Now you’re stuck inside my lungs
And baby I want you more than air
I wanna be inside
Let me infect you
Sacred Hearts’ new single Possession evokes the spirit of gothic romance and old-school post-punk, like the soundtrack to wandering through the woods beneath the moonlight—the rustle of trees, the hum of insects, the flicker of something both tender and unsettling. Its atmosphere carries warmth, yet conjures a similar world-building intensity that The Cure achieved in 1980 with A Forest. From this setting of shadow and shimmer, the Australian duo unfurls a song that feels like both an invocation and an embrace, a midnight ritual and a passionate rebellion.
The machinery of the track is austere, though not barren—like a tree that still clings to its leaves as the chill of autumn begins to take hold. A retro drum machine pulses steadily, while a dreamlike guitar strumming melody drifts through the dusk, restrained and free of excess effects. Beneath it all, icy synths hum like a frozen current, anchoring the song in shadow. At its center, June Gray’s voice flutters and feels otherworldly—like embracing a ghost whose aura still remembers the warmth of skin, flesh, and bone. There is longing threaded through every breath, a yearning that renders the sacred profane and the profane sacred. Possession is not a fleeting spark but a fever that lingers, where intimacy and infection blur under the pale light of desire.
The lyrics echo addiction, reframed as a form of worship. Love here is not affection but subsumption, not companionship but contagion. The body becomes a chapel, veins filled with communion’s fire. Possession exposes devotion’s darker calculus: to be consumed and to consume, to inhale another as if air, to surrender even while suffocating. This is love stripped bare and redressed as dominion—an altar in the forest where autonomy burns like incense.
Listen to Possession below:
Sacred Hearts’ edge comes from situating this exploration in spectacle. Their live reputation already rests on camp theatrics and Catholic parody, but here they strike a deeper chord, showing how ritual—once imposed on them in childhood classrooms—now becomes a language for power, intimacy, and hunger. In a world where women are often instructed to temper appetite, they instead present desire as holy, something to be reclaimed, embraced, and celebrated as divine.
Australia’s alternative circuit has already borne witness to their ascent through festival slots and support shows alongside AFI, The Damned, and Zheani. Possession positions them for wider recognition, condensing their wit, performance history, and underground credibility into a song that can set dance floors alight as easily as it can provoke theological unease. Its structure keeps its sharpness intact: no excess, no filler—just rhythm, breath, and invocation. Possession reminds us that love, when stripped of polite disguises, often feels closer to prayer: an urge to consume, to surrender, and to call that surrender divine.
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