In her quest to enhance the salient aspects of the musicality of ordinariness, Vanessa Rossetto maintains a nucleus of romantic pragmatism in association with gestures, sentences and combinations of familiar sounds. These snapshots of processed reality contain compositional germs and flashes of humanness in equal doses, situating the listener in the barren area that separates what was forgotten from what’s still vivid in the memory.
However, in The Way You Make Me Feel the Texas resident seems to have privileged the depiction of states deriving from a gathering of oppressive thoughts. The details of everyday are perceptible, but get vanquished by their very accumulation quite frequently. Elements that elsewhere could appear as merely decorative here become the origin of massive droning stratifications. A noble cacophony comprising imperfect shapes and urban untidiness, but also the sort of vaguely friendly echoes which keep us composed as everything gets tangled inside a surplus of cerebral activity. A few moments of tranquillity are granted, yet the anxiety is palpable.
These tracks reveal the introvert attitude of a being whose conduct amidst a group of unknowns mixes circumspection and politeness. At the same instant, the aware mind is looking to escape from the obligations of social superficiality: to achieve that goal, one gets lost in the din while singling out the significant sonic particles and the small rays of light. Another day has passed, a measure of relief finally achieved. What will happen tomorrow is not a concern, at least for now.