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Rating: There's no denying it, for some time now only remarkable advice from the famous tube. Perhaps it's because they lately fall with the right evening sky above the saggy pouf nailed on the terrace, but I have to say it: meteorologically this album has landed well. Whether it happened on Friday due to some inexplicable magic I wouldn't know, but for this friday afternoon in the universe, unfortunately for better or worse, it needs that damned scorching air. First of all, never heard of them, and what I initially interpreted as a Martin Medesky of the woods is actually a trio:
Martin: shadow percussionist.
Medesky: assorted mixed keyboards.
Wood: ace of clubs, harmonicas, and wooden flutes.
Now, for my potential musical diet for May/April, among the salads of Heliocentrics and first-rate funk that condenses on glasses, these new springtime guests can only make wines bloom like flowers. And there, between the mental weights of the days and the unbearable heat, my instinct resonates the album like a jazz gem that fell from the sky in the 90s. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll have orchitis from it, but now it's worth it for me to write something about something.
- The Lover, the whole shebang starts so simply, and unless something slips (from me), it lights the joint with a motif too established not to seem familiar: probably the big tune I'll carry with me from this little trip.
- Chubb Stub, another track with a captivating demeanor on me, with that vague bouquet of basses à la Soul Coughing on the chest and a beguiling smile,
Honestly, nice album: a staircase in the sky that continues to collapse on itself, between the simplest and benevolent free jazz that removes steps from the crippled funk that jumbles them crookedly, in an anti-gravity stroll mixed with assorted sensory derailments. I hope it makes new acquaintances.
Tracklist
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