A guitar plays single notes at a slow and measured pace as if to test the depth before stepping in. “The opening of ‘Mariana Trench’ is like that – and it doesn’t hurry up from there. Paul Garside's vocals have a placid quality that draws you in initially: one that's resigned to the fact that he will eventually go under.
The key is low, the song is dark, and everything is heavy in the best way, but nothing in the worst way. The underlying beat is strong, steady, patient and calm. The second verse makes it clear that this song isn't asking for sympathy. It is a place that Garside is familiar with, but ordinary, curious images that don't explain themselves and don't need to.
What interests me is that the chorus doesn't go so loud that it makes a point. Paul's attitude is very direct and straightforward – almost like a fact – and that's what makes it land. He does not want attention from you. He's just saying what's up and that's more convincing than yelling.
Then the percussion kicks in and here the song really starts to rise. Jamie Jordan's bodhran and JJ Bugoma's congas are not just in the background, they drive the song forward. There are two alternate approaches to the rhythm, and the friction creates a feeling of movement, even in a heavy groove.
Eventually the arrangement thins out once more, and one line is repeated until it sounds more and more like a lyric and less and less like something Garside is telling himself. That repetition goes beyond any big finish. It is a sound like someone beating his own heart again and again.
When someone hears this song, they know it's about depression, but there is also a sense that the darkness is leading somewhere more hopeful. But even if you didn't know that, the song is still fine. It is shaped by control instead of making a grand display.
What stays with me is the last repeated line, becoming slower and quieter. This is no big end. It's just someone still standing there, saying it again, a little quieter each time.
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