Kramies “forêts antiques” Reviewed at A Decouvrir Absolument


Find the Wood, drink the river

We don’t have to listen Kramies, Kramies isn’t here on the scene for the sound, he is here for the magic, here for the journey, here for the fantasy of  drawing make up on us, here to make us believe in immaterial, in invisible, here like small child that didn’t want to go sleeping hung on to his guitar, alone in the ray of a white light , Kramies isn’t here to be heard, he is here to be drink as we drink a river, we have to drink Kramies, even if we know that we will not be able to drink the whole of the river, but  knowing that we must, because he transports gold dust so luminous and shy that we have to fish all of them, never let one abandoned, to avoid sadness, fearing to kill some magic awaiting between a chord and a hand, between a chant  that formed as a bow net for fantastic entities , and trapped us in an hypnotic beauty of some visited banks. We have to drink Kramies, in the first mouthful catch the sensibility, in the others the innocence and fragility so musical, and staying here, in the obscurity to avoid pushing apart this magical particles that are waltzing and applauding around his hair, we must get drunk by the force of this river, leaving there our bodies looking for marks in the sparks that bring these little tiny wave on the surface, letting our bodies looking for clues that will bring back the Peter Pan’s disguise of our first love. And it’s so good to be just a listening, a sluggish presence that just know how to travel on this sound the same way as we drifted on this flow, it’s so good to swallow without end this river, that come from here and will go there, without start an ending, eternal before and immortal after. We must Remove the droughts and abuse this world that is turning around this normal chair put there on this enormous stage, but that sounds like home, the brook of our childhood, this limbo where rest showers before joining the source, before they return to delta, before being ocean, at home, inside us, in our rib cage, this same one that stretch until the troubadour‘s voice, and finally let all this river water get in us. But no, we will never drink all the liquid, damned the impossible, Kramies got the magic of making us giants, entire planets, don’t care about the tiny rivers that will never be enough, this one we will pray for it rising tide in each dream needed, in every human need and magician help, in every fault of sincerity and presence of a doubt. The little blond haired boy that splash the ray of light with gold dust stolen to the torrent, say thanks in every moment to this vast space where still flow his material in smile, lightning boxes and red velvet chairs, changing them in thrones and Neverland Islands, those drinking saint are now in silence reaching their cups and grail , just trying to never loose any piece of magic. We mustn’t listen to Kramies, just Drink up to the dregs, till we find the importance, find the various emotions in this guitar, and the poetry of this thin swimmer, little gold digger, apprentice magician, wonderful musician, theatre banks and pontoon enchanter.”
A Decouvrir Absolument

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