The tape hiss sounds like breathing; the guitar like codeine, ash on the carpet. As soon as this slow, humming burn of a song begins, you know where you are and where you’re going and there’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.
And then it’s over. The final hiss of the tape’s breath burns like an afterglow, and you’re left wondering what happened. And the strange thing with “Full of Life” — the latest single by cattle rancher and sonic experimenter Stefan J. Selbert — is that it also somehow plays tricks with time. For a song less than two minutes long, it somehow feels like staying awake until dawn; the hours slipping through darkness until the first fingertips of sunlight tap lightly on the glass.
We’re told the song was inspired from a time Selbert spent alone in Tokyo at the end of autumn, a long way from his Los Alamos, California home. The busy detritus of that most modern of cities surrounded him, and one can certainly feel isolation in the crowd in this quiet song’s bones. It’s a beautiful thing. Nothing is unnecessary: No chorus, no bridge, no repetition. It leaves all the space needed for the maddening silence of loneliness to shine through, as direct and unencumbered lyrical juxtapositions further compound the sense of longing at its core. Selbert’s voice is also a quiet and understated thing, a whispered hush at the song’s centre that adds a further layer of quiet intimacy. It’s well worth stepping into this song’s shadows.
Take a listen to “Full of Life” below.
Written by M.A Welsh (Misophone)
