You could ostensibly perform as the baddest cowboy in all the land but that’s not to say when the going gets tough, when alienation brushes the wrong way against your spine and the stirrups beneath your feet restrain rather than stabilise, the beauty of uncertainty takes its toll and your soul’s face finds itself upside down and caught between a rock and a spiritual hard place.
Shit’s real, and having a room full of treaded eggshells provides very little surface-support in the age-old game of spin the mind-bottle. But as burdensome as ‘Golden Rope’ potters doubts into the layered cracks within, Tiña are the musical equivalent of a Bjørn Wiinblad ceramic. Palpably illustrated with a signature lightness and an ‘of a kind appreciation for intwined fragility, they immortalise the keyed-psych of mental health with all the howled heroism of an Argonaut because ultimately, what do blackbird’s in the dead of night do best? They sing.
Questioning quest somewhere between the edges of cosmic compassion and the bravery in humour, “to live will be an awfully big adventure”, but to put on your pinkest robe and dance rings of fire with your fellow honesty-nurturers is a once in a lifetime experience destined to be captured on film, and released as a portrait of experimented pop and companioned mythology.
Tiña, in all their kaleidoscopic resilience, refuse to narrate in black and white. With exhibited tinder and eyes as big as commemorative saucers, they neither look back towards the darkness nor turn a blind eye to contemplation but rather trapeze amidst it all; progressively soaring towards a new dawn whilst the lights remain switched on in the previous room.
There may well be “Golden Rope in every room” but Tiña will forever find a way to attach a cowbell to its threaded threat and ring it spiritedly.
Header Photo by Tom Delion
The brand new issue of So Young is out now. SOLD OUT in print but you can read the digital edition below.