‘Quarrel’
— Nix Thérèse
I love how much ‘Quarrel’ is an interrogation of how language obscures truth. Sumney sings, “with you, half the battle is proving we’re at war,” and we’re instantly drawn into a space of dueling points of view. It’s exhausting to attempt to pull someone into your universe when they’re not only squarely comfortable in theirs, but believes theirs is often is the only option. In a relationship, opening our space to new possibilities allows us to see & feel more accurately. Yet the you here feels all too pleased to let themself remain untouched, implying that there's never a true connection. The you values the pleasure of consistency over grappling with any intersectionality, and eventually even the sprawling & lush sonic landscape repels them. When Sumney hits a higher vocal register in the chorus—“don’t call it a lovers’ quarrel”—and the band blares in, we can feel just how strongly he urges us towards precision. Even the music calls us to elevate our language and ourselves.
While Sumney’s videos are usually cinematic expressions of the body unfurling and interacting or being eclipsed by their environments, “Quarrel” leaves us with a single red rose set under a sap-colored liquid. As the top layer slowly spins, the rose is both obscured by little bubbles and brought to focus in turns, giving us all the normally missed angles. This also tricks the eye into believing that the rose is steaming the entire time. When it finally boils to black, we’re left with a still simmering void that's not entirely surprising. I loved that the rose wasn’t taken out of this seeming heat but changed instead: while we can’t deny the influence others have on us, we can adapt. We can acknowledge where we’re not on the same level. We can say that we're boiling. When we create distance (for example, saying, “we cannot be lovers, long as I am the other”), we give ourselves more room to breathe and thrive with less burden. Let Sumney convince you to set needed boundaries in order to give way to authenticity.