184 words about Chamomile Pool
Soak, do not ingest
Used to glug my pint of coffee black, now I sip tea. But green or ginger, never lavender or chamomile or other such soap water nonsense. In parallel, I listen to music now to take the edge off, but it’s got to do it right. Used to favor Ai Aso’s brash Japanese compatriots like Boris and OOIOO over her brand of minimal folk-pop, but my blood pressure is higher now, you know. Gotta take care. What better way to do that than with translucent guitar notes, reedy synths and Aso’s placid voice? When I first heard Chamomile Pool in 2007, I was like, “Gawrsh, it’s so pretty and nice, my stomach feels funny.” Now it’s, “I can see myself making a lasting commitment to this record.” Gorgeous music often tries to do too much, to overwhelm you with glittering euphoria; Sufjan climbs spires made of glockenspiel. Chamomile Pool does just barely enough, and that is the absolutely correct amount. Chamomile is still disgusting, I will never ingest, but soak in a pool of it? Could be just the thing that this waning body needs.