Just about the only thing conventional about “Angel”, the relatively recently released single from your man Optacure, on a track that also features Ean Aguila, is the title. Numerous odes, ditties, and pressing melodies have been dedicated to those supernal creatures and, perhaps, their earthly incarnations.

Everything else about the tune is clearly refreshing. In fact, it makes for perfectly pensive wintertime listening, when emotions are ripened, heightened, and adorned all over the skyline—and the very track itself.

For starters, the pair (it’s a tad equivocal as to who exactly was playing what) put it down heavily on the guitars. We’re talking whirring, circular motioning acoustic, or even multiple tracks of that lovely, laden instrument. Plus, the breakdowns—or it could be the hook, or the bridge—are enjoined with the smoothest electric guitar, so much so that the moniker electric doesn’t do it justice.

The drums are an off-beat, off-kilter pattern that deliberately slows for the verses while, somehow, remaining on beat. The pace quickens discernibly during the chorus which, if this listener is properly clued in, sometimes involve vocals, and sometimes don’t.

That fact, of course, brings us to the delightful dearth of song structure—at least in any conventional sense. There are myriad breakdowns, and moments of breath and introspection in which the music simply takes over everything: the speakers, the room, your very thoughts and feelings, even.

But it may be the vocals that add the winsome, plaintive touch that makes this number a winner. Money’s (it’s Optacure on the vocals) style is sometimes whisper soft, the voice of a consciousness bearing forth its inner self. He’s also raconteuring or storytelling to the fullest, musing about whether or not he’s hard to love, and doting on the fact that someone or something is “always there…watching over” on the hook. (We’re pretty certain it’s a hook, or at least one of them. There may well be more than one on this outing).

But it all comes together with a sort of incandescence, like the stubborn, glowing aftermath of a sunset long since passed—yet relived every time you press play.