Imagine: You're leaning back in a warm, comfy chair. Your eyelids are slightly closed, and the scent of exotic paint and spice drift about like miniature invisible clouds, gradually releasing their load. Creeping shadows move just out of sight. Your hands grip the sides of the sofa tight, as the once-blank screen in your head flickers with vivid images that your imagination couldn't possibly produce on its own. Then the song ends. Your eyes flutter open, and your fingers search for your musical device. You find it. You press the replay button...
And greedily hoarded endorphins and emotions you didn't even know existed, flow through straight to your mind like a sperm cell seeking an egg. You are in the nose cone of a rocket that is taking you straight to the outer ends of the symphonic universe, beyond the planets filled with cheesy '80's tunes, and galaxies of autotuned garbage. It is not music that is swarming your drums, you muse, it is pure unadulterated pleasure. This is the epitome of euphoria. And it's all yours. Your heart beats furiously; seemingly literally sprouting wings and flying off in the distance, leaving behind an empty chimpanzee staring at a wall. Finally, the break you've been waiting for. The dystopian soundscape gets poured from the edges of your field of vision, as the song reaches its climax and you inhale- your first breath in a while. The juggernaut slowly grinds to a halt, and the fuzz stops- leaving behind a violet emptiness, and an almost sexual tension. You shiver once, and repeat the whole process again.
This is Trip-Hop.
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