Bob Geldof
The Vegetarians of Love

THE REVIEW

Ireland, land of gnomes and leprechauns, of saints and refugees, with vast skies and green expanses. It is here that the lively notes of the accordion lead me, the screeches of the violin, the cheerful sound of flutes, which flow together and shape an organic, and very pleasant, melody.
It's folk. Popular music. To dance to. Folk seasoned with 'Irish' tones.

Acoustic pieces, engaging, with the guitar accompanying the instruments: some chords, some arpeggios; little electric guitar, just in spurts, too much would ruin the material. A warm voice marries the music, sometimes even rough, which doesn't flaunt any extraordinary singing skills, because it is simply harmony; the succession of arpeggios, melancholic ballads, and energetic tracks ends up captivating you, in one way or another.

I remember as a child, when they offered me a similar 'musical dish,' I would wrinkle my nose: "And who would Geldof be?" Within a few years, I spontaneously took the cassette and slipped it into the stereo. Magic. Tap one foot, then the other, I found myself humming the choruses of the songs.

Let's do this: you listen to it, I say you will like it. Whoever loses the bet buys a beer.
Irish beer, of course.