I wrote the lyrics to this song sitting in a sculpture garden in Austin, TX. Charles Umlauf’s statue of Icarus falling captivated me, especially the open hands. While the face was strained with fear, the hands looked relaxed, as though they’d accepted their fate before the rest of his body could. So, working with music that Josh and Marshall had sent me a few days prior, I wrote what would become the second verse of this song. But though I love writing story songs, hubris and flying too close to the sun wasn’t the story I wanted to tell that day, and it wasn’t the story I saw in Umlauf’s sculpture. It was acceptance.

A relative, to whom I hadn’t been particularly close in recent years, suffered a terrible accident about a month before I sat in this garden. He fell from a significant height at work, and his body broke in places that don’t heal. When I spoke with his mother, hugged his son, and looked into the eyes of his brothers and sisters, there was pain and fear but also strength and love. This relative’s story isn’t mine to tell (though I’ve heard him tell it and it’s beautiful). But the story of his family, who found strength in each other and in their faith and in their community…that’s what this song is about, and that’s where examining that statue eventually took me.

There was frustration at the staggering amount of unknowable information. People said things that they later regretted. But through these family gatherings in hospital waiting rooms and kitchens and driveways, they got through it. Well, they get through it. A branch on this family’s tree is badly bent, and one day, like every other branch and eventually the tree itself, it will fall. Right now, the tree stands tall and a little crooked, and I think it can hang in there through a few more windy, snowy nights.

“Icarus” is meant for a future album, but a month ago, as it felt like the whole world went through the pandemic together, we decided it would be nice to release it early. I was very excited about it. The killing of George Floyd and all that’s followed dampened a lot of that joy. Many voices that feel far more important than mine are being amplified, and I don’t want to detract from them. But, as Anthony reminded me, “We’re still all in this together.” The song is meant to provide a little strength where it might be needed. It’s a reminder that even the hard stuff is survivable if you have support and faith. But most of all, it’s about accepting that bad things happen and responding to them in a positive way. We all experience hardship daily, and most of the time we figure out how to deal with it. Take a moment to celebrate that. And then, if you have a little strength left over, I hope this song encourages you to look at the struggles that others face, put yourself in their shoes for a moment, and be in this together. For me right now, that means listening to black American voices as they decry years of continued injustice, refusing to pass judgement on how others express their pain, discouraging violence without taking my eyes off its root causes, and having unsparingly real discussions about race in America with my friends—especially my white ones. It might mean something different to you, and that’s one of the many things that makes music so beautiful to me.

Or…and this is perfectly fine too…just enjoy an upbeat pop song. Music is awesome that way.

Stay well. —Grover