Anima

Anima

maybe there is a bit of god—or faith, belief, purpose, meaning, understanding, reason, call it what you will—in all of us, passing between fingertips exchanging change and quick glances lost on public transportation, and Anima is just a sliver of that. most of the time i think In Rainbows is my favorite album of all time, ever, because it feels like many lives represented in one reflection on time, history, memory, loss and love. the music of Anima, and in particular “Dawn Chorus,” has many echoes of what i love so much about IR. that is to say, there is irrevocable tenderness and pain, and a palpable longing for the past which cannot be retrieved nor recreated. the choreograph is beautiful, mesmerizing, and says so much about contemporary life and monotony and loneliness without being prescriptive or cruel. its elegance is matched by its subtle joy, most rapturous in the wall sequence—has anyone coined that? when Yorke and Dajana Roncione turn over one another like leafs tumbling, seasons passing, waves lapping at a soft shore? “the wall sequence” is not refined enough for that moment—that seems to be a celebration of life in the present, not burdened yet by the past or imminent future. that is not to say this is without terror, not without dread, but there is something special about what light is offered: it’s a humble offering, but an offering nonetheless.