Völuspa’s latest music video, “Miss You Too,” is legendary. Like getting lost in a story that you know has to be true, and yet, can’t be. Directed by Ash Peters, who also features as the film’s butch lover, the visual range glides between perspectives, desires, ritual. The reverberations between. We get the sense that we’ve been here, there, before. In another life, perhaps?
At first glance, “Miss You Too” seems to depend on oppositional pairs. We see references to the Knights Templar (and thus to the Crusades), good and evil, light and dark. However, these points of difference exist only to be twisted, undone by the butch/femme dynamic that is itself a matter of speculative projection of self as other and back again. This is desire unfolding.
While film’s most direct narrative reference is to Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut (1999), which itself remits to Arthur Schnitzler’s Traumnovelle (1926), in which the decadence of the present is filtered through the sexual fantasies of a woman imagined as dangerous to patriarchal normativity, it also queerly hearkens Picasso’s Les damoiselles d’Avignon (1907) and the projection of masculine desire as an uncontrollable lack. Völuspa’s desire is not achieved through objectification, but rather fantasy, conjured from the intensity of a sound in the memory of a subject undone.
(Pablo Picasso, Les Damoiselles d’Avignon, 1907. MOMA)
(Stanley Kubrick, Eyes Wide Shut, 1999, screenshot)
These tensions unfold as the undoing of individual subjectivity, framing desire as a challenge to the subject-object relationship by asking what of me was always already part of you. What of me was a projection of you of me?
The sexual fantasies of a woman, here, are not indicative of man’s desire to control, but rather her ability to imagine other worlds, worlds unseen, or seen as the inside of a gaze that knows itself to be only the fragmentary illusion of a singular perspective. This is the mystery, the play on triangulation, reflection, and reversal.
To find myself inside of you, finding you were already inside of me. Does that make us the same? Or different?
There is a moment when the film’s spatial orientation starts to unravel, to rewind, and we start to wonder if what we have seen as “the present” is actually the past, or perhaps, the future, a dream; another in which the film enlivens to color and, again, we start to wonder about that liminal space between, that place that exists between color and something else, the space of dreams, but also, desire.
“Miss You Too” is a narrative of twisting, inverted expectations—bodies, gestures, affects—a narrative that leads to a realization: What does loneliness feel like to you, next to me?
What we have left is the echo: and then, I found myself somewhere in the reverberation of a longing that began before you knew that I missed you, too.