She’s in a reverie full of wonders, ambling along the curves and turns of being alive. Romance is blossoming along the way, and she caresses it, mothers it with striking delicacy. But love is not an easy thing to navigate; it bends, stretches, and lunges forward unannounced, induced by ferocious mischief. Unbeknownst to her, it thrusts her into a labyrinth of sophisticated feelings. Her heart is wounded thereafter, crushed by the innocence that fades away before her. Despite such torment, however, she still yearns to embark on another journey of love, to savour once again its roseate petals of effervescence. She’s not fully recovered, but she has the fuel to propel her crippling self forward. “Can’t you see,” she questions her partner in the first track, “that I’m trying?”
While grappling with this newfound love, she hauls herself onto the unknown. The hidden hurdles of life begin to unfold as she rambles in. Sometimes she realises them, and sometimes she doesn’t; for she knows that with her partner, anything that crams in her way is conquerable. “This is all I ever wanted,” she croons in “Night and Day,” while the sprinkles of accordion and splashes of piano rush over her crystalline voice. But this character whom she so cherishes might not be a person at all, but a feeling that keeps chugging unto her heart. In some way, The Space Between can be interpreted as a journey into the starry realm of revived optimism disguised in tenuous romance. Optimism is her partner in this context, a symbolic inference of persistently ploughing through the cruellest moments in life. “When I look at you / The space inside expanding,” she notes in “What Happens to the Heart.” “No matter how dark / I know that I would find you.”
Boman writes in simple, unvarnished verses that are sufficient enough to convey the messages and emotions. It might seem trite at first, but her main focus is neither on the impressive wordplay nor on the elegant phraseology; in fact, it’s on the reverberation of each syllable: how each consonance is laced by a melody to evoke her inexplicable sensations. This is why she often repeats her phrases or words in the chorus; she’s pronouncing them with such dazzling vulnerability it’s as if she’s pouring all of her intense sentiments onto us, with each time magnifying their effect. Lost in the void of love, she wanders around the barren space between herself and her partner, wondering if their relationship will make progress. The phrase “in circles” is thus repeated in the last seconds of the eponymous song. Everything that once surrounded her has already died down, so she mutters these two words to summon a cantrip, begging it to escort this precarious relationship to a better place.
The atmosphere of The Space Between feels homely and lightweight, which sometimes recalls the theatrical soundscapes of Dream On. However, the instruments here are more toned down to emanate a sense of empty gravity, the vacuous space that both frightens and comforts us. Songs like “Maybe,” “Soon,” and “On and On” are akin to the sweet, soothing sparkles that glimmer in the limitless night sky. Even amidst the enormity of unlit, fearful space, they emit light and comfort that speckle all over the dark canvas. They add charm and beauty to the dullness of nothingness, signifying hope and optimism in severe conditions. “Where to Put the Pain” is the only track that defies this pattern. The drum kicks in with alarming urgency; the piano accompanies it at the same speed, sometimes even out of the rhythm. It breaks the ethereal stasis that has been nourished since the beginning; but perhaps, as in many cases, an outburst is necessary for us to move forward.
Patrik Berger, Boman’s frequent collaborator, assists her in every song on The Space Between. The calmness of his expansive yet intimate production blends well with her gentle, ruminative voice. The greatest track that embodies this synergy is “Space,” the magnificent album closer. As the piano strides in with the resonant guitar, the arrangement recalls the soundtrack of Interstellar, composed by Hans Zimmer. She has arrived at her destination by then: a “place of tenderness,” where time loses its significance. The music conjures an afterimage of a continuum: the past reveries melding with the unknown future, a flash of the struggles that everyone has faced and tackled. In the end, The Space Between is a reminiscence of what was, what has been, and what will be, all at once. The outer space for her is vast yet intimate, daunting yet beautiful, and she beckons us, quite restlessly, to discover the miraculous beauty of it.
