This week proved an agonising striptease. It held out for an eternity but finally, a blue sky revealed itself in the ultimate form of undress. On Saturday it shone like fresh denim, not a whisker of cloud in sight. It had been a week. I was exhausted. A flare-up had caused my whole body to tense like an ugly rigor mortis. Any time I was horizontal, I felt my breath catch in my throat. It was as if my rib cage was welded in place and no amount of pressure on the inhale could see air penetrate. I had crawled to the finish line clutching onto the knowledge that Ten Fe’s album came out on Friday. And here I was: headphones on, dressed in tiny shorts and a tank top just to feel the heat of sun on SPF-smothered skin, gnawing on biltong and clutching a can of some drink I paid too much for at Harris Farm that carried the ridiculous promise of supercharging my brain and lifting my ass or something thanks to the addition of a berry plucked from a tree in New Zealand (evidently, such claims were not FDA-approved).
I thought there would be more people out. I imagined picnic blankets draped like a flag across the green, marking each person’s territory as they lapped up the view of clear skies. But the long weekend had chased them out of this uneventful park with its wholly ordinary trees and alien-looking flowers. I saw a woman doing tai-chi along the outskirts, moving her limbs with the speed of a sloth, a quiet energy rippling beneath the flesh. It was mesmerising. As if sensing my gaze, her trance was broken. Instead of artful movements, she began hitting herself. Not in the face or anything like that, nothing that would cause you to turn around and run into the bush. But it was disconcerting all the same; a staccato of slaps as her flat palms made contact with her thighs, then her arms and chest. In the end, I did turn around, feeling it best to leave her to smack herself in private.
Since Still In Love came out on Friday, I had not stopped listening to it. I listened to it straight through, as the band had intended the story to unfold, again and again. Still unable to shake the music, I found myself meandering along the path and through the park. I took every wrong turn and every possible detour so that the walk stretched on and on, giving me more time alone with these songs. You have to understand that the fact the album was released at all was a big deal to me. Ten Fe last released an album in 2019. Then, they took a considerably long hiatus in which they questioned whether they even wanted to do this thing anymore and, if so, did they want to do it with these same people?
Still In Love is an album of love songs. Not every song is about a romantic relationship, but every song is about love in some form. There’s the familial, the platonic love of friendship, a love of place and a love for a certain time you can’t return to. It’s a beautiful thing to find yourself in love, but so rarely does it feel like a destination to be reached, upon which you can unpack and make yourself at home. It’s forever changing; it’s something fragile. Grasp too tight and the whole thing will suffocate in your hands, too loose and it’ll slip right through. There are the love ballads of decades past that were so thick with desire and yearning you could practically taste the desperation through the soundwaves. And then there are the love songs that land like a direct missile on the heart, those that expose the hard truths that underscore love and the ugliness that rears its head in its presence. These are the songs of Still In Love.
Of all of them, it’s the title track that destroyed me most. Still In Love feels like a long drive on open roads at sunset with the window down and a light breeze fanning your face. It takes its time, it edges forward with a strut that’s subtle rather than commanding attention. And in that strip-backed amble of a guitar and bassline, it catches you off guard with lyrics that speak to the odds of love. There’s no doubt the song can be interpreted as a personal message to the band themselves. Some of my greatest heartbreaks have been the result of a band’s demise. It’s such a selfish admission, to think I’m owed the fruits of their creative labour, that they have to endure one another for the sake of the music. But really, it’s a question I think about daily: why do some bands make it and not others? When the art they create is so good, so loved, how does that not prove enough to sustain them? I remember how much I sobbed when The Virgins split in 2013 after just two albums. That Ten Fe took time apart only to come back together knowing the sum of their parts is something to protect is not lost on me.
But Still In Love also speaks to the challenge of romantic love and those that defy the odds to last. It’s not a guarantee that any will. Sure, there’s a certain alchemy of luck and happenstance involved. But for the most part, romantic love is the unglorified, daily work of two people going all in on a bet most expect to fail. Long love is the stuff of boundary setting, aftercare, hard conversations before bed. It’s our unglamorous selves exposed, all our mess and honest truths laid bare for inspection. It’s the stuff of boredom, the acceptance that there are things outside your control, the responsibility of being trusted with someone’s heart and how easily it can shatter in the wrong hands.
Long love is hard. I am fascinated by anyone who makes it. My parents will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary this year and the fact astounds me. I have been a bystander to so much of their marriage. I watched with a hand covering my eyes as they affectionately kissed in the kitchen. I saw those kisses turn to pecks; swift, brisk, a box to be checked. I saw the cold shoulders, heard the fights hissed from mouths behind closed doors, and the careful work of forgiveness. Even through it all, they still choose one another, day after day. They trust there is good stuff here, they remain curious even when so much is already known. All of it is extraordinary.
Why do some things get under our skin and never leave, and others fade all too quick? Why do some loves evolve to illuminate something new and changing and others fizzle with distance? Running is hard. It withstands so many iterations of the person doing it. It greets you at various stages of fitness, enthusiasm, and motivation. There are those months where the relationship proves most fragile, and other times where it’s your first priority and everything else is something to be sacrificed at its alter. To keep coming back, to keep showing up, it’s an act of love. Every run is a triumph, each passing second spent in motion suggests we can win, even when the odds are stacked against us and everyone’s betting on us to fail.
I hit repeat, letting the music of Still In Love guide me across the park, lost in my headphones and this world in which the most unlikely love succeeds.
hey hi heru der! thanks for reading foot notes :) if you want to support my work and can afford a few bucks a month, please consider subscribing to a paid option. otherwise, i appreciate you being here and am grateful for you reading. hope you’re all having a glorious week. and if you’re running or walking or just want to lay like a starfish on your single mattress, the new ten fe album is really quite beautiful. go wrap your ears around it and get a healthy dose of love songs into your system. ok so sorry thanks love u sorry again bye!