Clint Mansell needs no introduction really. He's one of the most successful contemporary soundtrackers to all your favourite films (Aronofsky or otherwise). And Scottish post rock act Mogwai need no introduction either; while I'm not a fan of their LPs very much, I'm willing to forgive anything for their work here. This is my favourite work of Mansell's, the massively underrated soundtrack to The Fountain, which just might be my favourite Aronofsky movie too. (I'm a hopeless romantic, can't you tell). Actually, barring Koyaanisqatsi, I'm ready to call this my favourite soundtrack of all time. Blah blah hyperbole, i know.
It snowed heavily a couple of nights ago. I was out at a friend's place a bit out of town, halfway between civilisation and isolation in terms of population density. I was in good company, old friends and wine and warm fireplaces and rusty, slightly detuned guitars with familiar songs carrying us amidst drunken revelry. It was lovely, but I felt an urge to get out for a bit considering it was January and it was not that cold despite the snow, and lord knows how cold it usually gets in January here in Canada.
I had this burnt as a CD for my friend because she was getting into OST's in general and I had to burn her a copy or two of my favourite stuff. (I'm that guy in the group, still burning CDs, still ripping files) She hadn't listened to it yet and I asked her to come along for a walk because well, it's nice being alone but better being alone with company. I inadvertently slipped this into her discman and off we went, into frozen winter lakes and trees that have slipped into silent slumber. We talked, about our lives, loves, ups and downs, about nothing and everything, and eventually settled to rest against the bark of a gigantic oak overlooking her cottage. We shared earphones and rested, and smoked half a pack of Belmonts. It was a clear, clear night, amazing how much of a difference in perspective the skyscape presents when away from the perennial urban haze.
We eventually passed out there, in silence. I woke up to a warm hug from her, suggesting that we should head back because we'd been out for a good 3-4 hours. I realised that at this very moment, my heart was full but my mouth was empty. That, at the very best of moments, I had nothing to say, except apologise. (I say sorry a lot, a personal defect, if you must). It's an eerie kind of inner peace, one that I am still reluctant to accept. We walked back and we caught each other glancing back at the old oak, like it had heard all of our unfocused discussions, our laughter and our pseudo-romantic aspirations. It was like leaving something behind, but not in a way that was sad or threatening, or even disquietening. It was, simply, humbling.
Now, whenever I listen to 'Together we will live forever', I know there's a place where I can recede to where nothing can taint me. It's the light that never goes out, as Moz sung, it's the essence of the beating heart, it's the only place where you can 'draw a drop of blood from a sugarcube'. This is me, fucking batman, broken, happy, sad, completely detached and completely innocent. And there is nothing more that I can say that would justify the beauty within this album other than the fact that I sometimes find myself there when I'm listening to it.
together, we will live forever
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