Grime – Grime

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Like finding an old sock, that still fits perfectly at last a little something from my youth, to yours. If you don’t know this band, you are not alone, such a treasure as this is usually well hidden, under the ocean, in a rusting hulk, called the French music industry.

The hoopty-doopty swingsong songs are fairly inoffensive, but it is when the record, as a whole, is viewed together, at sunrise, in the Pyranees, when you are high on peyote and the whole world is breaking you over that horizon, the whole light and damnation of the truth rushing towards you, when this album is half heard through the walls of a tumbledown farm house and the wind picks up and calls it to you and you are there, in that moment, then you know you have witnessed genius, that this album is for all time, that it signifies more than just the actual, rude music of its etching, and is truly a record of rural France, of dawn everywhere and that it has always been as such.

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