I don’t know what the singer of Sleeping At Last looks like. I’ve never seen him at an awards show. I’ve never found anyone else in the real world that knows his music. I’ve never heard a concert announcement for the band. I don’t know his family. His age. His past. Unlike the other bands I love, I don’t even know his friends, the instruments he plays, the color of his eyes.
I just know his music.
And I think, maybe, I know him even better because of that. Because I know nothing about him, his music is less the product of a flawed man, and more the swaying notes that can send me to sleep when my mind won’t rest. The songs are not “the latest album” or the “overplayed one”. They are the tunes that embody thoughts I’ve never been able to explain. They are the green forests. The feeling of snow. The emotions I would feel, the things I would see, if I were to be wandering a far-away planet with only Sleeping At Last in the headphones. Because I don’t know him, I resist the temptation of finding hope in the person, not the art he creates. I have fallen into that with too many other bands.
Lastly, I find it hard to even believe a human came up with these songs. I have never, ever heard songs that hold so much beauty within them. They are innocent. They are peaceful. They are magic.