Florist Reflect on Larger Themes & Investigate Their Dual Nature on ‘Jellywish’ - Atwood Magazine

      The indie folk quartet, also known as a “friendship project,” Florist reflects on the small, beautiful moments in our surroundings, mortality, and the inescapable bad news in their new delicate and introspective album, ‘Jellywish.’

      Stream: ‘Jellywish’ – Florist

      “I’m thinking about dying again – the only thing that visits my head now…”

      * * *

      There is a distinction, a subtle line between the two. I hadn’t given it much thought until I heard the soft voice of Emily Sprague, the lead vocalist and lyricist for Florist, express, atop the melancholic and minimal arrangement of “Started to Glow,” “I’m thinking about dying again.” She states this with a tone that, while not entirely deadpan, comes across as matter-of-fact—suggesting she is unfazed by the weight of such a confession. “The only thing that visits my head now.”

      And there exists this distinction: as Sprague describes, “thinking about dying” versus “thinking about death.” Yes, there are indeed similarities where both concepts intersect, yet each is distinctly different. I find myself more fixated on one than the other.

      * * *

      * * *

      Time is often experienced in a way that feels uneven, or slightly off-balance. Reflecting on experiences from two or three years ago might feel recent, as if it wasn’t long ago at all, because, in the grand scope of time and life, it wasn’t. At other times, those same experiences can feel like they happened a lifetime ago. We continue to evolve and grow, and hopefully, we are progressing. Time moves, whether slowly or quickly, and in that progression, we may find ourselves clinging to memories of the recent past as reminders of who we were while drifting further away from them toward the unknown of the future.

      I’ve written about this frequently, perhaps more than necessary, yet it keeps happening. Time moves on, and despite the imbalance, many elements of life rush ahead, faster than we might prefer. The constant influx of information we are provided, and our consumption choices of that information, become overwhelming.

      I am both forgetful and attentive. I’ve never understood why my memory holds on tightly to certain seemingly insignificant things while it easily forgets others, whether trivial or not. I remember with clarity where I was when I first heard certain bands or songs.

      Yet time continues to pass, and regardless of how quickly or slowly it flows, there is an endless stream of new information vying for our attention, whether films, television shows, books, or songs. I find increasingly that I cannot recall where I first heard about something—be it a book I want to read or an album I need to explore.

      Even if it was merely three years ago, I can’t remember how I first discovered the band Florist.

      Florist © V Haddad

      How do you discover new music, upcoming releases, or new artists? If you’re like me, you likely rely heavily on recommendations from trusted sources on social media. However, there are numerous ways to become informed. I still, for better or worse, check various music news sites daily. Three particular sites have their merits but also glaring flaws, and I have been, and likely will remain, critical of them for that reason.

      Yet, these platforms still provide insights. That fresh artist waiting to be discovered. That recently released album awaiting your ears.

      It’s very possible—and while I cannot precisely recall—that I first heard of Florist as they prepared to launch their self-titled album in the summer of 2022, through a music news outlet that featured a brief write-up about one of the album’s singles. The evocative, simple cover art—a hurried sketch of a flower in muted, darker hues against a black backdrop—likely caught my eye and drew me in.

      What I do remember is this: For several months during the spring and well into autumn of 2022, I held a job I quickly realized was unsuitable for me in the long term. As spring transitioned into summer and I came to terms with my choice, I sought to make the best of it.

      This job provided a degree of independence, allowing me to keep one AirPod in my left ear, switching between music and podcasts to accompany me through my shifts.

      Florist’s self-titled album was released at the end of July that year, comprising 19 tracks, evenly divided between traditionally structured indie folk songs and ambient, instrumental, and often experimental music, featuring effects, loops, and tape manipulation.

      What I do recall is that following the full release of Florist, I made a playlist of the ambient, instrumental tracks to use for writing, as well as for a calming audio backdrop during work hours.

      Initially, the sheer number of tracks—19—felt intimidating. As a double