•
Rating:
Never heard anything softer, more melancholic, insinuating, enveloping...
at the time, I was still a night owl and this track, on the way back in the car, was the warrior's rest, or if you prefer, a northern Don Quixote searching for smiles to put in his pocket...
and Tracey Thorn was the great comforter...with that neutral and gray voice, subtly emotional...
the only available goddess, let's say...the only benevolent whisper...
melancholy that became light...like a certain Brazil...
and a music almost running on low batteries, seemingly fueled by a mere hint of remaining sweetness...
and an instrumental ending that you wished would never end...like a train in the night...that trains don't stop...oh no, they don't stop...
like a perfect pillow for dreams, or a can opener revealing yourself to yourself...not bad, considering we don't know who we are...
at least I don't know...
the sweetness of the sweetest drug without side effects, a perfect pillow for dreams, or simply to unplug for a moment...
one of those tracks you listen to even twenty times in a row...
the secret is a kind of embrace
the secret is not taking oneself too seriously as Truffaut said (“you must film beauty with an air of nothing and without taking oneself seriously”)...
the secret is a kind of perfect banal note...an apparent grayness that captures colors...
trallalla...
Loading comments slowly
