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Callers

I first heard Callers in a red Subaru Outback driving through Manhattan for the first time in something other than a taxi. It provided the soundtrack to a particularily surreal moment in time when a singer I loved was (inconceivably) crushing on me, and life in New York had suddenly become a possibility, if not a necessity. The song was Heartbeat, the girl driving would later break my heart, and the record was one of 2010′s most beautiful sounds that hardly anyone heard.

Ryan and Sara pick me up from Bedstuy to go hunting in Prospect Park for life. Traffic is ungodly, and we take the opportunity to try a take of Howard 2 Hands in the car. It is the first time in a long stretch that I’ve heard Sara’s voice, and it is arresting. Watching her navigate the complexities of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway while producing such a full and dynamic melody is a sight not soon forgotten. Unluckily for me, it is a terrible angle to film, so we continue on.

 

We stop at the Navy Yard for some peace. This is the beginning of my realization that these imports from the south, Arkansas and Missouri respectively, are masters of the NYC location scout. We settle into a shoreline refuge, and begin the work.

Back on Flatbush Ave, there is an assault of activity. Sara spots me a five for pizza then negotiates with an Zimbabwean restauranteur while Ryan stakes a claim to the corner where we begin our unlicensed parade of the neighborhood… he as a digital age one-man-band, she as the trumpeter of an undefinable tone, something pure but unsimplified, dynamic and kinetic to match the din of our surroundings.