Heartbreak is such a universal experience that it has inspired generations of songs; but after a while, the same old songs grow weary, unable to capture the depths of despair, the nuance of mixed feelings, the anger and continued desire, the soul-searching and reassessment. Instead of more words, perhaps we need less: a new loss language. This is where Tegh and Adel Poursamadi come in. After You Left brings all these things to the table and more, wringing out the listener in a way that may produce catharsis.
The duo’s second collaboration is “a love story full of doubt,” in which the bereaved questions not only if the love were real, but the experience were real. One might liken the reaction to the early stages of grief. The album progresses from “It Was Almost Like You Loved Me” to “It Was Almost Like You Were There,” sowing doubt in the listener as well. By the end, one wonders, was it all just a horrible, beautiful, wrenching, inspiring dream?
Tegh’s first electronic blasts are like anger, although it’s unclear whether the anger is directed at the loved one, at one’s self, or at cruel, cruel fate. When Poursamadi enters, contributing violin, viola and kamancheh (an Iranian bowed string instrument), some sweetness slips into the mix as well. “Solid Shell” starts with a sequence akin to that of a person trying to start a car; the engine never seems to fire, and the backing drones are like the pressure on the circuits. It’s not hard to find the human correlation. How does one restart after a breakup? The strings in this piece swirl about, reluctant to land, and the track concludes with a siren sound, an alarm sent into the cosmos. In “Your Wings, Your Feathers,” the two forces find harmony, if only for the length of the track.
The center of the album is a cherishing. If the relationship is real, this is the point in which the protagonist reflects and gives thanks. There is romance here as well, whether a memory of the initial pursuit or a fantasy of retrieval. “My Quiet One, You, My True Love” showcases a beating pulse, albeit uneven, a symbol of love’s disruption. One wonders at the silent detail: why did the person leave? In “At Sundown,” the harshness returns. Loud beats in the foreground are met by dolphin trills in the back, like a one-sided conversation, or an accusation and echo. After some reflection, the music reduces to a shimmer, setting up the finale’s open-ended question.
There are two times in life when this album may have the most impact on a listener: during the immediate aftermath of a breakup, and at the very end of life, when one looks back on the roads taken and untaken. Even if one is currently in a relationship, it’s wise to have this album on hand, just in case; but if one has ever been the victim of an uninduced parting, the album may resurrect that feeling of wistfulness: the desire to leave it all in the past, coupled with a desire to cling to the last flickers of love’s memory. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 