately got lost in its immensity. In reality, getting lost in a strange house would have turned me into a panicking puddle of tears. But in this dream, it felt to me as if the house was intentionally trying to disorientate me. It was as if the house itself had a master plan, and its intention was to have me lost in its rooms for eternity.
I had been listening to Water Over Glass from The Cyrillic Typewriter the previous day and as I drifted off to sleep that night, and it must have seeped into my subconscious. Water Over Glass is itself a maze, a sound field of glimmering synth passages that circle back on themselves. Some songs, like “Night In Grey” are dark, menacing rooms, the kind you imagined the boogeymen lived in when you were a kid. Others, like “Dream Maze” and “Stop The River”, are fantastical chambers that appear higher, wider, and deeper than they are. Every window in the house looks in on another room, just as every one of Water Over Glass’s compositions share threads and themes that mutate and morph as they move over time and space.