Love. Sounds. Colors.
This album has particularly captivated me: although it is much criticized, it is the one I prefer from this strange female duo. It manages to show me enchanted places with the simple support of sound. Worlds inhabited by werewolves ("Werewolf") and fairy animals ("Animals"). Where the sun always shines ("Sunshine"), where miracles happen ("Miracle") and where you can find forgotten innocence and childhood ("Childhood").
The air smells of sweets, the clouds are made of cotton candy, and candies grow as if they were flowers.
I get lost.
I want to regain control, but without any ability to fight against my will, I join in shouting "Everybody Wants To Go To Japan!" along with the guys who seem to form a chorus of drunks in the beautiful and fun "Japan".
Needless. I can't make it. The songs seem to dominate me. Torment me.
Cocorosie has managed to create an incredible album, rich in sounds from unknown worlds that make you feel the smell of spring. The blooming flowers, the freshly cut grass.
Rainbows are ridden by dream warriors ("Rainbowarriors"), and bleeding twins seek revenge ("Bloody Twins")
They drag you into a playground, until they throw you into a bottomless precipice with the arrival of the epic "Houses": the houses burn!
Big Houses Burn Down!
I collapse into the darkness that penetrates me, embraces me, touches me, until it becomes part of me. I have lost my breath, captured by the beauty of the lyric voice of the song, which started like prewar folk and ended with an apocalyptic opera.
I don't return.
I don't return.
Now it is "Miracle" that gives me no escape, being fatal to me: a whisper, as weak as death, penetrates my ears. A tremor shakes me and immediately it became sunset.
Poetry made into music. Sublime.
Dario loves CocoRosie and listens to them at every chance, he enjoys the whims in the songs, the sounds of uptight kittens, and the intricate arch architectures.
I sense something in Bianca and Sierra’s voices that I can’t grasp, the sense of the absolute, that naive spirit of post-dinner radical chic that I can’t digest.