The three Hamburg mostly cultivate a more melodic, dramatic style, which crashes, make the third quarter of their debut The Saboteur, streets full of filth and Seemingly whining and clamor tidy, the grim subconscious to train breaks through the corpse town, sometimes insidious, times untamed and wild. Basically negotiate debris on the plate, the youth, their privilege, in front of us is still more than behind us, it is in ruins, whether it be of advantage or disadvantage, you can not really say but a song in the best Manic -Street-Preachers fashion. Pithy words anywhere between fatalism and youthful anger, how does the nervous even at the Stuttgart / hear the debris at a loss so I know everything will perish, no, I have no problem with it (nostalgia), has long been one of the lived moment more than the clever plans for the future.
Wonderful, as they share the exuberance, cry for the euphoria and the sadness lament for Where's the euphoria they have seen New Yorkers Interpol exactly the songbook, the piece sparkles wonderfully sad in the gray gloomy night. Elsewhere it can be carried away to a defiant dream, too, is their right: We are not good, but worse, we are not old, but remain so forever, who has not even been hoping optimism there is still no that would be too cheap, something rather melancholy and beautiful tradition a pinch Linderberg shear poetry, Pappillon sometimes sounds so wrong and clumsy that it is a very dizzy heart. How long they keep it up? As probably the most sound in twenty years? This may be the three care less at the moment really. mapambulo: blog
