Years ago, when my wife and I had zero kids and infinite free time, we went hiking up a mountain.
Okay, it was more of an escarpment than a mountain. And more of a walk than a hike.
But it was a gorgeous day and a gorgeous part of the world, on a trail so empty we didn’t see anyone else for the entire three hours it took to complete the circuit. I’ve always loved the suspension of time that comes with a simple, repetitive physical task like hiking. The soft, earthy padding of our boots on the path was the only sound we heard for minutes at a time, interrupted only by occasional birdsong, and brief communications with each other to make sure neither of us was deathly thirsty.
We arrived at the turnaround point, a dramatic clearing on a cliff’s edge with a view to distant lakes, feeling energized but tired enough to feel like we’d accomplished something.
There was no barrier at the edge of the cliff, so you could get as close to the edge as your nerve would let you. I decided (because this is how cool I was) that it might be fun to get a picture of myself seated lotus-style, looking meditative despite being inches away from a really bad end to the afternoon.
Now don’t worry: this story doesn’t end with a trip to the hospital. Quite the opposite, in fact.
To my surprise, I found that my body wouldn’t let me adopt the pose I wanted. I sat with my back to the edge of the clip, but try as I wanted, I couldn’t straighten up my posture. So instead of cutting a calm figure worthy of the cover of a monthly yoga magazine, the picture (which I will not be sharing here) shows a seated subject, eyes closed, palms open, and legs crossed, but bent forward, elbows resting awkwardly on knees. It’s as if I’m trying to fit through an air vent backwards by folding myself in half.
I suppose there are two bits of good news here. First, my wife (who was at the time not a wife but a very patient girlfriend) deserves a high-five for humouring me and taking the photo without making motherly warnings about getting too close to a cliff. But second, I guess it proves that my survival instincts are stronger than my instincts for getting a clever picture taken.
Michael Erickson, who creates under the name WMD (and who recently put out his label debut) makes music that achieves the level of calm that I couldn’t hope to achieve on the edge of that cliff over a decade ago.
I like to listen with my eyes closed. Provided my back is safely leaning against a wall.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. The melodic hook, which repeats throughout the song, is played on a soft synth patch with reverb that seems to stretch on forever, like a mountaintop view.
2. I recently discovered that Erickson was just 18 when he made this. Aside from showing staggering musical maturity, this means that when my wife and I went on that mountain hike, he was 11. Which makes me almost as dizzy as sitting at the edge of a cliff.
3. As the song nears its end, that melodic line continues, but the bass line beneath it changes. It’s a tried-and-true way to keep hold of your listener’s ears, and here it ends the song in a distinctly hopeful mood.
Recommended listening activity:
Searching the forest floor for the perfect hiking stick.