Kramies “Forets Antiques” Reviewed at Pop Cultures & Cie

[Translated via Google. Read The original here.]

“That there is sensitive or not, it is an undeniable magic Kramies . This ability in some chords to lighten your body, to make it supple, malleable, able to traverse the heavenly distance that separates our life from now from the ancient forests of our childhood. A flight, a suspension of time, an enchanting parenthesis, enchanting. The landscapes of our lives freeze and then parade in slow motion, all more poetic than the others they come to remember to us, Christmas garland of yellowed and smiling Polaroids. Kramies a really special thing to bring to the surface of the most insignificant details of a forgotten ballad on the moor (the smell of the gorse heated by a white sun, the friction of a calf on wild ferns, reflect Of a cloud on a sea of ​​oil, the smile of this unknown crusader at the turn of a path) as the most tragic or magical moments of the crucial stages of our lives. The most gratifying is that Kramies does not even realize what is going to listen to his songs. Magic.

Live, his “amazing” compositions are even more impressive, more beautiful if possible. Dejected from the few arrangements that could have lingered, here we are facing purified melodies, bone, hair, just his voice as a dream appeared and his guitar. No frim, never, no superfluous, no effects of neck or accessories. The simplicity of the evidence, the emotion of the skin, the beating of the heart. It is beautiful (by definition) not to be in the room to listen to this super EP, we are quickly taken to chills and sometimes dizzy in this short and fascinating maelstrom emotions so frozen in the air of this sublime Which is the Grand Théâtre d’Angers. Magic. Seized by the gentle tension and palpable beauty in the room. Despite the digital, the distance, the virtuality. These dreamlike and melancholy ballads cross the space in order to pick us in what we have most beautiful and purest: these scattered crumbs of lost innocence, buried deep within our entrails. I realized then that I knew nothing. I did not know that I had kept all that in me.

Thus stripped and boned and rejoined the Sea Otter Classic Cottage, The Wooden Heart , like Ireland, sublime novelty, is a unique moment, a moment of truth shining and pure beauty. The acme of a season in levitation. A majestic and capitalized performance. A confirmation. A dawn full of promises. Magic.”

Pop Cultures & Cie

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