TRYB SZYMPANS

The city noise turned into a carnival of nocturnal animals: there are chimpanzees in replicas, a centurion with a hungover look, and some half-asleep scenes where everything is a little off and a little funny. Words are cut without ceremony - crude humor bordering on the absurd, like notes from a bar where Friday meets Saturday in a rhythm of “everything goes round and round.” There is comfort in this chaos - as if someone came with a dented bottle and a warm joke to remind us that sometimes it's useful not to pretend.

The melody is easy to follow, but not on a glossy road: there are more street truths and cheeky self-irony than lyrics. It's like a nighttime diary, where fatigue, excitement, and the ability to laugh at one's own failures shine through the profanity and funny images. It's like a group of friends on the couch - loud, immodest, but honest in its own way.