Extirpated poems
If from a passage of a poem we could extract the essence of poetry through verbal alchemy and appropriate metaphors for the occasion, the sky would probably be gray or blue or dark velvety and filled with moons and full breasts out in the air, as if saying thanks to Ruben, scattered by the wind and luxuriously tousled to the astonishment of the pines that we’d inevitably surrender at his feet. But, if we didn't pay due attention to the foundation and slowly and sinisterly shredded its shape, separating vowels from consonants and creating a senseless lexicon jumble, we’d get a social convention. Even when tempted by the second option, don’t cast aside the first so quickly, and let yourselves be carried by songs and lyrics; Les Aus are here to celebrate.
Collaborations with electronic composers from here and there, and a wonder called Electric War (2011) that breaks senses and sensibilities equally. I could devote this space to describe their music, between lysergic and daily, or both at once, but the writing should be destroyed to be reborn from the ashes of a post-mortem origami. After it burned, black dominates, with occasional gray details that create a certain boundary between an inert world and the one still breathes, despite us. The electric war is asleep while all HI-FI goes from ash to ash, but everything ends just to listen to this band that honors our presence despite the risk that the height difference is of breaks and tears.
If storms could talk ...
If storms could talk ...
Text by Juan Carlos Romero
Photos courtesy of Primavera Sound