The back story is rather a somber one and it hovers throughout the track in its six minutes scale. Last January, The Drift‘s trumpet player Jeff Jacobs passed away due to cancer. Before that, he had blessed the band to continue on with the music and send the band back to the studio writing Blue Hour. The catalyst of the record might have known the course of the future for the band, that in honor of his memory is a reflective, haunting piece of work that take hold of listeners in a very intimate affair.
The cover of Blue Hour is beyond words, it enclaves more of feelings. Knowing the history of the record and listening to the track “Luminous Friend” is a commitment only the reckless would try to put into words. The track is a haunting downplay of restrained layers of guitars and ubiquitous drumming, whirring off from each band member’s recollection. It is a separate journey lending yourself to ‘Luminous Friend,” like walking through thick, sheer of clouds from a dream that leaves some bittersweet morning after realizations.
“Luminous Friend” is not fated for a random shuffle in our daily mix of personal hymns. It is made of stories, of reverence to another person in another place, lent only for us to peer in. This might not be our story and we might not get the whole picture, but it tells one singular feeling all of us can relate to.