B-Side Guys

What happens when the message becomes more important than the medium? Wild Blessing’s second single from their upcoming EP From Dust builds its foundation on this question, creating densely layered soundscapes that mirror the frustration of trying to communicate across impossible distances.

The Greek etymology—glōssa for ‘language’ and lalia for ‘speech’—proves essential to understanding the track’s emotional architecture. Speaking in tongues traditionally represents divine communication, but Wild Blessing inverts this concept. Their protagonist speaks in tongues not to reach the heavens but to reach anyone at all. “If anybody can hear me” becomes both prayer and desperate signal, repeated like a mantra by someone who’s lost faith in language itself.

Chad Clark’s string arrangement during the bridge adds gravitational weight to the band’s already complex sonic palette. Rather than providing resolution, the strings create additional layers of yearning, complementing Tara Pasveer’s ethereal backing vocals that “connect and pull against” the core structure. This production choice perfectly mirrors the lyrical content—voices reaching toward each other without quite touching.

The inclusion of “Lorem ipsum / Dolor sit amet” reveals the song’s most devastating insight. Placeholder text designed to fill space becomes metaphor for communication stripped of meaning, words that look like language but convey nothing. Wild Blessing understands that marginalized voices often receive this treatment—acknowledged in form while being ignored in substance.

Ben Etter’s mixing creates what the press materials describe as “immersion,” but it feels more like submersion. Listeners experience the protagonist’s disorientation directly, surrounded by sounds that feel both familiar and foreign. The drum machines and organic percussion blend into something that suggests both mechanical repetition and human heartbeat.

Most remarkably, Wild Blessing avoids the trap of making marginalization feel beautiful. Instead, they document its actual texture—the exhaustion of being misunderstood, the strange hope that persists despite evidence that no one’s listening. Their music carves out private space not as escape but as necessity, sanctuary for those who need somewhere to practice being heard before risking the world’s indifference again.