Tosca
Suzuki

I had to write a review of this album! I had to do it because it had been since the days of “Remain in Light” by Talking Heads or Kid A by Radiohead that I hadn’t listened to an album on repeat. This album too will become a soundtrack of my physical and mental journeys!

5:00 AM this morning, dark, ready to go out, double-check, mask, green pass, money! I put on my earphones, my morning walk always lasts exactly 60 minutes, any day of the week, including holidays! Sukuki lasts 59.41 minutes! And then the time to put on the mask, and I reach the bar for a well-deserved cream-filled doughnut.

It’s only after the shower, in the dark while my little dog curls up on my still wet legs, that I listen to the album again and the review in my head is ready.

What can be opposed to the Musicanidi review that speaks of a love that starts suddenly? The one of a love that suddenly dies! It dies like all quick deaths, without being able to say a sensible word, without really understanding why! You only look at the future ahead and life will be without him. Our last walk by the sea was a week before, a friend of his from afar saw us passing by and wrote to him that we were beautiful together.

If Suzuki were an object, it would be a Rubik's Cube, every time you try to solve it, it's always different, a new square next to another but never the same unless you manage to win.

Or it could be a Matryoshka doll, every time you open all the dolls when you put them back inside, maybe you linger more on one or another, it closes less. Always different! Like the album, a hot magma of sound, whispers, it's fine kept low in the background or loud for dancing.

If Suzuki were a movie, it would be “Inception,” a game of dreams, one inside the other, of truth or falsehood that you only understand by spinning a tiny top! It was with him that I wanted to grow old, we would have danced in some room of the house. Or we would have played, me putting my feet on his and we would have danced, like that, laughing.

That pair of towels, they were the ones they gave us in the hotel, during the many trips. We also looked at ourselves in the mirror to always laugh at each other. If he took it off and looked at me though, he would do so uncovering me slowly, with gentleness, in contemplation, and every time there was that amazement, that enchantment in his eyes as if I were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Yet, there is no sadness in the listening, because I am right there in the last dream of “Inception,” together with him, a world I created on my own where there is music, that of Tosca accompanying my memories.

There I am in front of the new house door still in the wedding dress, carried inside in his arms with champagne in the hot tub and the various intimate outfits changed for the occasion. Or there’s the “Corona” with lemon close together on two hammocks between swims in Xel-Ha, Mexico, surrounded by fish of all colors. Or again in what we called our beach in front of Tulum.

Suzuki is like this, evocative, it brings out, digs deep, the tones are never too high or too low and then those percussions and whispers that don’t let you stay still. A whole, but to be listened to strictly from start to finish. Only then does it make sense.

I know you’ll tell me to leave the dream and return to reality, maybe by exorcising everything with this review I will be able to do it and perhaps give a chance to someone who occasionally looks at me the way he did!