If I don't grow old, I won't become an antique.

Comet Gain is pretty boring, in certain terms. They’re British, have both male and female members, and in the public consciousness seem to basically belong to David Christiansen, who reformed the band in 2001. They are sort of cliche, with an angsty new wave groove that’s very derivative of Television Personalities, but a little softer and more complex. Their newest record, City Fallen Leaves is entirely too spotty to enjoy as a whole. However, Christiansen’s apathetically moving drawl is interesting to hear, especially when the words turn lovely, which they often do with a poetic pungency. Two songs in particular stand out. The mellow and nostalgic “Days I Forgot to Write Down” is evocative of having compromised on life, and lost what you were trying at anyway. The sentiment of loss is charming but turns out to be ultimately wordless and inarticulate. “These are the days I forgot to write down/ these are the words buried deep in the ground/ They don’t make a sound/ They sing oooo”, goes the refrain, which is pleasant and haunting, beautifully creepy. We keep looking for love, “as if that was enough”, and we keep trying to pry at moments that have slipped away in all but the most visceral of ways. They won’t be written; they won’t be expressed. However, “if you’re fucked, it’s alright/ it’s Saturday night and you are alive/ And you are alright,” he sings, with some emotion, and that seems to be enough, at a certain point. We can be satisfied with our graceful aging if we take stock of what we have, instead of what we don’t have anymore. In the catchier “Seven Sisters to Silverlake”, a lost friend writes letters, which inspire us “to understand/ to feel complete and write down the mirage/ and sing hello morning goodbyes”. And maybe in that process, both the writing and the living and singing, maybe somewhere in there is the unity of what we forgot and that strength allows us to go on, perhaps even compels us to go on.