"Slow emotion.

I have a confession to make: I did something wrong with the disc Kramies Windt. I launched the first track on my computer, and as I often do, I started doing something else at the same time, reading an email, go on Facebook, make me a coffee, I messed up our brief first meeting. For "The Wooden Heart" is one of those discs that deserve a real, physical and mental presence, attention, heart, a meeting with his whole being. This is not the soundtrack of banal routine activities or the soundtrack of a single emotion: it is a return to self.

These six songs are magical, they have the real power to slow time that has continued to accelerate for decades. Against the backdrop of pop / folk and dreamy airy, air and padded, songs written and arranged beautifully with which Kramies invites us to let go, to regain the carefree spirit of childhood, the imperturbable romance of our youth. He urges us not to close the door of our dreams. A disc to listen, to feel, which is assessed as a strong deep meditation and intimate and dreamlike. A gift, a gift.

A trip or a dream?

I still do not know, but it is no longer important.

&nbsp;

<strong>The Beginning</strong>
In the beginning was the end, the end. A pulse that beats at idle. Slower, it would be nothing left alive in this lay there under that big tent body. Breathing is steady but low, eyes closed, eyelashes barely moved by air currents that sweep the waning night, the lights are out for a long time under the dome canvas deserted. On the floor the scattered remains of an ancient feast, forgotten, and some notes floating in the air, wandering somewhere there is someone who puts his wrinkled fingers on a piano abandoned, out there, in humidity of this distant corner of land at the edge of the dense and dark wood, dimly lit by a quarter of a veiled and hazy moon, and the notes that slip into the shadows at the edge of this inert body , flirting with ears that lay on the dirt floor man, and decide interfere in it. It is the beginning, not the end, breath resuscitation, life coated the heart on.

<strong>Sea Otter Cottage</strong>
Coma, he wakes up and finally falls asleep. A dream begins or the life that comes back, it's kind of the same thing right? The graceful but decided notes describe his body still numb by prolonged rest, as ants conscientious, they guide his steps to the entrance of the tent, outside the world, which pierces a ray of light, and low distance, the pace is slow, sleepy, the call from outside, from the sea, the sky, the call of the forest, the heart does the rest, the air is cool outside, he rubs his eyes, stretches his muscles are still asleep, but he realizes there after a seemingly endless path, lined with torches and weeds, light rain falls, the trail follows the forest, he took it towards the horizon , probably towards the ocean, he sees this massive and light at a time, on a rope suspended in the air, wooden tall ship, waiting, he sees the old piano, a little out of tune on deck, he saw the notes that escape at the foot of infinite mat. But there is no one on the bridge, nobody sitting at that piano, no one on this path, then he starts to think of it, he guesses, he shapes it, it appears, sylph down from heaven, accompanied by fireflies , as he had imagined, and here he smiled again, this wooden puppet he slurred, awkward, but proud and confident, full of sap, she takes his hand and leads him to the ship ready to sail

<strong>Upon The Northern Isles</strong>
Barely on board, they feel the slight shaking, shivering in the womb as a fear repressed but joyous, peaceful excitement the win, the rope dropped the test, the moorings remained ashore, the ship file, pen timber , ropes and canvas around him, the elements are fixed, time stopped, they argue, life is moving, they smile, are no longer a puppet numb wood or fallen god of the sky but free and believing children, amazed, light, they come and go over the bridge, dancing in the rain sometimes falls, then ask to watch the worlds that are printed in slow motion on the charcoal sky, they fly over fields beaten wind caressing the dawn, plains bathed bursts morning a still timid star, millennia and labyrinthine deltas, multicolored sea, deserted islands, sunken islands, like many wonders imagined countries awakenings. They slide, love, live.

<strong>The Wooden Heart</strong>
The sun finally dared to take his place in the sky, travel is no longer a dream, the dream is not a dream, nor quite a journey, it is a time acceleration, soft and warm, flows , currents combine to bring effortless to meet pre landscapes, they come and go over the bridge and then arise to observe the worlds that are printed in slow motion on the sky became pastel, they fly over traversed by unruly children laughing and campaigns, quiet towns, bathed in autumnal leaves lakes, rivers cleared, roads fallow schoolyards swirling, lovers entwined, pollinated flowers, woods inhabited, haunted forests , talkative and caring trees. They slide, love, live up there somewhere in the roots of heaven.

<strong>All Were Broken Clocks</strong>
While the celestial vessel continued on, they are there, lying on the deck flooded with a gentle summer rain, sometimes eyes open, staring into the empty blue, sometimes half closed, time is again put in slow motion, as if he understood that he had to hang the last part of the journey, as if he knew they did not want to wake up or go home, or sleeping, or to leave. As if time had decided to make them even a gift, give them those few intense and fleeting moment of eternity frozen. While they relish these stolen life, night, city, other moments, but the melancholy wins despite everything, despite the efforts of the time, in spite of themselves. If a bird approached sufficiently from the cracked bridge, if he passed over their faces when their eyes are half-closed, then maybe he would see a tear born in the orbit of the eye again amazed by this trip dream. A tear of joy sad. A tear of sadness joyful. It's all about nuance. And meaning.

<strong>The Ending</strong>
The beginning, the end of the beginning, in the beginning there was no ether, nor was there was you, your laughter-behaved, your hair made my shyness, beauty, future, now there to us, our hands folded, and he, his ineffable confidence, his love of life, our hope, a future. The ship begins its descent through the clouds, we meet a host of birds, unidentified flying objects, some lights, dust ephemeral, I will soon wake up, fall asleep or I do not know which of dream or journey began, whatever, life or night can resume their course, I can doze off or get up and leave or stay, the music came into my view it is unlikely that it comes out one day, it is embedded in my blood, it flows through my veins. My heart beat resumed."

- <strong>Pop Culture and Co.</strong>