Don’t look at me that way, my love
Cause I don’t want to lose you
The summer is over
And that feeling is not there anymore
There is a point, somewhere between the end of summer and the first honest chill of September, where romance becomes an idea you carry rather than a person you hold. Philadelphia’s Forest Circles locate that point and press on it gently, as if checking for a bruise.
Astronaut unfolds like a private transmission intercepted at dusk, Angel Ocaña’s voice light yet loaded, each phrase suspended in a thin atmosphere of doubt and desire. He remains bound to the one who has drifted away, and though time has passed, the body knows what pride attempts to conceal: the bones registering absence with forensic precision. Jealousy slips in almost imperceptibly, regret close behind, as the song circles separation without spectacle, moving patiently, carrying its memory with quiet insistence.
Ocaña’s elegant arrangement resists clutter. Synths swell in slow arcs, then recede, as though measuring breath. A grand piano appears not as decoration but as punctuation, striking clean, considered notes that open space rather than fill it. Rhythm here is less propulsion than presence, a soft insistence that the heart keeps time even when the future feels stalled. There is tenderness, and there is possession, and they coexist without resolution.
Who is to blame when love thins out? This track looks upward, toward stars that offer distance instead of direction. He looks sideways, toward the rival who now receives the kiss that once felt permanent. The conflict is intimate, almost domestic, yet it hints at something cosmic: endings that do not conclude but linger as altered states.
The black-and-white video enhances this suspended atmosphere. Static merges with memory. A sparkler ignites in the darkness; a hand traces a wooden fence; grain sways in the wind; the sound of a piano call echoes in a space that feels both current and remembered. These images seem ritualistic, like small ceremonies for a relationship already stored away. The style has a slight psychedelic quality, with a gentle distortion that hints at how memories reshape reality.
Watch below:
Fragility can certainly radiate, but in Astronaut, distance becomes a medium through which love is examined rather than erased. The result is a song that balances ache and acceptance, its orbit steady, its light low but constant.
Listen to Astronaut below and order the single here.
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The post Philadelphia Dreampop Act Forest Circles Launches into an Atmosphere of Desire and Doubt with “Astronaut” appeared first on Post-Punk.com.