•
Rating: Imagine a low-grade theater in some English suburb.
The seats are uncomfortable, cramped, not all the spotlights work, but there is neither money nor time to replace them. Surrounded as you are by a crowd emitting a rancid smell of alcohol and sweat, it's hard to say if you'll be able to enjoy any of the show.
And yet, as soon as that red mane starts to grace the piano keys, everything seems to go well, everything falls back into place: there's no time for sadness, for thinking about anything else, free your minds, spectators, here there's room only for good humor, lots of color, endless surprises, and joy for all ages!
If the more attentive among you wish, there's also the chance to seek out, behind this chaos, the profoundly bitter aftertaste hidden in the lyrics, consisting of children lost in the Bronx, pianos that, in poverty, become firewood, politicians afflicted with an insatiable appetite for power, people forced to say goodbye to their roots, and religious icons announcing the arrival of a serial-killer son.
But why worry, why harm yourself, why fear a world that is, after all, so remote? The show, even amidst your tears, your heart-wrenching cries, will go on, until that girl lifts her hands from her instrument.
Until the very last note.
This is what I saw from the cheap seats.
Tracklist
Loading comments slowly
