A layover, by definition, is a place of transience — like that in-between state after growing up and before growing old, when the world is both weary and lived-through and yet undiscovered and full of possibility.
It’s a near-impossible undertaking, to look back in grace at the people we have been to become the people we are today. But it’s also a constant theme in BTS’ music, whether as a group or in their solo outings, even if sub-textually. RM’s “Indigo” is an exercise in allowing adults to come of age in their own right. Jungkook’s “Seven”, straightforward as it is, is symbolic of a staunch declaration of a young artist discovering that eternal mystery of who we really are — to ourselves and to other people.
And for all its mellowness, Layover is undeniably confident, an assured statement from an artist whose instincts have always been clear, even if the whole shape of it isn’t always. Layover plays like the waking up from a hazy dream that feels almost real — those best ones where the details feel more vivid and urgent than the whole, like looking through a fogged up window: a sax line here, a voice-warped intro there. slow dancing with the truth around the room, a steady, assured thrum underneath it all. That slow music emanating from down the hall, long after everyone has packed up and gone, and the world is transient, equal parts hope and longing. It’s torture to pull yourself away.
