There’s a specific kind of pleasant dread in the opening moments of Korda Korder’s new single, “You Still Turn Me Inside Out,” like standing at the entrance of a cathedral you know is haunted by something benevolent. The East Sussex outfit calls this a gothic lament, and they aren’t wrong, but it’s a lamentation born from awe, not sorrow. Guitars fall like silver rain through a haze of synths that feel both celestial and deeply subterranean. It is an architecture of sound.
The track documents that peculiar, totalizing state of a connection so profound your own emotional geography gets redrawn. That lyric, “it’s like outside inside,” feels unnervingly accurate. For a moment, it brought to mind those old celestial navigation charts, the planispheres, where the vast, incomprehensible cosmos is flattened onto a piece of paper you can hold in your hands. This song does the reverse; it takes an internal feeling and explodes it into a swirling, private universe where time is a suggestion and sleep is unnecessary.
This isn’t the turbulent churn of new love; it’s the quiet, world-altering gravity of a long-established one. The escalating chant of “higher and higher” is less a frantic cry and more a statement of fact, a slow, spiritual levitation. The song doesn’t so much tell a story as it holds a single, complex feeling up to the light, turning it over and over until every facet gleams with a strange, beautiful light.
What Korda Korder has crafted here is a confession masquerading as a dream. It’s an admission that another person can become the very mechanism through which you perceive reality. So what happens, I wonder, on the day after? What do you do with all that leftover sky?
