Sweven

A storybook in song. ~ On my album 'And The Color Stayed': You’d think most of these songs were written in the daylight. But, they coalesced in the quiet, motionless hours of the night— while my family slept. While a small wooden wall clock marked the hours. While the moon shone a little brighter than usual. I walked. I stared at the wall. I recorded birdsong, and the rain. I discovered new lines on my face. There were broken guitar strings, moving boxes, and tiny pink ballet slippers. I missed my dog. I smelled saltwater and sea-foam. I remembered people who are not here anymore. I felt like I needed to do more, and less. I thanked my wife, and held my daughters. I thought about what it takes to be real. These tracks are not grand, or clever, or perfect. They just happened. Some feeling, some remembering. A melody unearthed from a pile of voice memos. A sticker on a stranger’s water bottle. A film for children. They are of small things. They are bookmarks. They are flower petals pressed between pages of a heavy coloring book, the once vibrant hues nearly faded away. How much of this will we remember, before the color fades? Before these fragile moments in time are pushed steadily outward, away, replaced, forgotten? If this album were a book, you need not read it in order. You can pick up from anywhere. You can leave it open on the floor. I made this album to remember. But maybe, in some way, it remembers you too. —Sweven Annapolis, MD July 2025 est. 2018