Within your musical reach you’ve not so much an album as a Life Philosophy. Living today is not propositional, a means to unify. We’ve hardly a recognizable a course of action, anymore.
This is a fractured fucking solar system. Something broke and WE KNOW WE DID IT. We must seek a means to live with disaster, so as to honestly dissuade another from suicide. The unspeakable truth.
This sounds cruel and is, admittedly, quite easy to argue against. The grandiosity is but an attempt to show the degree to which music may extend connective tissue.
On one hand, Joey Molinaro’s album recites a classic tale: a solitary violin in a video game, emblazoned by sympathetic armor, perpetually at odds with evil alloys. This is stalwart Romanticism scalped and reprogrammed by a Hikikomori. Despite the injury, all the more invasive for it’s remoteness, we want to help Joey and his violin escape the Lego Whore.
However, Joey and his violin do not want our help. Joey and his violin want to help us. Joey and his violin succeed in helping us by meticulously navigating a world in which we have no desire to help ourselves. This album is a disturbingly accurate map of what one will encounter in a lifetime. Each violent bow stroke (there are thousands) unveils, in a morbidly polymorphic way, a path to enlightenment. When the village is burning, the way to freedom is simple, the only option being flight of fire. When the village functions as a fully intact proterozoic bastard, the way out is addled by rest stop fascists and limited liability. (Nay, as much as we fight it, we still have a choice).
Basically, it’s your life and this album is rightfully pissed. Don’t sue Joey if your business goes up in flames.