This young rival is a man from the 1950s, or early ‘60s, who has travelled through time (on a motorcycle) to the 1980s to meet his older self, a man who experienced what it’s like to be young, in love, good looking, and talented. Poolside in the Southern tip of Florida, the old rival tells his younger self stories of loss and what it’s like to watch helplessly as the gap between then and now slowly widens. Vivid memories fade, he tells him, as if bleached by the sun, undone by the thing that gave them shape.
Filled with ideas of love and loss, this young rival—a man from the past, lamenting a future he has not yet experienced—croons to what might’ve been and what never was with a longing and contentment that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never have loved at all.
Rock ’n’ roll reverb and ‘80s gated pops fuse, forging past and present into a singular perspective that is difficult to tease apart. On this album, the young rival heads home, eager to live a future through the eyes of the past, because he’s fortunate to have one so bright, if only to watch it fade. (It’s worth it.) If you’re lucky enough to have a promising future, it won’t always be so bright, but looking to the past for direction fills you with an interior light.