“Bliss,” And The Cosmic Wonder Of Love In Amber Mark’s World

Cynicism is a growing phenomenon in music. True love songs are hard to come by these days. Deriving its name from Rihanna’s “We Found Love,” Yellow Diamonds is a series of lyric breakdowns in which VIBE Senior Music Editor Austin Williams celebrates songs that sound like love found in a hopeless mainstream.

Judging by the reactions I’ve read from a few of my fellow critics, Amber Mark’s Three Dimensions Deep may be an early contender for the R&B album of the year. I hesitate to say whether I share their enthusiasm, as I’ve only heard the crooner’s debut LP in its entirety once. But what I have returned to throughout the past three weeks is the collection of cosmic love songs on the record. Of those songs, the one I’ve replayed the most is “Bliss.”

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Mark, a Tennessee-born singer who’s lived in two hemispheres and three continents, seems fascinated by the concept of the cosmos. This interest dates as far back as her very first single, “S P A C E,” released in 2016. Within the context of her artistry, the wider universe is most often referenced during observations of romantic relationships. Just about every love song on Three Dimensions Deep relies on intergalactic imagery, but in a way that I was shocked to have appreciated.

Usually, extraterrestrial terms of endearment don’t land for me, as they quite literally alienate the human experience of falling in love. Plus, everyone from The Beatles to The-Dream has already put their spin on space to varying degrees of success. But there’s something different about the way Amber Mark toys with this motif on Three Dimensions Deep. Unlike other artists who resort to this sort of thing, she isn’t suggesting on songs like “Out Of This World” and “Cosmic” that she’s found a love so pure and precious that it must be from another planet. She also doesn’t talk of feeling small amid the vastness of the universe. Instead, her pairing of love and space is more about the mystery of both; it’s the idea that love, much like life beyond our blue sky, presents a sense of possibility that’s as alluring as it is unsolvable.

The clearest example of this is found on the aforementioned “Cosmic,” as Mark sings, “No, I can’t find the logic/ It feels so very cosmic/ Oh, the way you love me/ Feels so very cosmic.” Even on “Worth It,” she describes the act of self-love as a feeling that’ll “send you out to space” despite it being such a difficult thing to wrap your head around.

Nowhere on the album, though, is the enigma of love more celebrated than on “Bliss.” Driven by lyrics that blend an earthbound encounter with the otherworldly sensation of love striking like a comet, not to mention a dank bassline, the song’s charm is inescapable.

The first verse of “Bliss” does a fair amount of world-building. Early on, we’re made aware of just what type of love this is—a crush. This makes sense, as there’s a particular type of bliss that comes with crushing on someone new. And in that newness, Mark finds an interdimensional sensei to teach her things she never learned before.

This type of lyricism is a little galaxy-brained (pun certainly intended), and your mileage may vary if, unlike myself, you need more than a fresh take on infatuation to embark on a journey across the universe. But even before the song gets to space, its opening phrase anchors it in a sentiment that feels a bit more of this world: “Conversation, sexual tension.”

That line reappears later as a part of the bridge. To me, it’s the centerpiece of the entire song. The most blissful moment in a relationship, the moment that two people will spend years (if they’re lucky) trying to recreate, is the first time they have a conversation so stimulating it heightens their attraction to one another.

The most important aspect of the chorus is that it’s terribly unspecific. After confessing to not knowing what love was previously, Mark doesn’t suggest she could put her finger on it now. Like space, love isn’t something that can be touched; it isn’t found on the body during baby-making hours, and it’s not something that can be displayed on Instagram. Instead, Mark describes love as exactly what it is. Love is a feeling. And, to her, that feeling is unexpected bliss.

What’s interesting about the song’s second verse, and why “Bliss” ultimately stands out among other cosmic love songs, is how tactile it feels. Once a songwriter decides to explore the great beyond, still, stubborn listeners like myself appreciate when they find room in a record to ground its story on earth. Yes, tell me about falling for your lover in the lobby of your apartment building. In the context of a song that’s this theoretical, a distinct inclusion like that is what makes it feel real.

The final line of the verse merges both ethereal and tangible images particularly well. “Meet me in the garden/ Right back where it started” is a reference to the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden. The lyric orients the listener in a physical place that feels familiar enough to picture in one’s mind, as most people have been in a garden before. But with its nod to Christianity, the line also calls attention to a greater power that, to some, is as omnipresent yet unknowable as outer space.

The last line of the pre-chorus repeats the last line of the opening verse. The image of Mark’s soul “shining” is notable, as the concept of light in the darkness underscores the album’s other cosmic love songs as well. Along with a sense of mystery, it’s clear what Mark finds comparable between space and love is the wonder of life unfolding in even the harshest conditions.

My favorite instance of this is “Darkside,” mostly for the sheer Prince Rodgers Nelson-ness of its funk-rock production and Mark’s apocalyptic wails for a world-saving love (“When I died, your atmosphere brought me back to life/ You make me feel a little lighter/ The dark side gets a little brighter).

Following “Bliss,” Three Dimensions Deep ends with a brief outro titled “Event Horizon.” The song is named after what’s commonly considered the most gruesome sci-fi horror movie ever made. Essentially, the film is about a team of space travelers who stumble upon a pocket hell dimension that violently manifests their worst nightmares.

I won’t pretend to understand why an artist would follow a song as happy-making as “Bliss” with an eerie-sounding outro inspired by space horror. But as Amber Mark sings, “Are you still flying?/ Are you still guiding me home?/ Will you be shining/ At the event horizon,” I can only assume the message is catastrophe awaits us if we don’t protect our bliss like the very earth we walk on.

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