We pulled onto the interstate just as the sun
started to peek over the horizon. We had each other. At first I thought we were
running from something – we were, in actuality, hightailing it from some
responsibilities that future we wouldn’t even remember, let alone consider
important – but once those rays hit my eyes, stinging them with tears, and I flipped
down my visor against them, I understood that what was ahead of us was actually
something we were running toward. It filled my heart with joy, and even though the
memory of that moment of sweetness would take on some bitter notes – we did
indeed love some people that we left behind – there never in my mind entered
any hint of regret or the twinge that we’d done the wrong thing. For the first
time in what felt like forever, we had something to look forward to, some hope
in a future that we were forging for ourselves. I cracked the window just
enough to get a hit of that crisp morning autumn air, and it filled my chest
and lungs and spread to my fingers and toes. I felt fricking alive.
This is how Icarus Phoenix, the brainchild of Drew
Danburry, makes me feel. It reminds me of when I was young and lost, and every
crazy decision felt immediate and raw and important. Maybe some of them were,
but it doesn’t even matter. There’s a secret powderkeg ready to explode in all
of us, and no matter how emotionally jarring it is, it is vital and it is real.
I felt these things back in high school and college when I was listening to
Bright Eyes and Sufjan Stevens, and I’m feeling them now with Icarus Phoenix. Gorgeous
stuff.
https://drewdanburry.bandcamp.com/music
https://telostapes.bandcamp.com/
--Ryan
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