the doors are closing right now. i barely squeeze in. sweaty skin. i let myself sink onto the bench at close quarters with a black man. next to him: a business man. the older woman in front of him peeks. stands up. asks him: could i have a look at your tv mag ? peering puzzled through his glasses, a friendly smile appears, wafts through the wagon. everybody's smiling. she was laughing. i was celebrating. in my head. silent cheers. the black man told me to move a bit over, so that she could sit down. every wrinkle translates her very joy of a quite young guy being so gentle. how could she thank for killing her time tonight ? one compartement full of all the harmony you could imagine. is this kind of exagerated ? peace built on such a derisory simple thing. is this kind of farcical ? if you know what it means to feel secure with strangers, you've the impression you could do anything. for once the world was a stage and the play was well cast.
California group Floral combines dizzying guitar work with frenetic drumming for head-spinning, deeply complex post-rock. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 19, 2020
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