The blinds are shut against the setting sun and the dust floating around the room is dancing it's seductive dance against your eyes. Every curl of smoke drifting up from the bed is a testament to flesh, a poem written in the air. Angels sing the song of lovers and beg you to stay here, stay in this perfect crystallized Sunday moment. Each breath you take is a photograph of seduction, passion and the empty bottle of wine rolling softly across the wooden floor. Why should you leave? Hope Sandoval is telling you not to. This record transcends sexiness into something closer to divinity, the perfected art of early morning lovemaking, a gentle caress of an album that doesn't want you to leave for work.
It is the whispered word at the end of a long night out with friends, a more comfortable place to relax and be alone together, a chance to peer deep into the mysteries of sunrise from the other side of night. This is a world full of warm guitar tones, gentle harmonica trails and the light touch of drums and organ all coming together to get through your pants and into your heart.
There is a leather bound book I keep in my room full of loves lost and found, of dreams and hopes that never came to be and the yellowing notes from lovers past. I keep this album there with Keren Ann, Jose Gonzalez, Mazzy Star and Damien Rice.
Good for: Playing songs on the skin of your lover, treating every touch like a chord.
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