Them own field of expression (…) MYB Toni Tovar
Six months after the release of their first EP, Oriol Solé (Iga memento, Alado sincera) and Toni Sistaré (Inot Eratsis) are back with 25 songs carefully carved on the grooves on both sides of a 12 inch mirror.
The A side sees the band paying close attention to the interferences of intuition, the auspice from which the Igualada duo feel the premonition of an echo, the resounding of a very thin cry. The B side flows with a strange sense of freedom, as if unwinding in the dark the thread of a clearer and yet mysterious path and ending up in almost complete peace; one which is somehow restless, inhabiting the domain of the unfathomable, where the listening experience is turned into a dreg.
The band is impulsive and works under the premises of immediacy, driving the melodies and their gentleness over a cliff. And yet attention to detail remains intact in the songs, free of unnecessary accessories that might taint their basic approach to music. In their continuous act of revision, Ghandi rules OK know there is no going back and erase their own footsteps as they go. 25 songs arranged in an exciting continuum that wishes to define the experience of a life; 25 ephemeral visitations at the service of a whole: that one song which, ambivalent as it may seem, reveals/sets itself up as menacing and complete: ‘Borda, va, borda’, the album itself. A listener’s manual, by Oriol Solé:
-‘Vinils al foc’ sets your idea of a perfect world on fire. The light and heat emanated abduct you. Your distress is disguised in words, and the words dance madly in flames until the fire consumes them. ‘La nina russa’ is like a mysterious carving that draws your attention. You walk past it and notice it has no back face. That makes you laugh, although you don’t really know why. But everything’s fine. ‘Demana’ is like climbing a mountain: the height sharpens your imagination, a number of quips and afterthoughts pop in your head, and you know you no longer need the rhetorical question in your life (…). ‘Verí’ finds you resting on a low, isolated crest. Your legs ache from the angle of your rushed body in descent. You examine the scratches in your legs. You may take a break, but blood is always restless and keeps dripping down your legs. ‘Radcliff’: as you climb down, you don’t take your eyes off the slanted path at your feet. You won’t notice the early horizons raising, the ones that will throw hounds of tiny villages at you first, and bigger cities next. When you make it to ‘Caçera’, you are treading a different ground. You are familiar with the surface of the low valley and know it serves the purpose of mitigating the creeping noise of watchful beings in the vigil state. Everything is still a long way from being civilized: respect is yet to be earned. Just like you in ‘Fill, has arribat tard’, when you only notice that the light has changed because your skin is tainted of a different shade. The sense of time had readily quit on you all through your journey, but now it is hurrying you. Sooner or later it was going to happen (…).