Anson Seabra dissects a special kind of loneliness on the hushed "Somewhere In Ann Arbor"

Nocturnal cityscapes have their own special kind of emptiness. Silent streets, abandoned shopping centers thrum with potential energy, the ghosts and echoes of distant footfalls, horns, sirens, conversations, laughter. It’s as if the potential presence of crowds makes the absence so much more palpable, thick in the air, an almost tangible weight.

Blinking street lights, abandoned parking lots, vacant hotel rooms, this is the world of "Somewhere In Ann Arbor," a hushed piano ballad from Midwestern folksinger Anson Seabra. Seabra sings of a young man, a boy really, finding a similar desolation in so many of life's seemingly significant moments.

"Somewhere In Ann Arbor" sings of loneliness, an ache for companionship, a table for two where all he wants is someone to spill all his secrets to. He doesn't know what to do with them when he gets them, as he reveals in the next verse. An empty hotel room, where he leaves all his lovers high and dry. He knows how to woo and how to charm, but doesn't know what to do next.



It's easy to be directionless when you're young, when every second seems like a crossroad, blinking into infinity. It's a crossroads illuminated by Seabra's broken traffic light, in the dead of night.

"Somewhere In Ann Arbor" doesn't offer easy answers. There's no Happily Ever After, here. There's just… life. These quiet moments of real life, of guessing and second-guessing, the tiny inconsequential moments that stack up to make a life, are perfectly captured with Seabra's sparse, spartan piano and warm, worn vocals, like specks of dust in so much amber. It's got a similar hushed intimacy as early Bon Iver, Iron and Wine, even Death Cab For Cutie or The Postal Service. It's easy to imagine Seabra reaching a similar beloved position. We Are: The Guard hope so, such a rare and honest talent needs to be heard. 

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J. Simpson occupies the intersection between criticism, creativity, and academia. Based out of Portland, Or., he is the author of Forestpunk, an online journal/brand studying the traces of horror, supernatural, and the occult through music, fashion and culture. He plays in the dreamfolk band Meta-Pinnacle with his partner Lily H. Valentine, with whom he also co-founded Bitstar Productions, a visual arts collective focused on elevating Pop Culture to High Art.