In that emotional space between a good drunk and sobriety, I’m sitting here on this Sunday morning listening to Hum’s monument to perfection, 1997′s Downward is Heavenward , at the infinite and revealing mercy of every moment in that beautiful album that swept off the Illinois prairie and into my permanent regard. I am particularly vulnerable to the band’s sound for reasons of my nativity, perhaps, with the spacey thunder of those guitars that imply infinity so akin to the endless flat expanses of Illinois fields over which the unbearable heat and humidity of summer shiver.
Recent Comments