I thought I had seen the body of a Portuguese guitar, kept safe on stones by the water (sea, ocean, river) and a knee belonging to the same ensemble as the harm. The title is a code with no clue, and the guitar turns out to be more like a mandolin. The music sails gently, the voice takes its time, shelved by some phone long distance effect. Long journeys to return back to where you thought you’d once left. Pretty nostalgic, though I don’t see this as a completely negative position, when one needs to. It’s slightly folky, it’s rather deep and moving step by step to its own rules and horizons. If only you take the time to enter, you may not want to get out. Like in those books, which ask of you hundred pages to get into only to find out you’re completely taken. Outstanding, decided, real and mature.

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Noël Akchoté




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