The new single from Ryan O’Connell's "Bleach Dreams"doesn’t show up with the crash of cymbals or a grand proclamation. Instead, it slinks in with the lo-fi warmth that seems like an overheard confession in a quiet room. From the first note, the song feels like O’Connell at his most himself, softly unfolding, wryly funny, and deep in the way that draws curiosity.
Drawn on slouched guitars and an unhurried pulse, "Bleach Dreams" feels like it is in no hurry to impress you. And that’s exactly its charm. O’Connell has a gift for turning stillness magnetic. His lyrics, part slacker poet, part deadpan philosopher, revel in the absurdity of daily existence, pacing the walls, visiting with mice, sitting for bleach to set my mind right. These are not throwaway lines, they’re the surreal proof that even in the most familiar, seemingly neglected given moments, we’re all still here, nascently seeking, laughing at the void.
There’s a quiet confidence in how "Bleach Dreams" occupies its space. It doesn’t ask you to notice, but it stays, cloaking you in its hazy textures until you wind up replaying it in your head to try to get a hold on the way the humor and melancholy keep switching places. It’s music for late nights when the world is too big and the kitchen is too small, when you’re searching for answers in the hum of appliances or the sound of your own footsteps.
What makes O’Connell’s writing resound isn’t simply cleverness, though he is plenty clever, but the extent to which he makes the everyday feel like a reflection. It doesn’t sugarcoat life’s weirdness, and allows it to sit, unvarnished, with a dash or two of scorn and a dollop of heart to keep you anchored.
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