Orchid Mantis - "Kulla Sunset"
You are on a guided tour through a classic cathedral, when you hear strange music from above. Breaking for the tour group, you follow your ears listening for the echoing distant voice calling to you. The sounds are coming from outside. Shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun, you hear the floating hazy sounds of soft vocals and gauzy pedal-enriched electronic tones drift downward from somewhere atop the cathedral.
Obsessed with the music, you begin to climb the walls of the great edifice, desperately clinging to whatever handholds and footholds its ancient ornate surface offers you. Still the quiet, calm song poems continue to emanate from some high perch upon the roof, as slow electronic beats add punctuation to the watercolor brushed sound of each track. The lonely, solitary voice on the wind is a beacon, expressing longings you never were able to.
At last, as you pull yourself up over the edge and struggle to your feet, using a life size statue of an angel to help you stand, the music is clearer now and has softened to an instrumental interlude. Everything turns to gold as the sun begins its descent.
You approach the place from which the music springs forth and find that it is only an old tape player. The cassette reaches the leader and stops. All is silent but the whistle of the wind and the flutter of distant pigeons' wings remains. Holding the tape in your hand the sun begins to set, you decide you want to make music like this. You want to be the mysterious source of faraway reverb-drenched sleep pop. Soon, atop some other stone structure aimed at the sky, your own compositions drift outward over the land, calling to all who will listen.