It is a simple thing to qualify a project coming to an end- whose qualities were hidden in the mechanics of doing it- at the end of it; the retrospective lends itself to posturing, whether in the nature of self-healing or self-aggrandizement (both of which we likely need, admittedly). We will try and repress grandiose statements derived from our personal relationships with music and the ethos of a world increasingly bent on sublimating the creative impulse toward exchange;  In reality, our steps in this sphere are as clumsy as our steps in the sphere of music.

BY was a project that did not operate with any practical intention until forced. It was a referential point of sense to operate in a world that we could not find sense in; Our “creative impetus” (or impulse to make not yet mitigated by the reciprocal demand of desire), had a beginning before language became the container of our universe, and I have a memory of it (of sorts). Zachary and I scribbled on walls and sang and had our own theatre and our own stage and our young minds swelled with blood-possibility under a malleable fontenelle; all the world hung like a cloud on the verge of dissolving and letting through some hidden burst of light whose source was unfindable. I recall this feeling almost as a memory, or a ghost of one- out of reach but present nonetheless. I can only imagine it is because I am a twin, and the image is there, faded, destroyed almost, of my brother- and in his reflection myself- making things just fucking because. And that feeling, so devoid of the limits and boundaries and pre-figured directions and familiarity that eventually constitute all our relationships, it remains like a haunting.

I say this not to hack up some elegiac prose on an unsuspecting reader but because there was a reason behind our general malaise and lack of wherewithal and if that haunting made it into the music we made (and continue to make, under the moniker MSC), then perhaps using music as our language of distress actually succeeded. But, we understand the other side of that coin as well, and it does not make us glad to have created estrangement between people who tried, out of kindness or financial obligation, to lead us to a place in which we were not so out-of-sync with the “reality” of the music world (and indeed, world). We never had any idea what we were doing. We only knew what we did not want, and in that sense, who could blame us? The music industry is a tire-fire the size of a continent. But crawling underneath that polluted haze led us blindly into some of the most unlikely friendships and loves, some of the greatest reckonings, breakings and re-shapings, de-familiarizations and affirming realizations. We just wanted to say good-bye and we are happy if anyone could be with us, ambling through, alienated, bleating, sorting it out. We still have no idea and we’re starting to think that might be the only place that’s real anymore.
All the love we bear,

Braveyoung




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