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“Harry’s House” is Open

No more contemplating those door pictures

CREDIT: Twitter/@hsdaily


The entrance into Harry’s House is through an archway with plastic squares of mirror glass glued onto every free bit of surface area. It’s like touching a puddle of rainbow oil on the ground and stumbling into a vortex of blooms, whispers and mixed consciousness.

“Music For a Sushi Restaurant” ushers you into a disco tech, the music reverberating in your mind while fluorescent lights jump around caressing faces and bleeding into the never-ending night. GloFish are swimming in a big pot of water and when the sounds and shadows start to close in that’s when you meet eyes with them; them over there, perfect, golden and real, but on second glance, maybe not real.

At some points you feel like you’re observing a picture playing in front of you, your fingers buttery dipping into your popcorn then into your mouth, like during “Daylight,” and the surprisingly soft “Little Freak.” The scene plays out before you, and you watch on and grin like “good for them.”

Other moments are like watching an old short film, fast and uncertain as “Keep Driving” and the retro, static-y “Grapejuice.”

Finally, there are times you feel immersed in it, submerged into the technicolor, on the ride right alongside him and reeling.

“Late Night Talking,” and hit single “As it Was” take your hand and twirl you into a choreographed dance number that you’re shocked you know by heart after no preparation, just vibes and Styles’ guidance.

The more delicate dips in the journey include moments like “Matilda” which combs through dialogue unspoken upfront and dances around a loneliness observed from afar, assuring, caressing and validating the subject in question. Then there’s “Satellite,” starting gloomy and contemplative and spinning into a fast-paced, hopeful chorus. And, “Boyfriends” which looks inward, outward and announces – as Styles put it before his performance of it at Harrychella – “to boyfriends everywhere, fuck you.”

The album ends with a romantic and cozy closer, “Love of My Life.” Is it American of me to say it just kind of sounds British? Probably, but also it’s a testament to how well Styles depicts his longing for his home and maybe who and what has felt like home to him since leaving it.

Along with expert-level, purposeful word-play, the sonic choices are stunningly good with swerving audio, bumbling beats and impeccable flow – go listen to “Cinema,” he somehow manages to make the word “cinema” sound like it rhymes with “intimate” through a clever slur.

It’s music that makes you feel things deep in the pit of your stomach, like the “edible stars“ he mentioned are having their own party, zipping around in there.

The stay at “Harry’s House” will be one where you drag your feet, compliment the ceramic vase holding freshly picked flowers to linger longer, and then give in and gently ask if you could stay the night, maybe.

And he’ll say yes, of course. Stay as long as you’d like.


Jillian Rodriguez is an Online Writer at Rowdy Magazine. You can find her sitting in her bedroom under a mirrorball listening to Taylor Swift, sipping iced coffee, and contemplating which seemingly mundane moments of life to add to her many drafts; maybe you’ll show up in her writing one day. You can reach her at @jillygabrielle on Instagram for more info.


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