The dream has been an omnipresent motif in indie music – so much so that an entire genre was christened with its ability to inspire the sensation of being in surreal hallucinatory stupors. For a handful of examples, we could look at the title of M83’s opus Hurry Up We’re Dreaming, The Depreciation Guild’s underappreciated love-stoned classic “Dream About Me,” or default genders pleading “if this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up” in “pharmacoma (for ben deitz).” The dream suggested by the above examples, and the typical first thought that comes to describing dream pop, is a soundscape that is blissfully unreal and far beyond the mundanity or moroseness of wakefulness.
Sometimes the end of a dream leaves one in a feeling of loss, especially when they depict what was once a wakeful state filled with joy. A classic example would be Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams,” in which waking up ends time spent with a lover and bring forth again the realization that they said goodbye. The feelings and memories that come rushing back in those sleep-induced visions allow one to live in momentary denial of the painful truth.
Such a thought is helpful for the framing of Animal Ghosts’ Wake as a slipping in and out of consciousness – from knowing the truth and holding onto a desperate hope for a love not to leave. The music of Cliff Barnes is that of the dense and enveloping kind of shoegaze. Squealing and roaring guitars swarmi everything in a warm cocoon as Barnes’ breathy vocals waft through the tiny spaces between ribbons of distortion. The sound and tone of the instrumentation is sweet and uplifting, and it would seem that this is that blissful kind of dream pop based on what we hear. Yet the music is leading us astray, and the title of the record acts like a demand to leave sleep and face the reality that is struggled with in the lyrics of these songs.
The opener “You” is a plea for openness and vulnerability. Barnes asks the other to “show me where you’re scarred” in promise that he will do the same. This is repeated, suggesting a desperation that comes with a realization that this person may be slipping away. The worry materializing is suggested with the use of the words drifting, fading, decay, and waning on “Drift.” Barnes is doubly conscious of the real and the dream on “Bloom,” where he is awake and aching but still asleep, and on “Sleep,” where he channels Orbison and pleads twice “Don’t cut this short, I’m still with you in dreams.”
In The Depreciation Guild’s “Dream About Me”, the dream is not a departure from the bond of two lovers in the real. Instead, it is a place in which the feeling of their intertwinement can be conjured in between those moments of physical proximity while awake. On Wake this is not the case, and that delusion of the dream fades with the growing realization of what is true and no longer real. On “Glowing,” Barnes asks “Are you in the moment? I’ll do all you wanted.” This moment is one from the past that he has returned to, but is not met there by the other he shared it with. They wanted something and he didn’t do then. He would now, however it seems it may be too late. Barnes is understanding, and although he doesn’t want to lose them he is not bitter or scornful about it. Such is the tone when he whispers ““If you’re lonely you can glow your own way, But know I’m only just a memory away” – sometimes he knows from his own experience of looking backwards.
As the closing track “Gold” swarms over, the other is gone. Without them to speak to, Barnes says nothing over the wafting guitar ambience. A skittering riff cuts through staticy drones before a longing melody comes in. The relationship and the dreams that prolonged the perception of it are both over and the silence brings forward the emptiness in its fullness.
Wake is a release that turns the dream pop/shoegaze style on its head. It sonically evokes the haze of surreal ecstasy akin to a romance-induced stupor, but lyrically it reveals that this is all smoke and mirrors. When the distortion, delay, and reverb stomp boxes come off, the wishful and blissful illusion fades into the grounded state of lonesomeness.