Ну и дела

It smells of old wood and French summers - the kind where everything is a little out of place, but authentic nonetheless. The muffled bass seems to come from somewhere in the basement, where “eternal students” who never made it in life but found their rhythm rehearse. The voice wanders between words, as if searching for what is more important: nostalgia for Madonna or for oneself at that time - when it seemed that cassettes would never end and time could be rewound.

It seems that the sound was recorded on tape, with someone laughing, clapping, maybe even pouring wine somewhere in the background. And in this roughness lies the main charm: imperfection that doesn't need to be fixed. Just listen and let your head sway slightly to the beat, as if in an old bar where no one is in a hurry and where the evening is always a little longer than it should be.