Backseat Dreamer‘s “February Fires” begins with a perpetual pulsing electronic backdrop to hazy light visuals, simulating the slow opening of your eyes on a crowded dance floor, somewhere, after being in a pill-and-powder-induced mental hiatus. You come-to and then run, tailored suit, square-rimmed glasses, black tie, gelled hair and all. Wandering empty February streets, your last cigarette is the only relief from an intangible future promised by the broken present: rapid succession of disconnected still shots of your surroundings. What did you take? When will it end? There’s nowhere to go, but you can’t stay here, so you keep moving through your distorted perspective, picking up cigarette butts along the way, hoping to taste someone on the wilted ends.
