Floris
Drunk On Life

The sun beats down fiercely on the city asphalt; the helmet is scorching and at the traffic light (red!!!) not even a hint of a wop. I feel like retreating and waiting for the cool of the evening. I return to the office, blinds closed; I free myself from the shirt. I turn on the air conditioner and the player: defying the blackout!
Finally! Acid green, hardcover, of a group whose existence I'm still unaware of. I press play and from the first tracks, I realize the breeze is pleasant. The splendid alternating vocals are up to the mark.
I take the ice from the fridge and bring it to my forehead. Am I dreaming, or am I awake?

The music rises and the calm refreshes the room. Portishead? Morcheeba? Tricky? Massive? The simple purity of early EBTG? So many good memories to find a moment of peace and put these thoughts in order, on a long afternoon yet to pass.
I put the disc on repeat, take off my shoes, and stretch my legs. Sometimes it happens that the evening will arrive, pleasantly while a new passion emerges along the arctic line.

Sometimes it happens...