I’ve never done music therapy before, but I can imagine a session where Catch the Sun is playing like this:
Find a field, a long sidewalk, any place to feel calm and free (open air works best), and breathe. Close your eyes, feel your toes against the soles of your shoes, on the granules of dirt, and breathe. Long, full breaths…of crisp, wintry air. Let it all float away on the tendrils of IZHAV’s voice: the “worries,” “doubts,” “anxiety.” Replace them with guitar filigrees as they circle you like halos, and you feel the air around you, that pulse within you — muted, yet as restless as that shaker in the background. Move, if you like, maybe even sway, like you’re waltzing with yourself in place, taking “heartache” in one hand and “regret” in the other, smiling at them as if to say: “I’m ready to let you go.”
And you do. You follow in IZHAV’s footsteps a bit longer: You run towards the light alongside her, laughing in your tries to “catch the sun” as the timpani and horns have their fanfare, spinning in circles with your eyes pointed at the dizzying white-and-blue blur above until you finally just….fall and stare at the world in newfound clarity. The question remains unanswered: “What do we have left?” But what else do we need but this day fully lived, IZHAV seems to ask, to be content as we sigh, “It’s all over, over, over.”