Birds in Row
Collected

Walk slowly along the ashes of what remains on the street, wandering confused in the heart of a dark night, having only the incessant rain as a traveling companion. Beating. Overwhelming. With flashes illuminating a gray and anonymous Laval at the end of your possibilities, you try to leave for a remote place, which can quietly restore you. A black cat approaches you solitary, while in the distance you hear the sounds of still life. You are searching for hope, for something that can give meaning to the emptiness of a world that does not belong to you, that feels light-years away. With tired steps, you raise your head, trying to meet the gaze of the few people who appear before you. They are eyes that do not see, blind, subdued by a destiny of apathy. It is a resigned declaration of failure that you read between the lines. You observe and see nothing but a flat line, as if there were no heartbeat, a continuum that annihilates personalities. You remember the flock you saw at sunset. Crows so united, dancing in the sky, with a perfection that seems jarring and dissonant.

You give up. You return home. You wake up in the morning staring at the ceiling, at least you have rested a few hours. The time necessary to distance yourself from the tedium of a dusty reality. You go out. It's always the same identical scenario. Denying reality would be paradoxical, you would deceive yourself. A horizon that does not change, deep down you know perfectly well that weeks, months, perhaps years could pass and the faces you will meet along the sidewalk will always be the same, only drier. You close your eyes and from that desolation, you imagine being able to rise like a phoenix, ready to resurrect, to escape from chains that do not kill but leave in perpetual suffering. You open your eyes, do you remember who you are? Yes. Away with hedonism, banish selfishness, bury past mistakes. Do not succumb to illusions, to deceptions. Living in the shadow of now blurred memories will not make you feel better. Do not be a prisoner of a daily prison that risks drowning you in regrets. Get up from the floor and search for something that will break the discomfort saturating your coronary arteries. You were a dreamer. And you will be again. Just react.

This is the atmosphere of Cottbus. This is Rise of The Phoenix. This is Collected. They are Birds In Row. They are B, D, & T. Boys from the French province who imprint their emotional hardcore with the most disparate shades, drawing from a continuous flow of piercing screams, experienced, of those who are hysterically at the limit of endurance and see in music the best outlet to let themselves be carried away by impetuous rivers of adrenaline. Sounds that live on reflections, contrasting souls that fight against each other. The viscosity of the distortions, so deep and suffocating, merges with the melancholic solemnity of the most reflective and intimate moments. There, energies gather to resume the agony that erupts in a collective crescendo. B, D & T orchestrate everything and show no signs of giving way, they cause the fractures if anything. They break the mold and weave plots, each showing a well-defined personality. They wait for nothing and no one, straight on their path made of DIY and healing melodies they accompany you along a journey strewn with wounds inflicted by guitar, bass, and drums. Three simple instruments that nonetheless are capable of creating the painfully mutable soul of Birds In Row.

“War's not over, I've just found the flag. And I don't stand for the resigned one. Maybe It could leave me happy, maybe It could leave me broken, one thing is sure: It won't leave ignorant.”