Anenon’s Tongue is a beautiful album. That’s an adjective whose meaning has practically been obliterated by Hallmark prose and hyperbolic idiocy. But occasionally, a work of art digs deep enough to excavate the underlying meaning that existed in antiquity and figures to persist until we’re soil and dust.
This is beauty materialized through the abstract articulation of love, loss, fear, addiction, confidence, longing, hope, and sadness. At its best, the infinite array of human emotions swirled and distilled into sound. Sound becomes melody, harmony, and rhythm. The medium happens to be music, but it could really be anything. Pure expression. Tools mean nothing more and nothing less than palette and color.