It begins with a simple drum fill from Mark Meyer, and slides into an almost impossibly measured groove – 65bpm, barely troubling the scorers. Musicians will tell you how hard it is to play a feel this slowly – to resist the temptation to fill the space up with stuff – but Meyer’s pace is steady and spare, and Joe Creighton adds to the weight of proceedings with a wonderfully considered bassline. It’s all thought, all placement, no waste: the tonic, and then the 4. The tonic, and then the 4. Like clockwork, and yet somehow the opposite of mechanical – the song is breathing in and out.
There are two other sections – a pre-chorus that adds fire and serves largely to refresh the palate for the return of the central groove, and a breakdown after each of the two choruses that consists of guitars noodling softly until a beautifully-recorded acoustic slide part appears to lead us back to, you guessed it, the tonic, and then the 4. The tonic, and then the 4. Lisa Bade’s harmonies are percussive and hypnotic and the fretwork is tasteful throughout – no surprise, as the late great Ross Hannaford is on deck.
All the while, Mark Gillespie is narrating an unfolding tragedy – but the tone is regretful rather than urgent. There’s nothing to be done but watch her fall.