First Impressions: My Light, My Massage Parlor by Cassandra Jenkins

Days uncomfortable follow nights the same: Of late, we’ve been stuck in a late-summer cycle of heat, humidity and heavy rain, with only occasional dollops of Carolina blue sky. Our HVAC system does well shuffling cool air throughout the house, however. It’s hoodie season when inside. But when I step out the front door, wet heat seeps through the skin and my glasses fog over.

I may not see well, but the ears hear all: A piano echoes from deep within the corners of my mind, the notes and chords tinkling and twinkling like resonant stars. My LP of My Light, My Massage Parlor is en route, I imagine, or maybe not; the Bandcamp page says orders are slated to ship September 5th. I know not who plays what, as a result; the high-resolution download comes sans liner notes, and Apple Music—where a Dolby Atmos mix lives—likewise leaves the blanks unfilled. An Instagram post does provide minimal info: Michael Prince Coleman on piano; Reid Jenkins on strings; Nora Stanley on sax; V.V. Lightbody on flute; plus Sandy Jenkins and Gideon Jacobs on this ’n’ that.

Unlike (An Overview on) An Overview on Phenomenal Nature, which deconstructed the songs and moods of her 2021 breakthrough via demos, first takes, and elongated field recordings, My Light, My Massage Parlor follows up last year’s My Light, My Destroyer with elegance. It opens with “Still Rambling,” which steps from the street into a relaxation chamber; Jenkins, playing receptionist, says, “Hi there, welcome,” while ancillary sounds give way to the soft plunks of a piano. Midway through, we hear from her again, when she answers the phone. Wind chimes ripple. Insects chirp. Street noise reverberates.

It’s a calm-inducing collection of minimal instrumentals with ambient sounds mixed in, perfect for late nights, early mornings, and relaxing afternoons. It’s the closest most of us will get to floating in space, I think, and a perfect companion for the esoteric offerings that have perked my ears and heart this year. “Delphinium Bliss” is stark yet full, a wisp of a dream that slips through one’s grasp upon waking. “Wormhold Music” and “Betelgeuse Masseuse” drift back into the dream state, with the latter accented by Stanley’s soulful sax.

Not everyone, not even every fan of Jenkins, will get it. That’s to be expected. Many eschew mood-inducing ambient music, after all, despite the emotional quotient being as powerful as verse-verse-chorus-verse endeavors. In some respects, it operates between the conscious and unconscious minds, hypnotic and soothing, a trance set to song.