The morning is a river by Sergio Díaz De Rojas and Seraphina Theresa / by Sergio Díaz De Rojas

By Amanda Nordqvist

His latest release is bursting with eclectic melodies and proud intimacy, and this might well be the cheeriest we’ve ever seen him — Sergio Diaz de Rojas’ new EP, The Morning is a River, allows us into another chapter of the artist’s world, showing undeniable growth and a braver,  more experimental phase.

In der Sonne flimmert staubige Luft is such a grand introduction that even after several listens, I am still equally floored by the dignity and splendor of this one track. Throwing me back and forth between hope and desperation, it makes me feel as though the ground is disappearing beneath my feet, and I can’t stop repeating it, over and over and over.

When, eventually, I am ready to move on, Flores de Papel begins at a slower pace and moves like the ocean, a hypnotizing momentum – the muted, shimmery track allows for the terrifying feeling of being exposed, left half-open, waiting to be sewn back together. It appears before me like a friend, grabbing my hand, gently tugging me into a different world where the rain pounding on the window doesn’t have to sound like melancholy.

Ich bin Himmel, wenn ich den Himmel liebe, instead, feels unfathomably real in its slow, uncomplicated gloom, a commentary on the unavoidable, telling me to lean steadily into the wind, and wait for the storm to abate – then I am taken back to shaky childhood movies, as Fliedernacht und Birkensaum (Traum) reminds me of endless summer nights and self-inflicted sorrow, the unwillingness to let go of tonight even with the promise of morning. An unbearable feeling of nostalgia is what I am left with as the EP ends, and so hurriedly I put it on repeat, and let myself be washed over with its grandeur again, and again, and again.