Expect to see a lot of posts of the following: films of varying quality, photos of abandoned and derelict places, screen captures of The Fall (2006), Bomb Girls, James Dean, and other assorted silliness.
Hearing this song, I envision a street out of a film noir, deserted for the night, with some ’40s starlet standing beneath a lamppost. She is looking up into the light overhead, and her eyes shine with unspilled tears. She sways, catatonic, in her makeshift spotlight.
Bondar: No hay banda! There is no band! Il n’est pas de orquestra! This is all… a tape-recording. No hay banda! And yet we hear a band. If we want to hear a clarinette… listen.
Un trombon “à coulisse”. Un trombon “con sordina”. Sient le son du trombon in sourdine. Hear le son… and mute it… drop it. It’s all recorded. No hay banda! It’s all a tape. Il n’est pas de orquestra. It is… an illusion!