Electronic Rock //
And what if Proust had never tasted anything; never smoked anything; only heard an echo which resounded from a cavern of time, a dungeon of the memory. Would 'All Things Automatic' then flash back to the 1980s? Guitars and keyboards, the portable Hammond MIO2, carried by two women from even further back in time. Thumping beats. Go into the studio and the sound comes out, with a version of what Robyn would sing much later on: Dancing on my own. Music as a madeleine. The name doesn’t remind you of anything. No link. There is just this first sentence from The King: 'My little boy wakes up in another world.' There must be a past, but in another world. 'All Things Automatic' is and plays and breathes and drinks 2015 but the spirit runs deep. Imploring, the rhythm is the dancer, the spotlights disappear to make way for a faint shimmer in a sea of darkness. Electronics, Follow Your Needs, black is permitted, life isn’t easy, it drives people crazy.
Not everything is automatic in the world of a trio that turned a studio into a sound bath so the past can live on today. In the words of Robyn: So far away but still so near/ (The lights go on, the music dies) / But you don't see me standing here/ (I just came to say goodbye). Light turns stormy and stormy weather brightens. Chiaroscuro, electric friends, music as mascara for the soul, experiment without commerce, blue moon days, perhaps indie and new old-fashioned 'This is Belgian': All Things Automatic.

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