Stagione 9
Missing members
Stagione 8
The hollow that she left
This exquisite thrill
Routine Saturday night affair
Does the city have a heart
Natty twist to his genes
Well into the night
Build our own thing
Limp-wristed jazz drumming
An unexpected visit.
Grass is powdered with dew, air at a standstill, river lying belly up boasting the sun's first glee.
Necessity, the mother of invention.
Saturday night down at the pool. Things go as unplanned.
Night withdraws and routine is bathed once more in morning glory.
Music sails out through an open star-filled window. The band members decamp to sit before the lunar light of a black and white television, watching a late-night movie—The Razor's Edge, The Day of the Triffids, The Misfits—scraps of thought just wisps of smoke, pouring cheap time from a bottle.
Bursting into bloom like blossoms driven by spring, taking the world by surprise anew… again,
Use big brushes and make broad strokes.
Speaking of the immense and immediate gratification that music appears to bring.
Everyone was in a band, weren't they? The rehearsal space is a disused garment factory, divided and subdivided, preoccupied by various factions and formations.