I spent one of my summers in the upper Northeast as a small child. My days were spent wandering through the overgrown forest and exploring paths carved by runoffs while listening to the seemingly infinite sound of animals, insects, and trees surrounding me. I was encouraged to spend evenings with family and friends, but instead found myself drifting alone back to the woods. There was a small lake that situated itself comfortably a few miles off the main access road to the community, and after a couple  nights of sitting on its shoreline contemplating its depths, my curiosity got the better of me. Using a neighbor's small row boat found tied to the dock, I ventured out off the shore, doing my best to maneuver  across the calm surface without waking up the world around me.

Needless to say, this midnight exploration came to define that summer. Each night, after the sun ducked below the horizon, I quietly found my way to the shore, hopped in the boat, and floated into the lake. Eventually, once I reached what I thought was the middle, I'd put the oars down, lay on my back in the boat, and give myself and my thoughts up to the surrounding hum of life. The way the trees hovered over me and swung their wiry branches like an aging octopus towards the water hypnotized me night after night. As I became more comfortable and shook off preoccupations with reality, I begin holding silent conversations with the moon. Our talks carried me late into the night as I drifted without destination or worry across the surface, thinking, “man, this is how it's gonna be...”

Of course, life rarely works out that way. And as prominent as some childhood memories are, they tend to get lost under the piles of passing years as relationships, work, and other assorted obstacles take hold and stack themselves up like a game of Jenga over memories. It takes something powerful to reach inside you and tap into those images again -- to provoke the recollection of “those days” and topple the countless pieces of life from their towering height and reveal the significance below. This is where, nearly 3 paragraphs in, the music makes its appearance. Red Light Chamber Choir's debut release, We're in Trouble But We Don't Know What to Do is more than an example, it is an epitome, of such a force. So much more than just a disc of melodic, instrumental passages, it has completely inspired the above rant, and like crow-barring with a q-tip into intimate memories, inspired lush, emotional imagery with its collection of rich, refulgent tunes.

The mood is set immediately with “I'll Be At Your Wedding,” as a family of strings slowly unite and mesh together after a brief audio sample, setting the score for a lulling, rhythmic percussion break-in. As a number of traditional post-rock  bands utilize their percussion to make things loud and explosive, RLCC instead uses their drum work as another equal element to blend their creation together. Rather than smashing things up with peaks and valleys, “I'll Be At Your Wedding” introduces a plateau, which is a key element in creating a space where the listener can dwell and absorb.

The plateau approach is consistent throughout the disc, but each piece reaches that height in its own way, blending traditional post-rock techniques with RLCC's own unique pseudo-classical style. “Strangers in Matching Suits” features gentle key work that segues heavier guitar lines and percussion. The cymbals here really tighten things up, and prevent the song from falling prey to the over-tremolo pitfall. Without doubt, this is the song that gives the Choir their own identity -- an almost perfect blend of gentle, swelling passages that transmogrify into something much larger. It's like the balloon that keeps getting bigger and bigger, but never pops. Perhaps that's one of the reasons the songs evoke so much; they create an almost infinite soundscape to dwell upon. It is perfect company when staring at sky punched with holes of light, wandering where you'll be tomorrow.

The canvas grows even larger with “A Break Up Song,” one of the louder compositions on the record. Swirling textures spin the volume up as clean, gentle guitar lines lurk in the background. Experiencing one of the most active songs on the disc after several slow, winding adventures, the listener is able to completely let loose, as any barriers still standing dissipate into an empty and welcoming atmosphere. This is followed by “A Funeral March,” where an aptly congruent military drum beat fills the background and let's the cello present a drawling eulogy of sorts.

While the pieces up until this point all maintain a sliver of underlying darkness, it's not until “Bookmark Amadeus” (the last full track) that we experience a full-blown jaunt into the underworld. Combining fuzzy, scowling instrumental choral work with an eerie, adolescent vocal sample midway through, the song eventually picks up speed through a tunnel of accelerating percussion before ending abruptly at the gates of Hell. This marks another territory conquered by RLCC, and opens yet another emotive dimension to be explored and translated by the listener.

The diversity present throughout WITBWDKWTD, both instrumentation-wise and emotionally evoking, is one of the major reasons the final project is so successful in becoming more than “another one of those post-rock CDs.” Combining subtle classical elements with winding rock textures that don't blow their load prematurely, the artists create almost a mythology of sound over the course of 40 minutes that the listener is able to relate personal experience and self-discovery to. Not an easy task.

At the end of the summer, the family who owned the beat up old row boat, tore it apart tossed its innards into a campfire one evening while hosting a party that my family attended. They said the old boat no longer served any use and hadn't been used for years. Too shy to speak up I watched my memories ignite, smolder, and eventually burn out into a pile of ashes the wind surely swept away. At the time I did my best to ignore the experience and over time never revisited those quiet, summer nights where I observed the world at a near standstill, breathing in air and maturity that I probably haven't paralleled to this day. What in god's name does this have to do with the Red Light Chamber Choir? Everything. Like the way the film Stand By Me makes you recall the days of childhood best friends, or the sight of a tree house makes the corner of your mouth curl upwards in a smile, being able to relate a tangible object to a personal experience is soul-shaking.

This is more than a melodramatic childhood experience can muster to explain. Really, this is more than music.

-Jonathan Brooks