Chica and the Folder | Soufflé (Sonja Moonear Dans Ma Casbah Mix)

With old Tibetan carpets, woven into Else Lasker Schüler’s poems that Chica learned in school and still knows by heart. With Croatian traditionals, made for several voices and originally sung by sad and mourning women, but now turned into punk – sung by punks who don’t cry but shout for lost love. With a coverversion that might make Martin L. Gore cut all his nails. With a very sad broadcasting-address.

All this and more easily fits into Chica and the Folder’s small and light bags, their hand luggage… And it sounds like a dear fairytale: So why not taking a trip to the Bavarian Alps straight away? Climbing mountains, sitting on their peaks, whispering those tales in each other’s ears; bread and butter in one, a mike in the other hand? Chica and the Folder are the last Romantics; together they spun and condensed it all. The concept of the album tangles but eventually finds itself at the end of the night, falls into its own arms and into sleep – tired but proud. Now the bags are waiting at the door; packed and ready to be taken to the next trip.


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