“When people think of “confessional” or “intimate” music, they often picture a guy fingerpicking an acoustic guitar, but I think sitting and whispering into your computer is even more weirdly intimate, or has the potential to be.”
I imagine Will Sheff alone in the dark. I imagine him hunched over. I imagine him whispering into a computer microphone, those old ones from the ’90s, white and plastic. I imagine that the room is windowless. I imagine him sitting for days, whispering steadily, sadly, his back beginning to ossify in its hunched position. I imagine a single stained bulb. I imagine that his hair grows, but otherwise the scene remains permanent throughout eternity, outside heaven or hell, just one windowless room in which Will Sheff whispers forever and ever, his hair growing shaggy and imperceptibly.