“One thing Victoria and I can agree on is that our music is its own world. And, I think that’s very much what the ‘beach house’ feel is: going off to a different world. It’s not really a vacation; vacation for me is when you go away, but you’re still thinking about all the things you’ve left behind.”

– Alex Scally

Dream I: Auburn and Ivory

Victoria likes to sleep during the day, so that she dreams in warm colours; so that she wakes up at 4pm; so that the sweet sepia afterglow of the bonfires and apple orchards that scatter ashes and seeds through the scenery of her mind’s eye are briefly unanimous with the afternoon sun. Some days there are no pictures, just a particular warmth, or the scent of woodsmoke married with bourbon.

Today there is a ringing sound.

It calls out across the bonfire, and maybe it is the bonfire; every pitch slide and timbre feels like an auburn spark set to an starry night’s ivory flashes, flaring up as brightly as the echoes left behind it signal a darkness. It’s swirling round and round, there’s a fever to it now, and as the warm specks flicker up and fail, there’s another sound; a low, churning sound, like the mechanical waltz of a child’s music box. And suddenly it is a waltz, and suddenly the fire and the stars are flickering in unison, and they’re calling it a song.

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