album review
Ruins
Liz Harris alone with a piano in a Portuguese room, frogs and rain audible at the perimeter. The sound achieves an almost palpable evanescence; one hears solitude itself rendered audible and aching. It exists for the 2 a.m. listener only.
what it left me with
Solitude, recorded with uncompromising honesty, does not constitute emptiness but rather a sanctuary most companions cannot match; in such honest aloneness dwells a tenderness few human bonds achieve.
this is one entry from a wandering list of films, books, shows and albums, kept by someone trying to live a slightly more deliberate life.
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