Indefatigable Superman!

Superman.

Bucie.

Black Coffee.

It was Homebrewed in 2009, Superman, so the attraction to say it is an old tune might be too intense for some, but I would say it is a little longer than seven minutes of erudition that succeeds in retaining a rare freshness.

In speaking of Superman, let me say first and foremost that, like black coffee, Superman is at once thorough in taste and smell and temperature. And skill.

Fresh and vital, Superman is a sunlight that reaches out through the voice that is Bucie – a voice that is steady yet so susceptible.

It is a sunlight that makes you hear your thoughts, Superman. It extends like strong black coffee that is at once thorough in taste and smell and temperature, with a love so dense it hides your skin when it is cold.

Superman is not concerned with simply imaging the design and promise of love. It enjoins, this Homebrewed ever-fresh air, the atypical construction of visions of what it means to be in love, of what it means to hope for love.

This is a song that does not call up cinematics of a chaotic teen years awash with shames about debaucheries of the young – you know them … drugs and alcohol and sex in forms and places sex herself, if she had a face, would frown upon. No such corruptions, no. Superman is Homebrewed instead to be as grave as a penalty kick right at the end of referee’s optional time in which no one feels sure to step up because, if you missed it, Arsenal would have to kiss the EPL Championship goodbye.

It is not a pointless switch from one subject to another, Superman. It certainly is not a misperception, an empty long-windedness. It is a sort of a kryptonite, Superman, a weakening moment of truth during which the love that is sought is already given by the one seeking it.

Superman.

A victim of Superman loses control, involuntarily, and proceeds to philosophise that while it can be said that people have not always been there for music (exactly what shape “being there for music” takes I don’t know), it can certainly be said that music has always been there for those who experience it. Too, it can be said that music has always been there for those who do not know or could not have known about it – ask, if you do not believe me, a 21-year old who is mad about The Commodores’ “Still”, a song that is much older than 21 years.

Right from the first kick – it is glorious ... so glorious that Superman and its lover are hinged together as one flesh, all together immortalised into the cosmic time without end. For those who seek love – just who would not seek love after an encounter with Black Coffee’s Superman? – it is in fact an embrace of hope and strength that is sought, a light of a love that powers on everlastingly.

Superman is special because Bucie seems to be crooning from a place of love that is battle-scarred, so to speak, reaching out, buoyant, into the soul of the one who should be, the one who matters, existentially.

Oh Superman.

While Karyn White’s Superwoman wakes up early in the morning to put breakfast at her Superman’s table, making sure that his coffee has its sugar (and no cream because we like ours black), Bucie is a Superwoman who promises love and loyalty and respect, and wonders if you can be, to her, if it is not too soon, the Superman who’s love and loyalty and respect she will never have to worry about.

Who is Black Coffee, if you think of him through the lens of Superman, if not an uncommonly endowed and astute author of feelings that are dying to be known and owned?

Considered through the plea that is Superman, who is Bucie, if not a rose that walks on the shoulders of its smell to the love that awaits? 

But Superman’s very lover is actually Superman. Black Coffee and Bucie’s Superman is only a kind of ocular device, an apparatus, that music supplies so that Superman’s lover can discern for herself what she might never have seen in herself without Superman. At the same time, her recognition in herself of what Superman means is the confirmation of Superman’s truth.

Put simply, Superman can be said to be a stage on which Black Coffee combines with Bucie to induce evidences about the ways in which love is beautiful. It is a roll of beguiling thunder, Superman, a desire that is all at once peaceful and intense and striking, emerging wonderfully from places unknown, from the reverberations that tremble the looking glass, filing on to resuscitate souls that must be in love but are caving inside the malady of loneliness.

It’s Superman.

It’s Bucie.

It’s Black Coffee.

It’s all together delightful.