Už Jsme Doma
Hollywood

The group (translation: We're Already Home) is led by Miroslav Wanek, a poet and multi-instrumentalist, who in the company of friends of particular drinks, unleashes astonishing tirades. There is a serious difficulty in labeling this music, the difficulty being that the mystified seriousness is so dense that it is impenetrable, so much so that the listening approach must necessarily adapt to the "heaviness" of this childhood where a vortex of retrievals from the cauldron of history is shamelessly served to us.

There is a contagious freedom in the songs and the cynicism expressed helps to abandon poses. The cultured and mental aspect of the performance is continually mocked within the structure by a halo of continuous disappearance.

And then I believe that we get confused when we simultaneously hear prog punk folk noise passages with splashes of medieval soldier choruses, creating a tornado of Charles IV, Jan Hus, St. John Nepomucene, the Golem, Saint Ludmila, Rudolf II of Habsburg, Werich, Burian, Panenka, including the "spoon" of gold and black of magical Prague.

And this time we serve the defenestration ourselves in this spiral staff that takes us to the top floor for a blind leap from the Powder Tower. And in the fall, one disintegrates before crashing to the ground; I would say the teleportation is pleasantly immediate.

One senses a Protoslavic atmosphere where Cyril and Methodius preached the Word in Bohemia and Moravia surrounded by the noise of man's violence. And madness is fought with madness and these minstrels cleverly muddle an elixir of chaos that immunizes us from the loss of sanity: conscious madness, Faith without the need to "see."

Yes, we are "home," we are home konečně...