The Dentists
Some People Are on the Pitch (They Think It's All Over It Is Now)

And since we were a step away from becoming robots, someone took the sixties and put them in the eighties. Sure, there was still some scrap metal left, but god, how dreamy we were!!!

Oh, friends, in the gardens of these people, strawberries grew in winter, much better than smoky pubs and dark beer...

Besides, the ima boy had warned me: "if you want the spring, you must listen to the dentists..."

But let's start from the beginning...

I love the blasé pace, the one that wanders "like a feather in the wind." Loitering is an art, a very demon killer thing. You'll never get me, you bastards, sons of bitches...

When things are beautiful, you never find the way to say them. Then put on a record. One of those where the name doesn't matter, but the sound, and it takes just a few seconds for the body to recover the sensation of being in the world.

I know only two types of happiness: one says "everything is okay," the other says nothing. In the first case, you are at peace, in the second, being at peace is the last thing you want, and "the feather in the wind" is that lump of unexpressed sensations you keep in your heart. Only music can express that lump, for example, the music of these dreamy and restless dentists.

Damned be me if this isn't pop of the best kind, the kind that makes your blood race. Garage vibes, psychedelic flashes, almost punk chaos. An almost anonymous freshness in the grips of a just slightly nervous grace.

Oh shit, it's a little party, a wonderfully epidermic thing. The desire to stroll, the urge to scatter the seed. You are still alive, old carcass.