One of the things I love most about music is the way it can serve as a constant companion. For me, whatever I've been through in life -good or bad- music has always been there.
The latter part of 2004 (when this album was released) and the first half of 2005 were low points for me. A variety of personal circumstances had taken their toll, and as a result, I wasn't in a good place emotionally. I've never really been the sort of person to openly talk about things that are affecting me, so I kept most of what I was going through to myself. I would try to drink and smoke away the gloom, but that only got me so far. During that time, many evenings after work were spent in a quiet corner of a pub, nursing a pint while reading 'The Wind up Bird Chronicle' by Haruki Murakami (which is now one of my all-time favourite books). As with many of his novels, this book seemed to metaphorically reflect what I was going through on some level. It was one of the things that helped keep me sane during that dark period, another was 'The Lost Riots'.
Hope of the States took me by surprise. I encountered their first single 'Enemies/Friends' on a TV show, liked what I heard and kept a mental note. Some time later, I chanced upon 'Sadness on My Back' online somewhere as a downloadable mp3; I liked that too. I then learned of the album and I rushed out to get it.
My first impression was that whilst I enjoyed the music, I didn't like the singer's voice. He really sounded as though singing was a tremendous effort for him, and it grated on me, spoiling my enjoyment of the record. However, after repeated listens, my opinion shifted; the desperate earnestness in his delivery became the point, inextricably fused with the music itself and providing contrast to it. It's not that I grew to like his voice, but I saw the honest vulnerability as adding to the music rather than detracting from it.
As for the music itself, HOTS' grandiose chamber indie reminded me somewhat of 'Godspeed You Black Emperor': bruised, tremulous strings, sprinkled piano and taut, strangled guitars painted the soundscape, creating an emotional footprint, with vocalist Sam Herhily's voice underscoring the sense of struggle inferred by the music. Like the Murakami novel I was reading then, 'The Lost Riots' also resonated metaphorically. Whilst not the most cheerful of albums, it represented exactly where I was at the time, and how I felt, and for that reason, it offered comfort and healing in that way that only music can.
Hearing the album now, I am reminded of those grey months, but find myself looking back on them with a strange sense of fondness, which is testament to how this album helped me through.
Hope of the States : Nehemiah
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