And then Lady Daydream comes in, and it’s pretty clear this is where we had to climb to, it’s like a distant green doll house in the clouds. But it’s still a ways off and we’re bouncing along soft white to get there while Eric’s guitar glimmers bluely, and the melody beckons cool and soft and sure. Siren! So anyway while we’re here we might as well go in. We ring the bell and sure enough Milk and Honey starts up, announcing our arrival. INT. DOLL HOUSE IN THE CLOUDS. Total pandemonium: the living room is packed wall to wall with people but the music is coming from the attic, Gabe’s bass all ceiling-muffled but insistent, and the song soundtracks the seemingly forever it takes us to push through the crowd, up the stairs, through the only door, the music stopping as we hit the threshold, and the gold latch clicks behind us. The band is on the far side of the room, perfectly silent for a moment. And then Bryan hits the opening drum fill to All Around and Away We Go, the bass bounces and good god its like a disco fucking dance party in here! Has it been this way the whole time? Bring in the orange-lava synths and the barking vocals and then the song is quite literally begging us to come along for the ride. We oblige with grins ten feet wide. Four minutes of pure inhibition lowering bliss, and the same drum fill stops what it started. By now its dark outside. We stick our heads out of the attic window and survey the silver heavens above. Galaxy Plateau. Not a soul in sight out here, but the wind picks up and howls an echo of noise in our ears. We look this over while the sounds grow and change and fold like aural stop-motion animation. At a certain point we hear something begin to take shape in the distance, and as we lean out to get a better idea, it finally kicks in and we pitch out of the window into the black. Dev’s keys and drum machines come into bright focus and Phenomenons scores our tranquil descent into the landscape of a pink morning sky. I know you might be confused. “It could all be a dream.”

There are, of course, and many. But after listening to Survival, for whatever reason, it feels like there has never been anything so earnestly laid bare, creating an uneasy tension with the rest of my jealous music collection. The age-old pop formula is deftly flipped; heartbreakingly sad melodies flirt with naively optimistic lyrics, but neither quite alights. At first blush the songs seem indelibly spare, yet there are worlds at work beneath, built brick by brick on uneasy foundations, then abruptly cut short. Strung out folk progressions are backed with a haze of fuzzy noise and wavering choir vocals, horns blare in the background while guitars and skittering electronics screech to either side. The songs are down, but not out. The unorthodox intimacy of the recording process might be to blame. Recorded over 8 months alternately between Portland and Brooklyn, many songs were recorded in just a few takes, then layered and overdubbed with ferocity. Sometimes they crowded around a single microphone in the center of the room, sometimes there were a few more. Friends like Sharon Van Etten and Nick Delfs (of Shaky Hands) came by and contributed in the spirit of an honest work. To hear principle songwriter Mark Thresher tell it, the work is “something that felt very important to all of us at the time.” The sincerity in that statement is painfully evident. Despite being originally released by the ever-insightful Catbird Records, and being named Album of the Year by La Blogotheque, Forest Fire’s ramshackle wonder Survival remains an intensely personal album for all of us lucky enough to have come across it. The worst in each of us wants to keep this record to ourselves; the best wants to share it with everyone. Forgive me, I approach you quietly with this record in my arms, urging you like an old friend, “No, seriously”.