Something good is formant shifted spoken word. It’s like the actual words are intentionally obscured. It sounds and reads almost voyeuristically; it's a moment captured in time, a sort of rant. A monologue. Like a voicemail.
In this song, you are from the outside looking in. There's a clear separation between listener and voice. I picture a scene. A woman is venting, but the camera only shows her. She speaks as if someone's there, but who is it? The receiver of the word is strikingly absent. The backing synth (and guitar?) have a psychedelic, unstable undertone. There isn't much to the chords. The synth is slightly offset and ununified. Mismatched and lazy sounding. Almost eerie, as it makes it sound like something is about to come for the entire song, and then it just ends. There is a noticeable dissonance in the chord progression. It’s actually rather unsettling, but almost dreamy.
I really admire how layered this track is. It's more of a scene than a song. Most songs capture a particular story or vibe. They come together with a narrative. A theme. But this song seems to avoid that entirely. We’re constantly held in suspense. There is no resolution. The narrative is disjointed. We, as the listener, are left to piece it together. The final monologue, which sounds like a voicemail, reminds me of standing on the corner’s spoken word poetry. There's a calm cadence to it. And it doesn't quite belong. So we have a track that doesn’t finish. It doesn’t even stick together. I think it kind of speaks to the way we actually remember. There are huge gaps in our memory. What we perceive as a narrative in memory is really pieced together. And there's so much uncertainty. The past never ends. And yet it does.