Sea Dragon

The aquatic imagery in the title is not metaphorical decoration — it structures the entire texture of the music. The guitar playing here feels genuinely subaqueous, melody lines surfacing from a deep harmonic bed and disappearing again, the way a creature glimpsed through dark water withdraws before you can fully make out its shape. Covet employs harmonics and light tremolo effects that give the sound a rippling, translucent quality, and Yvette Young's tapping technique translates here into something more fluid than percussive, notes bleeding into one another with controlled ambiguity. The tempo is slow and patient, with an expansive feeling of depth — this is wide-open music, unhurried, a little mysterious. There is something ancient in the emotional atmosphere, the sense of witnessing something that has existed long before any human presence and will continue after. The mood is contemplative and slightly awe-struck, more curious than afraid, the specific emotional register of watching an enormous and beautiful living thing from a safe distance. It asks nothing of the listener except presence. Play it somewhere private, late, with the lights low, when you want your mind to go somewhere quiet and genuinely strange.