Nous nous taisons.
Rattrapé par la frénésie (ceiling granny) ou domestiqué par d'imparables réussites mélodiques (midnight flit), il s'agit maintenant de pouvoir esquiver, encore et toujours, les appels d'un regard interrogateur, les réactions possibles, réflexes conscients, à moins qu'une heureuse dérive, un détour émotionnel salvateur (pat stains) n'emporte ces vains efforts. Féérie, fumée fictionnelle (supposedly, we were nightmares), mais rien, ni personne ne nous écartera de la certitude d'une apothéose finale (it's what i want to do, mum). Nous nous taisons.
thierry massard / 25 février 2021 - 19:05
Striking contrast, the pout of those who don't feel like it, the irrepressible desire to share. Mogwai does well to have titled this new album "as the love continues" because perhaps that is what it is, a beautiful, silent love. The evidence of a few perfect chords, and the fury in the line of fire. We are silent, for fear of who knows what, time passes, a start and a few words suspended, inadvertently released: "c'est beau" (dry fantasy). Time passes, and yet, without pretending, we sometimes surprise ourselves, trapped by easy feelings (ritchie sacramento), it's beautiful too, so we shut up (too). Shouldn't we be outraged by this strange silence, filled with crescendo atmospheres, with the contained force that breaks out in bubbling streams before dispersing into delicate and beautiful harmonies. We are silent.
Caught up by the frenzy (ceiling granny) or domesticated by unstoppable melodic successes (midnight flit), it is now a matter of being able to dodge, again and again, the calls of an interrogative gaze, the possible reactions, conscious reflexes, unless a happy drift, a saving emotional detour (pat stains) takes away these vain efforts. Enchantment, fictional smoke (supposedly, we were nightmares), but nothing and no one will keep us from the certainty of a final apotheosis (it's what i want to do, mum). We are silent.
(a DeepL rough translation )