Horseshoes is back with "suite ossuary," a gentle, haunting 8-song suite of the silent halls of heartbreak and memory. A ticking sub-40-minute watch, this new album is played but haunted. Bathed in Elliott Smith's whispered intimacy and dappled with Duster and the Postal Service's murky sadness, "Suite Obssuary" hovers like a dream on a rainy day. It’s an album that demands you take time, sit with your ghosts, and listen. Horseshoes embrace their vulnerability with a quiet strength; they allow every breath, every whisper, and every silence to hold actual weight.
Its opening track draws you in like fog over a still lake, and before you know it, you’re set for a deeply introspective listen. This record has jazz in its bones; whispers of Miles Davis and Bill Evans resonate through its chord progressions and emotional cadence. But it’s not flashy. It’s subtle. Like grief, it manifests in strange ways: the gap between the lines, the hush after the chorus, and the ache of the reverb.
Highlights include “shooting stars,” a heart-on-sleeve lullaby that throbs with unspoken longing. Its muted beauty is like watching someone you love walk away in slow motion, heartbreaking but somehow easy. The same is one of the album’s most emotionally resonant moments, its repetition and stacked textures reflecting the cyclical nature of memory.
"Suite ossuary" is a gentle epilogue to a love story, a diary of a person attempting to unpack absence. Horseshoes do not beg for attention. Instead, they whisper, and somehow it feels louder. The perfect space for anyone who has ever found solace in the soft hurt of a rainy day or a dusk-lit room, "suite ossuary" is a place to feel deeply and heal slowly.
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