Where Portland meets London, the foursome has twisted some cranium around to develop, frame for frame, the makings of a Guy Ritchie movie, where Mrs. Ritchie has been replaced by Cate Blanchett as the leading lady. There’s a jerky, fast forward approach to their camera work that contradicts the pace with a constant rhythm, leaving a wispy trail of frozen air like a plane in the sky.
Fade into tear jerking piano droplets run down the cobblestone street, leading to a café where a lonely woman plays indifferent as she reads her French poetry and sips her espresso with a twist of lime. An old man’s story is told with warm cello and a brandy, which glides into a poignant reflection that will soon lead him to joining his wife in the great beyond.
The songwriter’s mind is rarely quiet, as one could tell by the lyrical notes made of massive letters that cover graph paper, as he prays for it all to stop, “No more pressure / no more anxiety…distance is not measure/no more bodies/ no more obsessing / no more questions about this time I will be spending.”
Without a song listing to be found among the scribbled chaos, they almost challenge you to look deeper and throw your own song title take. So I name track seven, “Lost on the Streets of an Unknown City,” where I awake in a train station with no idea of where I am and who I am. The world is spinning and I have no way out. At least, not until track eight, where the rhythm becomes familiar and the fog lifts to a bright sunrise, blinding me into reality.
As Wire Post To Wire’s celluloid dream ends, you’re left with that questioning, almost uncomfortable feeling like you may have missed a key element of the plot, and need to see it once more. But you know that when you do, it’ll be an owner rather than just a pay-per-view kind of experience.
