<![CDATA[the wooden sky.]]>This is my shit. I hate trying to apply genres to an artist when they clearly can’t be contained within one, so sometimes comparing their sound to others can be a bit more apt (though I imaging artists really fucking hate that…). Toronto’s The Wooden Sky reminds me a bit of Elliott Brood, a bit of Balmorhea, a bit of Great Lake Swimmers. But more than that it opens up those places in my mind and body where I can transcend the idea of “sitting here listening to music” and really feel something.

So, I’m listening to The Wooden Sky and I smell birch smoke. My hands feel dusty. My feet ache and I’ve been walking too long. I see the pages turning in a very old book. I feel water on my skin, being dried by sunlight, after crossing a river the colour of leaves.

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The Wooden Sky is touring this summer before their latest, “If I Don’t Come Home You’ll Know I’m Gone” drops August 25th. I can’t wait to check them out live. Plus, anyone who can sound this good playing acoustically in a living room is begging to be heard up close and personal…

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