So much so, she likely believes that she’s currently living out her existence as a mere spirit that is trapped between heaven and Earth. In her mind, she spends her days floating around in a stain glassed church, situated on top of what she is certain is the only tree left in the entire world – and after spending an afternoon drinking green tea with devils adorned with some kind of vintage headwear, she enjoys nothing more than falling asleep on a bed of roses, in a forest lit entirely by candles, whilst midgets dressed in floral patterned underwear read Alice In Wonderland to her for the 1000th time.
However, regardless of what goes on in her brain, we love everything about her and if anything, we envy that shear spiritual essence that she constantly exudes in person, on her records and at her ritual ceremonies – sorry I mean at her amazing gigs. She inspires people to love each other and judging by the qualities of Johanna Glaza, the very soul who has given us and the mystical world this week’s fantastic ‘Track of the Week’, ‘Letter To New York’, Florence has also telepathically managed to channel herself into this delicate, London songstress – whether Glaza knows about it or not. It’s not obvious, but it’s definitely there and I think we will certainly grow to like her just as much.
Johanna Glaza, much like Florence, twinkles with an air of bohemian qualities and looks as if she lives her life in a fairy tale – and I’m sure she will love me saying that. And whilst ‘Letter To New York’ is draped in a dark and eerie, black velvet blanket of sound – elements that are both conceived perfectly through the ‘match made in fairy filled heaven’ combination of the tracks Tim Burton movie–esque backing music and Glaza’s heart-breaking, high pitched, pixie dust covered vocals – an endearing, sense of mystery and enigma prevails which ultimately aids in making the song, and the aura of Glaza on a whole all the more intriguing.
It paints a picture, but completely leaves out the face of the paintings protagonist. It tells a story but refrains from ending – leaving it open to interpretation. It freezes and then smashes your heart into a thousand pieces and makes you walk over its remains so you cut your feet on its shards. It writes a letter but is adamant that it’s receiver and writer remain anonymous.
If the runaway mind of Florence Welch really does live in a stain glassed church, situated on top of the only tree left in the entire world, then this song should soundtrack her entire life – in fact, Johanna Glaza should perhaps enquire about living in her universe with her, because then we might get something even more special and otherworldly than the gem she has already blessed us all with and the fairy tale we are all about to embark on.
Words: George Henry King