Lard Free
Gilbert Artman's Lard Free

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You start by looking at the cover; the bass forms small clouds, the drums arrange them in the background, the guitar rips everything apart.

Then, like a temporal upheaval; a damn electronic sound that illuminates a room full of memories. Nightclubs, Veneto, nineties.

And while the sax shows you that you're wearing bell bottoms, the brain wanders relentlessly.

The next coordinates will be improvised.

Disorder gradually finds its place.

You dance with your eyes closed, you get bored.

Perhaps love, something deep, the root of a negative number.

Time dilutes, expanding like a stain.

Sounds seeking a silence that the soul cannot grant.

Stop

Lard Free - Gilbert Artman's Lard Free (1973)