As a way to end the week on a slightly confusing note, ethereal Los Angeles songwriter Nite Jewel has released a head-scratching music video for her song "Memory, Man" from last year's One Second of Love, which came out through Secretly Canadian.
The clip for this dreamy pop cut is made up of flowing costumes, celestial bubbling, singer Ramona Gonzalez posing in weird positions on a chair, and lingering closeups of a seemingly innocuous spoon. Director Angus Borsos explained the clip with the following statement:
Hypnotized by a blue sky — dark blue started to drip down my spine and I started to dream things up behind the front of my eyes. Leading up to working with Ramona I felt that most of the images I was being exposed to were lacking an undercurrent — that I was lacking an undercurrent, that images were being carefully placed as opposed to being carefully grown. Tunnelling with the song I started to see the video as a trunk of rich still life paintings — Ramona as a living statue on a stage, looking through the many dimensions of her memory; no reality. I hoped that it would read like a timeless old book of her past (or yours) that she (or you) can't quite place — but somehow managed to record in startlingly high resolution — proof that it's there (for now), and that memory is camouflage.
The clip for this dreamy pop cut is made up of flowing costumes, celestial bubbling, singer Ramona Gonzalez posing in weird positions on a chair, and lingering closeups of a seemingly innocuous spoon. Director Angus Borsos explained the clip with the following statement:
Hypnotized by a blue sky — dark blue started to drip down my spine and I started to dream things up behind the front of my eyes. Leading up to working with Ramona I felt that most of the images I was being exposed to were lacking an undercurrent — that I was lacking an undercurrent, that images were being carefully placed as opposed to being carefully grown. Tunnelling with the song I started to see the video as a trunk of rich still life paintings — Ramona as a living statue on a stage, looking through the many dimensions of her memory; no reality. I hoped that it would read like a timeless old book of her past (or yours) that she (or you) can't quite place — but somehow managed to record in startlingly high resolution — proof that it's there (for now), and that memory is camouflage.
