I went through a pretty intense Jump Little Children phase in college, wherein I saw them play a few times in Boston, I believe mainly at the Paradise, and spent many a T ride with their songs in my headphones. I bought lots of their albums and had particular opinions on many of them as well as many members of the band. The end of this story is that my Jump Little Children phase ended awhile ago and so I forget everything. Okay, a better, fuller end of this story is that although I still enjoy their music when it pops up randomly on my iTunes, I haven't even actively listened to a full album of theirs in a long time, and so I wouldn't be able to conjure up the knowledge and passion to write a true, full entry about the band. This happens a lot with a lot of bands and can seem kind of sad but I think has less to do with the music itself than with the simple passage of time.
Anyway, what I can say for certain is that last night Cathedrals played when I was shuffling my iTunes and I can't remember the last time I heard it and/or really listened to it prior to that, but it gave me chills. Chills! The first line, the lyrics of the chorus, the dreary melody, the swelling strings with the spare guitar. Everything about it musically appeals to me, and everything about it lyrically appeals to inner voices and memories inside my head; I picture actually being in countless cathedrals in Europe, the feelings I had there, and how at the end of it all I just wanted to get back to America; I think about my continually conflicting equal devotion to the meaning of travel and the meaning of home. In other words, Jump, this song is pure gold, and always will be.