Amazing Meet Project, formed and helmed by Love in Reverse's Michael Ferentino and Andres Karu, treats listeners to Homeless Music, a revived oldie-but-goodie for any wandering soul who calls everywhere and anywhere home. From the opposite end (for those still stuck in a shackled cell), Homeless Music recommends cutting ties to be individualized. (On the whole, the album is quite a positive venture, offering accordant advice that diminishes mischance, prejudice and anchoring loss.)
The album percolates in three, behavioral parts (set apart by three, spoken intros).
Part 1:
"The Best Thing Yet" is an anthem for betterment, and Ferentino belts it out with assurance (and maybe a little sarcasm). Cerebral commercialism is the ticket here, and with the right perspective (the right, Oliver Twist, magnitude of heart), why not stand in line and ask for more, as long as "the next big thing" fills one's plate?
"Karma Suture" sets the harmonic pivot, crossing metaphoric bridges to find one's ideal malaise. To achieve this, Ferentino explores the "other side of the unknown," tossing useless tokens and faux leads into the ocean, to attain the orgasmic truth.
"Immortalized" is an acceptance of one's accumulated wrongs (and rights). It references the critics who've been validated by one's failures, but also insists on holding one's ground. In this regard, one must work "goddamn hard" to nurture one's pride, in that pride has the power to demolish derision (i.e. the enslaving ordinary).
"Another" is about gaining a second (or third or fourth ...) chance. It appreciates the inspiration that any significant other may offer, but like "Immortalized," recommends refusing the offers, choosing instead to stuff one's coffer with autonomous flavor.
"Still On My Mind" scrutinizes the rejected, along with their cheap opposition and well-meaning lies. It's about the emotions memories carry, and how one's past (the people one meets) make one compete in the hurly-burly of life. Competition is a good thing, or so the song implies, for it delineates one's character. (Indeed, not everyone can penetrate one's dreams, but some do stay on one's mind, which only goes to show that any relationship, whether long or short, forms a lasting impression.)
"Unmovable" is about digging in one's heels to curb those indelible impressions. As such, the track ruminates on the "night after night" pros and cons of conviction and why these vantages often feel impractical, if not unreal.
Part 2:
"Girl 16" poises a real sweet start to the album's center. This one is disco-esque in its obsessive appraisal. In the track's mirthful melody, one may find such a crutch isn't so bad, if the girl in question proves fetching enough.
"Sunshined" carries a strumming beat, but soon flips its ambiance, covering the draining rapture, inertia and rage of an enticing "devil in strawberry." Be warned: Sunshine, like any appetizer, may please, but somewhere down the line, it has the potential to burn like hell.
"Paxil" details the loving yet contemptuous best and worst in folks, and if a sorrowful (apologetic) chunk should float to the top, watch out. Pills (and the acts they spur) are at best a placebic Band-Aid.
"God, If There Was One ..." initiates a plea to a high elemental that may or not hold the answers one needs to decipher direction and shame, not to mention the sequelized (in)sanity that all impassioned beseeching brings.
"Whiting Is Burning" is a catchy, global proclamation, its sway merry and keen as it encourages the populace to speak up and be heard before a situation crumbles. It also gleans the phoenix-like mysticism of listening, for it's through this innate, communal act that even the roughest rifts are cleaned.
"Love Can Make You Sorry" dives back into the rueful heart. Soft self-reflection surfaces, as Ferentino taps years prior. The composition creates a jazzy climate, recalling a child-like time devoid of money and occupation. Its idyllic mission is impractical in light of life's demands and explains how fondness' ruined residue may linger, as long as smiles conceal the tears.
Part 3:
"First One" is a reflection on lost love, but only for as long as the aforementioned attachments stand. One must follow the voice in one's head, if one is ever to conquer one's recycled feelings.
"Unidentified" hits the ambivalence that plagues the tedious process of waiting, but moreover, discusses how pointing the finger at others is not as beneficial as pointing it at oneself.
"This Old Story" cries for vindication, resting upon a crafty crest that's tuneful and fast. It asks for proverbial pats on the back, as it assesses all the grand things one's done, even if the outcomes have come undone.
"Black Label" is a beer-induced novelty. Its quality is able, jiggly and resistant, praising the half-blind euphoria that shameless fakery will induce.
"Antonio" recalls a gentler side, an ode to a surrogate brother who lived in poverty and defeat, and yet through the downtrodden journey, achieved a humble glory that eclipsed his disgrace.
"Something Strange" is the compilation's send-off. Like "Girl 16," "Whiting is Burning" and "Black Label," it brackets everyday events with facetious, Sid & Marty Krofft jubilation, shrugging off stuff-shirt regulations for quixotic quests, the type of uninhibited liberation that blooms when strangeness is met.
Thanks to its psychological balance, Homeless Music is an existential epic. To listen to it is to soar, search, repent and most importantly, be grateful for the extrication that constitutes being human.
Meet the ambitious project at
https://orcd.co/homelessmusic
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