HEAR THIS: Florist
Florist are not going to ring your doorbell and drop flowers as they leave. They might be the kind of band that lays them at your funeral, playing the kind of emotive strings musicians like Frankie Cosmos and Eskimeaux strum. For Brooklyn’s Florist, getting up from bed and making it to the door are gold medal goals. In their depression and prayer, they create hope, like it’s an unobtainable metal. “I Was” becomes the transition to I am, while the title track of The Birds Outside Sang shifts toward a CocoRosie tone complete with organs and miracles. What means the world to some people, Florist especially, is to see the stars firsthand, not imagined through ceilings. Florist’s relatable, fragile bliss can make the strong weep.