Santabinder - Crazy crazy jingles for you: Heart of Glass blink of an eye, blurred polaroid black and white with red spots or rotten rancid from menstruation. Flash primordial voiceless improvisations, mini-spots of violence, incommunicable sms subliminal teletrasmettenti launched by the Nazi period. If I told you that you Crazy for you Crazy Jingles rattles added together in 18 tracks, including sighs, worth less than fifteen minutes?! Less time to roll a joint and smoke it together!
This is the corrupt world of Santabinder: brilliant in its simplicity. Comes straight to the point, like a glove soaked with sweat on the face of a Thai kickboxer. To do this, just a guitar, a recorder and an ethereal effect that is lost even before it can hold in your hands.
A disk jingles, popularly speaking. Micro experiments, as they are, instinctively when it's cold outside and you strum emotions dissolved in water and paracetamol, without preamble, without Frames by third grade: as it is!
And to think of it is how it should be the music. Get a riff the mud as if there were other, repeat it ad nauseum, hit REC and then forget it. All this does not extend for more than a minute, just long enough to store the hard disk of the short-term memory.
The synthesized voice, soulless, almost child has the advantage of not emphasize (or perhaps stifling) any draft Santabinder: better screening, a master of disguise. Run a 33 rpm as a 45: If the head turns-and-runs then you're on board! It is not a disc to be taken seriously, and if you have had this impression, the deception of the author has accomplished. There is enough experimentation for a hangover, the canons of musical genres are absent giusticati, sit in the toilet and meditate.
Syd ok but maybe missed something.
We do some exercise, take practice: Free Ballad Mojito and swimming are so colorful and juicy when weakened by a summer wind, but not verifiable already recognizable after the third listen. Sguera exaggerates in playing time, and it sounds like the last Thunders in abstinence to end one wonders whether there is really a blues, a rock, a folk?! Everything loses its size on the adjective becomes more appropriate. We're down down down in the morning sounds like a lullaby by tragic awakening without yawning and without caffeine. Django, for example, could come from Memphis or from the lagoon in his pocket, universal, impalpable to the touch. The onopatopeico Uacciu uacciu ua ui 'is the tom tom for Anglophone sinner, and stifles the whisper of plastic sheets Searching & Telling, as long as the snowflakes we erode the head, oh yes!
42nd out of Lepers Records, proud of this jewel cryptic traits. They laugh at the skeptics, for each new emotion. Yet Santabinder has not made these musical sketches in an afternoon: what is instinctive to the practice, is twisted in his elaborate theory. Wean these 18 little children of small stature with a lovely feeling! As the afternoon tea or the "home-made grappa from Aunt Marieta" ...
- Gus
