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Abstracting, drawing out, chiseling but not pigeonholing, leaving the fragments in a single flowing syncopated aural enjoyment: all this together, in a mere succession of dawns and sunsets.
A single, indissoluble and undissociated, space. An incessant movement, elusive and indescribable.
Rearranging, as a main coadjutor of insanities, disparate elements.
The combinatory art: making the complex simple, not yet oblivious but always already at peace within it.
A fragmented and unstable movement.
What is it? Jazz-tronica?
Who knows.
But it is a healthy exercise, a tenfold reclassification of genres, all together funneled into an agile and enchanting little piece.
An appreciable sediment, perhaps the most appreciable, of the year already twilight.
Au revoir, mes amis. Je suis heureux de mourir, enfin.
So to speak, in silence, the sky of the December sunset.
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