There's something about a song like Highasakite's "Everything Sank In You," that makes it feel as if we're no longer on a rescue mission, but a recovery mission. Ingrid Håvik sings:
"Everything
Everything sank in you
Like the ocean swallows bodies
I can't tell if you're in there
Somewhere
I can't tell if you're there."
The words and the music have lulled us to thinking that what we're looking for is just going to be floating somewhere, there on the surface. It's not going to be something that we actually find. We will stumble upon it. It will be where we least expected it to be. It will just wash ashore and we will take care of it at that time, but we have to wait for it patiently. The song and the band creates this sense of being somewhat out-of-body at all times, hovering above the sad fleshy machine down there that's trying its hardest not to get blown out of the water. The ocean plays a big part in these songs. We think that it's the enormity of it that's so appealing. It's the thought that so much is hidden beneath a surface that just looks like it would hint at more of the same below it. Its contents are entirely mysterious and there's no telling what's going to be pulled under to join them. We just let ourselves get pulled into the blue, whether that's above or below. We just get pulled. We find the sinking here is the only reliable method of getting comfortable anymore.