It's uncomfortable when you can feel your own pulse jumping through all of your pipes and valves, getting its work done while you wait, while you twiddle, while you waste away half-awake. It's more uncomfortable when your nights get disrupted by the thumping of your always awake heart, pounding against you as if you're going to be able to continue ignoring the knocking forever. It's as if, at times, it wants to be acknowledged a little bit more than you choose and that's when it gets so loud and forceful it's deafening and unbearable. It's like a big-eyed dog who once you've made eye contact, it's all over you. The heart - we never see its eyes, but just try to convince yourself it's not there and that's a fool's paradise. It wakes the dead and it scares the neighbors and you think that you're going to have to listen to its bleating rhythm all night and into the morning. Some nights that's exactly what happens and it's a pitiful morning of scratchy eyes and grouchiness, but it's no less than the concern you might have for that organ that means so much to you. It's responsible for it all and there's no getting around that. All Get Out, a South Carolinan band with fragile souls, is probably tuned in with those palpitations as much as any, jumping out of their skins every second of every day. Lying on their stomachs, it must be debilitating as they're searching for either the causes or the solutions, neither more important than the other. They are experiencing the body at its most efficient and at its most violent moments. We involuntarily - they involuntarily - abide by the heart's involuntary deliveries. It's enough to make someone freak out and just worry all the time about what will happen when the heart's rebellion begins. What's greatest about All Get Out's music is that the four members have found a way to convey that rebellion already in progress. When Nathan Hussey sings that everyone's going to die, "that's just life and time" at the very beginning of the song "Wasting All My Breath," if that's not catching up with the scariest example of futility that exists out there than we don't know anything. It's a definite and yet there's a need to carry on, to try and do things, to try and be good, to try and make others better for being around us, there's a need to always get back on the horse and to continue making ourselves available for another soul to get close - to let their chests beat off of ours, like feet on a trampoline. It's in that valley where the scariness of inevitability is usurped by the thrill of not giving a shit - of just saying, "This is how I will be in my love's chase, my heart's desires. Try to stop me," and then just shutting off the sensors to any of the clatter that emanates from the bosom. It will try to speak its mind, but it will be a muffled drama. All Get Out will continue connecting themselves with something meaningful in the slow journey to the end, letting the hits come, letting the storm sirens say their piece and just go about with their thought and care and melodies that would make anyone feel at ease with their own loud noises.
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