The frontman in the synthesizer
With his iconic tie and his eight huge gloved hands
A headless octopus in a suit. His head is in the clouds
Playing serenades under a vectorized moonlight
Like melancholic cries for his long gone lover
When is Becky coming back? Pam, pa-lam, pa-lam
It’s 2PM in Quebec city and still a part of me is fully aware that it’s 8PM in Munich. It’s not even been 10 days since I’m back to Real Life, with family, friends, projects, shows…
I close my eyes as I listen to your music, and instead of seeing colours and landscapes, I see your faces.
I see the veins on the top of your hands as they play their instruments, I see your feet following the tempo. I see your half closed eyes and I can hear your deep, concentrated, breathing. I see the little 8-motion your heads do when absorbed by music. I’m sure you all don’t even know you do that. I feel the sound divided between yourselves, the way each little layer is each of you.
Photo credit : Nana Dix
(So this is it, the big post. It was written all day between meetings and travels…)
I listen to the pulse of downtown Munich on a Monday morning and realize how silent the city was yesterday.
Silent? Only outside. Because if you knew where to look out to, you would have heard the heart of the Munich Underground beat. Fast and hard and full of love.
Overdue Recap of my guest appearance at Der Untermieter ! Yesterday was completely crazy and then today I forgot to post about it.
The playlist of magic!! In order of appearance (the one that should have happened, but sadly we had technical difficulties) :
There’s something utterly fascinating about feeling an artist watching you as you listen to their new or unreleased sounds for the first time. This moment when you say something about the track, it’s like taking a plunge into darkness, not knowing how far below the water is. Are you catching the essence on the first listen? Are you completely sidetracked? Did you really hear all of it? And what if, what if you are feeling stuff that only you will ever feel because you know the artist’s work by heart?
I warned you all about this incoming storm.
The new Pollyester album is flying through the atmosphere like a storm of pink and gold glitter. It gets on everything. There’s something properly addictive about this album. It’s shiny. It’s glossy. It’s catchy as hell. It’s stand-alone pieces of perfection that are joined together by The Polly Effect (that wind of wordy melodies that counter-attack strong riffs and rhythms).
You know what’s nice? That’s nice.
I’m beginning to think there’s a masterplan at work to seduce me into staying in this city forever.
We tried to find our way to the rehearsal room (yeah, the indications were totally needed), and found this steep set of metal stairs down what seemed like a redesigned sewer entrance. Whatever was going to happen next was meant to be unique. And it was. I mean, my very own private show? Getting a bag of records upon my arrival, beers (again, and again), meeting even more amazing artists, cuddling with Odie the Hunderground.
I’ve literally chased the sun through an ocean yesterday. I watched the sun set on Quebec and I watched it rise on Bayern. I find it terribly poetic.
Landing into surrealism is a vivid experience. The edges of reality seemed blurry from all the physical trauma of a 10 hours flight and sleep deprivation and yet all feels more intense : the taste of coffee, of beer, the humidity through my bones, the ghost of the smell of cigarette smoke on basically everything (I had forgotten that about Europe)… There’s so much to hear, to see, to feel. The unshakeable question “is this real, for real?” is buzzing into my mind like a swarm of fruit flies. The faces are so real though, so tridimensional, and every new mimic from these faces is a discovery.