Memories, in some respect, unreel like home movies left too long in the attic: The film turns brittle, grain becomes pronounced, and once-vibrant colors fade into blandness. The footage itself, meanwhile, skips through history in a haphazard yet predictable pattern, presenting birthdays, summer fun, Christmas mornings—but few in-betweens. Break points are another concern; projector woes, too. What becomes a scenic life when the film snaps—or, as disturbing, when the DIY digitalized version erupts into jittery fits?
Oddly, though curated not, sad and hurtful moments linger longer and loom larger than much of the recorded happiness.
With the mesmerizing “Silence,” singer-songwriter Sonny Casey delves into a figurative fracture that’s yet to set—i.e., one of those in-betweens. It’s a gust from childhood that’s intertwined with an adult sensibility, contemplating how a father could walk away from his family: “Do you think of us, do you think of then?/Or is it easier to just pretend?” The song opens with just her and her guitar, her vocal soft, gradually building until drums and strings come in. It’s sparse yet full, and resonates like a recovered memory.
