Cambarada. Enregistré à Puyricard pendant le premier confinement. « sans titre. »
Cicadæ. It’s the end of the world, but we’re still made to update our status on the dole… Quarantine. Self-isolation. Finger’s crossed it won’t get back to normal? Violoncello, glockenspiel, synths and a dying looper pedal stuck on « record », all recorded in one bedroom with an open window. Cabin fever. The solution is to get out, it always is… Dreaming to shoot down police drones with arrows and slingshots, yes, though it seems like the birds will get them first. « We’ll be singing when we’re winning. » Much love to Chumbawamba. In the meantime, take care & keep caughing on your ID cards.