The Black Atlantic
Darkling, I Listen

There I am, with headphones and amp, in my little room, with this EP. There's this first song that starts off a bit like that, with that kind of face like Conte sings. A troglodyte folk loop starts, a bit Celtic, a bit Hawaiian, but it's a joke, it stops immediately. Here sparks the first glimmer of an unimaginable constellation. "Our silence hides nothing," that's how my infatuation opens up, but I'm inhibited to understand what I'm facing.
I follow the trail, there's a second celestial body, this time smaller, cordial in its humility, sensually just right. I can't resist, I start to melt. The third is a comet, restlessly caroming in my auditory system. It's untamable, inscrutable like the mysterious face of the moon.

I'm still there, with headphones and amp, in my little room, liquefied on the ground, with this EP. The fourth is a distant dot, yet it shines painfully, I close my eyes, I can't because they've melted along with the rest. I remain dumbfounded, motionless, succumbing to these melodies, magically unsettling, so much greater than me.
There's the last, radiant, cold yet enveloping star:
"Darling, he does not possess the grace to speak for your honor. Often he mistakes his own pride for love, drunk and brave on the cynic's nectar. Mostly at night, the young feather feeds the beast, thirty years of war have not made him wiser.
He wears heavy armor like a fool and fails to see you left the house alive with hope for quiet, humble man to hold you." One of the most beautiful songs ever written.

Thus ends 20 minutes of versatile and shape-shifting pop, now folk, now psychedelia, more simply pure, hopelessly disturbing. I've been waiting for music like this for a long time.

I cast a bait, perhaps someone will bite.