“Dirty Bolas” rolls on congas and bass, grooves in the manner of Izit`s “Make Way For The Originals”. Go-Go by way of Rio. Its field recordings of children`s excited shouts painting pictures of gangs of them chasing a carnival through village streets, while its guitars have Santana jamming at daybreak, on a beach. Warming up for life`s passing parade. The careful acoustic picking and strum on “Sunset Ballad”, again, is more “Sunrise” in the landscape I imagine. I see a sleepy Old Town, after the party, rubbing the night from its eyes. Fuzzy-headed, sweeping up streamers, paper cups, the shed shin of revelry, quietly trying not to rehash or remember, or to think “How much did I drink?”, at least until it stops hurting.
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