Club Fröstburn: A MONO Winter

Imagine: You’re trudging through snow in a remote region of Scandinavia, knee deep in white powder, surrounded by nothing but purple blackness. It’s been miles of cold, snowy exertion, a seemingly directionless and interminable trek through a dark, barren land. Time slips past you like the icy wind ripping past your ears.

Breathlessly scanning the landscape, you feel as though you’ve lost yourself. You feel as though you’ve ventured further into a strange land than anyone has ever been before, as if you’ve slipped through a crack in the ice and landed on another plane. It’s a midwinter’s dream that’s quickly verging on nightmare. 

Dimly, in the distance, you make out a soft, pulsing orange light and the sound of a deep, thumping bass. With the last ounces of your strength, you push ahead, forcing your quaking limbs to propel your body towards the light. The outline of a glistening metallic structure begins to cohere in the distance. The music grows louder and you hear voices slip through the cracks of the reflective exterior. 

Squinting in the darkness, you make out the shape of a doorway and stumble towards it, collapsing into the arms of a burly man covered in black fur, ice crystals bedazzling his beard. He embraces you as the sound of a kick drum throbs behind him.

“Welcome,” he says, grinning widely. “After all these years, we were beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Your body is flooded with warmth as he lifts you into his arms and carries you into the club. Icy synths cut through the air; speakers the size of automobiles shudder with deep, dark bass lines. Everyone turns to you as the bouncer sets you down on a soft, thick rug. “I hope you enjoy the music,” he says. “It was made just for you.” 

You sit up on the rug and take a deep breath, feel your chest rise and fall with ease, feel the tingling heat spread through your extremities. You’ve finally arrived. The night is young, eternal. You make your way towards the DJ who is turning a translucent record over in her hands before placing it onto a turntable. She winks at you as the record starts to spin and the first notes grace the air.

***

Waking up the next morning, I couldn’t remember much more about that night–just the surreal euphoria of it all, the comfort, safety, and bliss that I somehow found in the dead of winter, between the warm bodies of strangers. As I patted down my body for my wallet and keys, I noticed an unfamiliar lump in my coat. I stuck my hand deep into one of the pockets and pulled out a small black rectangle. The DJ’s USB. At first I panicked, thinking I’d mistakenly walked off with it; but just as quickly as that feeling emerged, it melted away. Somehow she’d known that I would need it, the music that saved me that night, some means to return to that place of light and warmth. And now that winter is upon us again, it only feels right that I share those songs with you, too. These 20 songs from that drive are my gift to you. Use them as I have. I hope they help you find the light in the dark.