• Rating:
Orange, the orange!
The feverish energy of orange, its instability, its vividness, the overflowing tone of orange.
Favored child of Greater Gods, the orange. A delectable and juicy fruit, born and nurtured by the raucous, piercing, and mad light of yellow that congeals and merges with the dense lava flow of red, with its metaphysical depth, its centripetal and hypnotic force.
Granular analog synths radiate through the grooves of the sound and are lifted onto the canvas by Kowalsky's lashing hand; a sultry, elusive, and ever-changing ambient where synthetic swarms, buzzing and impatient, pollinate the flowers of a meadow at sunset.
Blinding reflections of Egyptian bronzes cooked at the zenith, spring arrows that finally pierce the leaden sky, the undisputed truth of the sunrise.
Pieces that burn in the veins, teeming electronic details distort and swell piano syncopations entwined with countless moods. Overdubs, overexposed and subcutaneous.
The rancid humors of things, houses, and cases soak concentric coils of orange vapors, orange like the tip of the index and thumb of a Mc Barren Nero roller.
Ambient that does not fill any space, but rather the space endures the sound secretions; a creative, unpredictable, and orange sweat, orange like the jerseys of the Dutch masters of the football art from times gone by.
The mind is ready and the body is alert, orange bridges between what is felt and what is possible, fractures between action and inaction, between going and stopping; orange hiatuses like the central light of traffic signals.
Orange, the orange!
Loading comments slowly
