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As I peeled the last orange from the basket, I suddenly realized that spring had started quite a while ago. So I squeezed half a lemon into a bowl, added a pinch of sugar, a banana, an apple, a kiwi, half an orange, and voilà—a fruit salad. Perfect with C'mon Tigre in my ears.
They play smooth and post-modern, multifaceted and delightfully kaleidoscopic, these cosmopolitan daredevils. It's the kind of stuff that's hard to find and easy to love. There's a bit of everything inside, just like in my thrown-together fruit salad, and the different flavors can be distinctly felt, fresh and playful: electrified post-rockism, rhythmic muscularity of Fela Kuti and Tony Allen, a deep yet light touch, a pinch of the best of Gorillaz, slow dreaminess à la Portishead, all-encompassing Soul vitality, and a dizziness-prone shakerism that grabs pieces of the world and turns them into a whirlwind trinket.
Noisy and refined, rigorous and slouchy.
Intriguing.
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