Okay
Growing into a great song
There are lots of things that grow on me, like facial hair, nails, or the occasional pimple. And, mostly, it doesn’t bother me. Then there are lots of things that I wouldn’t want to have grow on me, like tumors, mushrooms, or a conjoined twin. But this is not to say that I mind having surprising things grow on me, like a song, for instance. Having a song to which you develop a deep appreciation for after a few extra listens makes you feel like a garden; all earthy and fresh and full of burgeoning life. With insects. And moles. Full of moles. I have moles.
In any extent, Okay’s Compass did earn its place in a soft, mushy plot in my heart once soaked into me properly. The first couple of times I listened to the song I knew there was something special about it, and its apparent elusiveness slipped away as it let itself be discovered. It’s the song’s experimentation with folk sensibilities, coupled with evocative, poised songwriting, which set the groundwork for a doleful, sighing song, which remains remarkably charming and un-sinister, melodic and inspired. But it’s singer’s Marty Anderson’s creaky, aching vocals which ultimately seal the deal, giving it its unique texture which mixes awkwardness with yearning with tenderness.
There could be more mention about Anderson’s battle with Crohn’s Disease, but you don’t need that overwhelming circumstance overshadowing such naturally poignant music.
MP3: Okay - Compass
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