Max Richter
24 Postcards in Full Colour

At the end of the twentieth century, a writer was asked what essential values would be necessary for communication in the next millennium. Among the six proposals, the writer indicated speed and lightness. Within twenty-one years, we have SMS, Google, and ZOT reviews.
He nailed it.

They say speed is the gift of synthesis, but what happens when synthesis is reduced to the essential? What can a book contain that is not already in the title? Does the same apply to music? Can you live on just beginnings? German Max Richter tried.
So this album is not made of tracks, but postcards, twenty-four postcards, like the ones your relatives used to send you, which no one writes anymore, at most used as coasters, and we've forgotten even how to read them. And so, if not space, better to remember time, the time encapsulated in a minute, a minute and a half. You are right, dear Debaser, it is little.
But how far can you travel in your mind in this minute?

There is no precise order, flip it, reverse it, invent a new one. Do you hear it? It’s born from the minimalism of a piano, the classic style of Nyman or our own Ludovico Einaudi. It’s born from these electronic infiltrations reminiscent of collaborations with Brian Eno, born from a support of strings behind you, selecting images from memory and slamming them against you as only simplicity can do. It's the potential of a beginning, a piece of a puzzle, the one that's always missing to finish it, the first key you pressed on a piano, that summer evening that alone would be worth spending a lifetime just to recount it.

I think back to that writer from the last century, connect all the pieces and understand that each postcard is the exact musical counterpart to that book he wrote thirty years ago, which now sits on my bedside table, that book where in the same identical way, it is the beginnings that weave the plot. And I feel a bit of sadness because this album he would have gladly listened to, just like If on a Winter's Night a Traveler.