How The Caretaker's Everywhere At The End of Time Broke Me

In addition to The Caretaker's music, the paintings behind the album covers, created by artist Ivan Seal, are no coincidence. Seal and Kirby both are fascinated by the ideas of memory loss and psychological art, and through Seal's art style, he successfully finds a way to depict this. In an interview with Declan Tan of The Quietus, Seal states that "Rather than having one singular moment, painting like this works more like a brain...It works more like how you think. The studio somehow becomes an active way of thinking, a big head which I’m stepping into every day and basically poking around, like your own head works when you’re thinking about stuff.” Seal explains that through working with a common theme of memories and the brain's inner workings, he expresses himself effectively. It was through these beliefs that Kirby and Seal began working together on different projects. Particularly in 2016, the two began working together on Everywhere At The End of Time to make the most out of the auditory experience. 

All of Seal's paintings, completed in oil, are heavily over-painted to achieve a certain effect; we experience errors in the paintings as one would in the brain itself. His usage of particular ruffling or streakiness conveys to the receiver that their memories mirror the painting; he helps outsiders experience mental disease with the liberty of never truly suffering from it. In this sense, we gain a better understanding of what our loved ones experience. 

Stage One of the album begins very clearly, in an almost bittersweet manner. The songs resemble 1930’s swing music, however, it is heavily edited with reverb and the crackling of a record player. The songs themselves are quite catchy, reminiscent of those heard in the ballroom scene of Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining”, and they feel as though you are looking back on your life, on your memories. Each song is a metaphor for our memories, and the slight crackles that you hear represent the gray matter that is slowly taking over the brain. Our brains are the record players, and each record is a collection of memories; each separate stage is its own record. Although the cells of the brain are dying, we can still clearly make out what is going on. During stage one, you might notice that a majority of the tracks are simply repeated choruses, indicating the individual's ability to clearly remember what part of the song, or the memory, comes up next. The initial signs are difficult to decipher, and it seems as though everything is still fine. Along with this, the names of some of the tracks are quite unsettling and leave you feeling eerie. Titles such as “We don’t have many days,” and “My heart will stop in joy” make the listener feel as though an impending doom is being foreshadowed, yet, we don’t exactly know what that doom is yet. Specifically, “We don’t have many days” foreshadows the self-awareness in which the individual realizes something dangerous is progressing, and they must savor the last of their sanity. 

Stage Two of the album is significantly creepier, with much more distortion and crackling among each track. You can still hear the 1930’s swing music clearly. However, it is amplified with more reverb to appear as though thoughts in the mind are beginning to float around and become distant, foggy, and unclear, just as the memories of a dementia sufferer’s do; they echo off into nothingness, slowly piecing off fragments of the brain. In some tracks, such as “A losing battle is raging,” long and eerie periods of waiting with white noise replace the once sweet sound of music. The names of the tracks in this stage display the internal denial and refusal to accept the reality of the situation. Titles such as “I still feel as though I am me,” and “The way ahead feels lonely” provide insight into how the individual is processing their situation; they are trying to fight the reality and are losing themselves; they want to do everything in their power to stop this. It feels as though the individual is looking down into a dark empty stairwell in which they are forced to descend, and they are currently fighting back. 

The more the individual tries to remember, the more they lose themselves.

Stage Three of the album still holds the memories sweetness, however, the general atmosphere and songs themselves are both distorted beyond equilibrium. The songs feel as though they stretch out, and some are even repeated from the first stage, just holding a different pitch. The crackling is still heard, yet there is less of it as time progresses, leading us to believe that the general turmoil of the disease has long set in. Each memory is beginning to fade away and blend in with other memories, making individual ones hard to distinguish. As you listen, you begin to feel as though you yourself are starting to lose concentration and preciseness. The names of the songs in this stage are particularly interesting, as three of the tracks mention Benjamin Libet, a scientist who studied in the field of human consciousness. This title seemingly fits, as the consciousness of the individual’s psyche is barely there. Additionally, the track, “Bewildered in other’s eyes,” tells us that the individual’s decline is becoming noticeable to others around them; their internal struggle has now joined with an external struggle. 

Stage Four of the album is when the general horror sets in. Songs are now extended at upwards of over twenty minutes. You can hear small, quick fragments of the memories, however there is so much loud distortion and frequent confusion that we have little idea as to how much time has passed. The songs themselves feel as though they are in pain, almost like they are crying and screaming out for help; the memories cry to be put back in order, when life was bright and happy. A general feeling of anxiety sets in as you realize that there is no turning back, and the individual’s damage on the psyche is irreversible. The individual starts to forget almost everything, as memories are so tightly intertwined that you couldn’t even attempt to untangle them. In Stage Four, there is a “Temporary Bliss State,” in which the individual remembers some of their more prominent memories more distictly, making them feel a sense of pleasure; they have met a small glimpse of success. However, this feeling is short-lived, as the confusion quickly sets in again.

Stage Five of the album is where the decline of the individual is most prominent. The sounds of what used to be instruments are now so distorted that you can not even call them instruments. Songs hold a startling confusion, compelling the listener to question if what they are hearing truly sounded like that before. You can’t stand the loudness of multiple memories playing over each other, yet you can’t stop listening; it pulls you in and kills you as a Siren would. Every sound resembles a broken record, and the more you focus on the music, the more your mind screams out in protest. The sounds of popping and crackling as well as severe glitches come together to create a hurricane of plaque so thick you aren’t sure that the individual is even an individual anymore. Their memory is so discombobulated that nothing makes sense; they are living in an alien world. Additionally, the title of one of the tracks, “Synapse Retrogenesis,” gives way to a theory about Alzheimer’s Disease in which the brain deteriorates in a way opposite of the norm—your mind declines to the point where the individual is unable to perform basic tasks. In this sense, the individual is progressing into their ultimate decline. 

The final stage of the album is perhaps the most horrifying stage. The white noise that we hear has become so normal to us that we don’t even question our true purpose. Our final attempts to regain our psyche are no longer accessible. We cannot hear any memories, just the faded ring of what once was a memory only popping up a few, sweet times. We can no longer distinguish crackles or continuing memories; the album quiets, yet, at times, tidal waves of ushering sound crash over your head. This slow, quiet road into death paralyzes one with fear so genuine that you can hardly bear it. The individual is, seemingly, no longer a person, but rather a hollow shell of what once was. The mind is so thickly laden with fog that you cannot see a single light piercing through; the horror of the reality locks in. But, alas, the final memory is heard, and there is no sound but the memory. Nothing in the background distorts the divine nature of its sweet, somber melody. The sheer sound of it is deafening; the individual is screaming their last cry. The individual’s last memory fades away with themselves, and they have finally ended the war.