Brice Ninck’s “Denver” has the strange atmosphere of a late-night wait at an airport. Someone stands at gate two, looking for a face among the arrivals. There is nobody around, just a control tower and a cloud of breath sent in the direction of someone inside. Then comes the question: do the years pass faster in Denver? It is an oddly specific place to bring into a song about someone who is gone.
Ninck keeps the lyrics brief, with images that seem to come from a half-remembered trip. Mountains catch fire and look like Spain. Diazepam blurs the view. Around the fences of the old airfield, ghost planes make their presence heard. The chorus returns to the woman who makes the narrator cry, and to Denver. That question sounds different after the second verse, when the airport has become a place full of things that can no longer land.
A guitarist and keyboard player who has worked with Noé Preszow and Saudade, Ninck makes his first solo release with “Denver.” The track brings French pop songwriting together with electronic production, keeping the arrangement in the same suspended mood as the lyrics.
